17. Cayenne
Chapter 17
Cayenne
The witching hour comes with wind and shadows, the kind of darkness that feels alive as it wraps around us. Our small convoy moves without headlights, guided by night vision and Ryker’s uncanny sense of direction as we approach the Sterling research facility hidden deep in industrial wasteland.
The absence of Theo and Finn sits like a system error in my peripheral vision, the empty spaces in the SUV a reminder of what’s at stake. My fingers tap restless code sequences against my thigh—binary comfort patterns that surface whenever my anxiety subroutines kick in. Leaving them behind wasn’t a choice any of us wanted to make, but necessity dictated hard decisions tonight.
“How’s Theo holding up?” I ask quietly, needing connection to our absent packmates as much as information.
“Mona’s suppressant is keeping the worst at bay,” Ryker answers, eyes never leaving the road. “But he’s fighting biology and chemistry at once. The strain is...” He pauses, a rare moment of uncertainty from our normally unshakable alpha. “Significant.”
I nod, reading between the lines. Theo’s heat suppressant had bought us time, but forcing his omega biology to bend against its natural cycle for so long is like overclocking a CPU past safe limits. Even with Mona’s chemical genius, his symptoms have progressed too far for field work, the risk of having him near alphas in potential combat situations too great.
“And Finn?” I press, thinking of the beta’s pale face as he insisted on running comms despite the fever still burning through him.
“Stubborn,” Ryker says, a hint of fond exasperation coloring his tone. “The virus flared again this morning, but he refused medical rest. Said his brain still works even if his body’s rebelling.”
“That sounds like Finn,” Jinx chimes in from the backseat, his voice carrying that edge of barely contained energy. “Always the smartest guy in the room, even when he’s dying.”
“He’s not dying,” I snap, the words coming out sharper than intended.
Jinx’s hand appears on my shoulder, surprisingly gentle. “Course not, Glitch. Our beta’s too stubborn to check out before we finish this mission.”
The casual inclusion—our beta—settles something in my chest, a quiet acknowledgment of pack bonds strengthening despite distance.
“Comms check,” Finn’s voice crackles through our earpieces, steady despite the illness I know is burning through him. “Alpha team, confirm.”
“Alpha one, confirmed,” Ryker responds from the driver’s seat, his profile sharp and predatory in the dashboard’s dim glow. Every line of his body speaks of controlled violence waiting for purpose.
“Alpha two, good to go,” Jinx adds, voice carrying that particular edge that means his beast is close to the surface. He catches me watching him and flashes a feral grin, teeth gleaming unnaturally white in the darkness. “Ready to paint the walls, Glitch?”
“Alpha three, online,” I respond, ignoring his bloodthirsty enthusiasm while my stomach performs an involuntary flip at the nickname. “And no painting walls. This is recon and data retrieval. Clean and quiet, remember? Like running a zero-day exploit—in and out with no fingerprints.”
“You’re no fun,” he pouts, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s exactly where he wants to be—on the hunt with his pack.
“Omega team monitoring,” Theo’s voice joins the channel, his musical accent comforting even through digital distortion. I catch the subtle strain beneath his words, the slight breathlessness betraying the heat he’s fighting to control. “Security feeds accessed. You are clear to approach from the north entrance. Three guards on rotation, four-minute intervals.”
A muffled sound comes through his mic, followed by a shaky exhale that makes all of us tense.
“Theo?” Ryker’s voice sharpens with concern.
“I’m fine,” our omega responds, though the tightness in his voice suggests otherwise. “Just a... wave. Mona’s adjusting the suppressant dose now.”
“My chemical masterpiece requires calibration,” Mona’s voice chimes in unexpectedly. “The omega’s hormone fluctuations are fascinating but inconvenient. Very unexpected response patterns.” Her usual chaotic speech patterns soften slightly as she continues, “Lab’s prepared for data analysis. Just get me that formula, and I’ll have vaccine prototypes ready for testing within twenty-four hours.”
The reminder of what we’re fighting for—a cure, protection for betas everywhere—sharpens my focus as Ryker pulls the SUV to a stop in the shadow of an abandoned warehouse, half a mile from our target. Close enough for quick escape, far enough to avoid detection. The air inside the vehicle shifts as he turns to face us, authority settling over him like admin privileges.
“Gear check,” Ryker orders, already slipping into the tactical alpha that makes even Jinx straighten up.
We verify weapons—non-lethal for me and Jinx, though the gleam in his eye suggests he’s carrying backups I don’t want to know about. Ryker carries his sidearm with the calm confidence of someone who rarely needs to use it but remains lethal when he does. Communication devices, data retrieval equipment, medical supplies—each item confirmed and secured, the ritual grounding us in purpose.
“Remember the mission parameters,” Ryker says as we prepare to move out. His eyes linger on mine for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the intensity there making my skin prickle with awareness. “We locate the secondary servers, extract the original virus formula, and get out. No heroics, no detours, no engagement unless absolutely necessary.”
“Boring,” Jinx mutters, rolling his shoulders like a predator testing its muscles before a hunt.
“Alive,” Ryker corrects, voice hard enough to cut steel. “If the Sterling tip is legitimate, this data could help Mona develop her vaccine faster. But if it’s a trap?—”
“We turn into feral ghost assassins and disappear into the night,” Jinx finishes, cracking his knuckles with theatrical menace.
“Or we execute fallback protocol and rendezvous at extraction point Bravo,” I counter, earning an approving nod from Ryker and an eye-roll from Jinx that somehow manages to be both dismissive and fond.
“Finn, facility status?” Ryker asks as we slip from the vehicle into the night.
“Consistent with intel,” Finn replies, the sound of typing accompanying his words. “Minimal security, standard patrol patterns. East entrance shows blind spots between camera feeds. Theo’s got it covered.”
“I’ve looped camera three,” Theo confirms, his voice temporarily stronger, focused on the task at hand despite his body’s demands. “You have a thirty-second window... mark.”
We move as one unit, three shadows flowing from cover to cover with the precision of long practice. Ryker takes point, his movements so silent I have to focus to track him. Jinx covers our flanks, that predator’s grace making him appear almost liquid in the darkness. I bring up the rear, data equipment secure in my pack, every sense heightened by adrenaline and the lingering effects of Mona’s latest chemical adventure.
The facility’s exterior is deliberately mundane—concrete and steel disguised as a storage warehouse, the kind of forgettable architecture that doesn’t invite second glances. Up close, the walls radiate cold, as if the building itself is trying to repel warmth and life. The lock on the east entrance takes me forty-three seconds to bypass—longer than I’d like, but Sterling security has always been top-tier.
“We’re in,” Ryker murmurs as the door clicks open. “Finn, interior layout?”
“First hallway clear. Take second left, then immediate right.” Finn’s voice carries the focused precision of someone compensating for physical weakness with mental acuity. “Server room should be third door on the right. Unmarked. And from what I’m seeing in their power grid, it’s drawing significant resources—consistent with a quantum processing array.”
His analysis proves spot-on as we proceed through dimly lit corridors, each step measured and deliberate. The scent of industrial cleaner and recycled air fills my lungs, sterile and artificial—the same antiseptic emptiness as Sterling Labs. My body remembers too well what happened there, muscles tensing involuntarily at the association. The phantom sting of Alexander’s knife ghosts across my skin, memories bubbling up like malware from a corrupted drive.
A warm hand finds the small of my back, steadying me. Jinx, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he reads my discomfort with uncanny accuracy. He doesn’t speak, just offers that point of contact, grounding me in the present rather than trauma’s echo. A silent reminder, you’re not facing this system breach alone.
The gesture fills me with unexpected warmth—not just comfort, but belonging. This time, I’m not infiltrating Sterling territory as a lone hacker. I’m part of something stronger.
“Guards approaching,” Theo warns through our comms, his voice dropping to a strained whisper. “Two, moving west to east. Duck into the supply closet on your left.”
Ryker moves immediately, hand signaling us to follow. The closet is barely large enough for the three of us, my back pressed against shelves of cleaning supplies as Jinx and Ryker position themselves protectively around me. The sharp tang of bleach mingles with their scents—Ryker’s cedar and steel, Jinx’s cherry tobacco and gunpowder—creating an oddly comforting cocktail. In the darkness, I can feel Jinx’s elevated heartbeat, the predator in him straining for release.
“Easy,” I whisper, fingers finding his wrist. His pulse jumps beneath my touch, rapid and strong. “We’re good.”
His nod is a movement I feel rather than see, but the tension in him notches down slightly. Beside us, Ryker remains impossibly still, only the steady rhythm of his breathing confirming he’s even there.
“Clear,” Theo announces after what feels like eternities compressed into seconds. “Guards have passed your position.”
A soft groan follows his words, quickly muffled. “Theo?” Finn’s voice carries quiet concern.
“Fine,” comes the tight response. “Heat spike. Continuing monitoring.”
We slip back into the corridor, resuming our progress toward the server room. When we reach the door Finn identified, I hand my pack to Jinx and drop to one knee, examining the electronic lock. The cool floor seeps through my tactical pants, grounding me in the physicality of the moment as my mind races ahead through algorithms and probabilities.
“Biometric?” Ryker asks, voice barely a whisper.
I study the panel, noting the fingerprint scanner and keypad. “Two-factor. Nothing we didn’t plan for.” From my pocket, I produce a small device of my own design—a hybrid between an electromagnetic pulse generator and digital skeleton key. “Cover me. This is like picking a lock while someone’s still inside the house.”
While Ryker and Jinx position themselves to block any line of sight from the hallway, I attach my device to the fingerprint scanner. The small screen flickers to life, running through thousands of fingerprint patterns per second while simultaneously testing numerical combinations. The familiar rhythm of hacking settles over me—the world narrowing to this digital puzzle, this electronic lock that stands between us and what we need.
“This facility was commissioned six months ago,” Finn reports in our ears, his analytical mind at work despite his illness. “Primary user access would be assigned to senior researchers. I’m cross-referencing Sterling Labs employment records with known biometric signatures...narrowing parameters now. Try sequence 4587-alpha. That should match Dr. Whitmore’s access pattern.”
I adjust my device accordingly, impressed by Finn’s deduction. “How did you?—”
“Standard Sterling security protocol,” he explains, the slightest hint of pride in his tone. “Researcher access follows predictable patterns based on clearance levels. Whitmore would be highest tier, given what he’s working on.”
The scanner beeps softly, the lock disengaging with a gentle click that sends a rush of satisfaction through my system. “We’re in,” I murmur, retrieving my device and pushing the door open. “Nice work, Finn. You just saved us from a brute force marathon.”
“Just doing my part,” he responds, but I catch the pleased note beneath his exhaustion.
The server room is smaller than expected, barely the size of a decent bedroom. Racks of equipment line the walls, blinking lights casting eerie blue-green shadows across smooth concrete. The air hums with electronic life and artificial cooling, warmer than the corridors, vibrating with data and purpose. This, at least, feels familiar—the digital heartbeat of a system built to hold secrets.
“Start the download,” Ryker instructs, taking up position near the door. “Jinx, perimeter check.”
While they secure our position, I move to the main terminal, connecting my specialized tablet designed to bypass Sterling security protocols. My fingers know this dance by heart—the digital battle of probe and defense, attack and counterattack. Each keystroke feels like coming home to the person I was before Sterling, before the virus, before pack bonds complicated everything.
“Sterling’s systems are good,” I murmur, fingers flying across my screen. Pride surges as firewalls collapse beneath my assault. “But I’m better. There’s no DDoS protection in the world that can keep me out.”
“Always have been,” Finn’s voice carries a hint of pride. “Try access point delta-nine. It’s how we got into their HR records.”
I follow his suggestion, a small smile playing at my lips as barriers begin to crumble. This is what we do best—Finn and I, the beta brain trust, dismantling systems designed to keep us out. Even with him back at the mansion, our minds work in tandem, anticipating each other’s next move with preternatural synchronicity.
“I’m in,” I announce after several tense minutes. “Initiating data transfer. These encryption protocols would make the NSA jealous, by the way.”
As information flows into our secure drives, I scan file directories, looking for anything related to the virus. Most of the data is encrypted, protected behind layers of security that would take hours to crack. Each folder name sends a chill through me—clinical, sterile designations for what I know are experiments on living beings.
“Finn, I need a keyword search,” I request, still scanning. “Try beta purification protocol and genetic enhancement initiative. ”
“On it,” he responds, the sound of rapid typing carrying through our comms. “Found something. Directory path sending to your tablet now.”
The path leads me to a folder simply labeled Project Renaissance. Inside, hundreds of files await—research notes, experimental data, subject records. My stomach turns as I scan file names that reduce beta lives to clinical observation and cold statistics. Names become numbers, suffering becomes data points. This is what Sterling thinks of us—not people, just variables in his grand experiment.
“Got it,” I whisper, initiating download of the entire directory. My hands tremble slightly, rage and revulsion warring beneath professional calm. “This is it—Sterling’s original virus formula, patient zero data, everything.”
“Time check,” Ryker prompts.
“Four minutes until download completion,” I respond, eyes fixed on the progress bar crawling across my screen with maddening slowness. “This connection is like dial-up on steroids. Fast but not fast enough.”
“Movement at the main entrance,” Theo warns, voice tight with concern. “Security team, four members. Full tactical gear.”
Jinx materializes from his patrol, eyes gleaming with predatory interest. “Not the regular security rotation?”
“Negative.” Theo’s typing sounds hurried now. “Different uniforms, military precision. I think... damn it, they’ve cut the exterior feeds.”
“Trap,” Ryker concludes, his expression hardening into tactical assessment. “How long until they reach our position?”
“Two minutes, maybe less,” Theo estimates. “Taking alternate routes through the facility.”
I glance at my tablet—download at sixty-eight percent. “We need more time.”
“Then we make time.” Ryker’s decision is immediate. “Jinx, with me. We’ll create a diversion, draw them away from this section. Cayenne, secure that data and proceed to extraction once complete.”
“No.” The word escapes before I can analyze it, visceral rejection spiking through me. “We stay together. That was the plan.”
“Plans change,” Ryker’s tone leaves no room for argument, but his eyes soften fractionally. “The data is priority. You’re priority.”
Before I can protest further, he and Jinx are moving, melting into the corridor with deadly purpose. The click of the door closing behind them feels like a physical blow, separation anxiety hitting harder than I expected. My chest tightens, breath coming shorter, a primal part of me screaming wrong-wrong-wrong at being separated from pack in danger.
“They’ll be fine,” Finn assures me, reading my silence correctly. “Focus on the download. The pack needs that data.”
The words pack needs anchor me, reminding me that my alphas aren’t just risking themselves—they’re protecting something larger, something we all belong to. I force my attention back to the tablet, where the progress bar crawls with maddening slowness. Seventy-five percent. Eighty. Eighty-three. Each percentage point feels like an eternity, my senses hyperaware of every sound beyond the server room door.
The distant sound of an alarm cuts through my concentration, followed by the unmistakable pop of controlled explosions. Jinx’s diversion, no doubt. My imagination paints vivid pictures—Jinx reveling in controlled chaos, Ryker’s precision violence, both of them in danger while I stare at a fucking progress bar.
“What’s happening?” I demand, fingers hovering uselessly over my tablet as the download continues its glacial progress.
“Jinx deployed two flash-bangs in the west corridor,” Theo reports, his voice calm despite the situation. “Security team is diverging to investigate. Ryker has positioned near the emergency exit, ready to draw pursuit if necessary.”
“Their tactics are working,” Finn adds, his analytical mind tracking multiple data points at once. “The security team’s formation is breaking, exactly as Ryker predicted. Classic flanking maneuver.”
His certainty helps steady me. This is what pack means—trust in each other’s skills, in roles that complement rather than compete. Ninety percent. Ninety-five.
A crash echoes from somewhere in the facility, followed by shouts and what might be gunfire. My pulse spikes, adrenaline flooding my system with nowhere to go, no way to help.
“Finn?” My voice rises despite my effort to stay calm.
“They’re fine,” he insists, though the strain in his voice suggests he’s as worried as I am. “Jinx is enjoying himself a little too much, but they’re in control.”
The download completes with a soft chime that feels anticlimactic given the chaos unfolding elsewhere. “Got it,” I report, disconnecting my tablet and securing it in my pack. “Moving to extraction.”
“Wait,” Finn interrupts. “While you’re there—check the terminal for local files. Anything that wouldn’t be on the networked servers.”
I hesitate, torn between the need to reach Ryker and Jinx and the potential value of additional intel. Training wins out over emotion. With quick efficiency, I access the local drive, scanning for anything unusual.
A folder labeled Implementation Timeline catches my eye. Inside, I find documents that make my blood run cold—detailed plans for mass beta correction centers, facilities designed to process thousands of betas daily through mandatory vaccination programs. The sterile language masks genocidal intent, bureaucratic euphemisms concealing a horror that steals my breath.
“They’re planning forced exposure,” I whisper, horror building as I scan the documents. “Government contracts, international distribution channels... this isn’t just about creating a virus. It’s about deploying it globally. This is like the Death Star plans, only worse.”
“Download everything,” Finn orders, professional calm masking the fear I know he must feel. As a beta himself, this is his nightmare made manifest—systematic extermination of his kind, dressed up as public health initiative.
“Finn,” I say softly, hearing the subtle shift in his breathing as he absorbs what this means for us, for our designation.
“I know,” he responds, voice tight but steady. “We’re going to stop this, Cay. Together. Just get that data out.”
I copy the files with hands that want to shake but can’t afford to. “This is bigger than we thought. Sterling’s not just testing anymore. He’s ready to implement.”
“Cayenne, you need to move,” Theo cuts in urgently. “Security is regrouping. Second team entering from the north entrance.”
“Where are Ryker and Jinx?” I demand, disconnecting from the terminal and shouldering my pack. The weight of the data feels both literal and figurative—thousands of lives contained in digital form.
“Moving to intercept the second team,” Theo reports. “Extraction route compromised. You need to take the maintenance corridor, east exit.”
I slip into the hallway, heart pounding in a rhythm that feels too fast, too hard. The facility’s emergency lighting has activated, casting alternating patches of shadow and sickly red illumination. I move through them like a ghost, each step silent despite the adrenaline urging me to run. My senses sharpen to painful acuity—the metallic tang of recycled air, the faint scent of gunpowder, the barely perceptible vibration of distant conflict.
“Left at the next junction,” Finn guides, his voice a lifeline in my ear. “Maintenance access panel in the floor, twenty meters ahead.”
I find the panel exactly where he described, the metal grate lifting with surprising ease to reveal a service tunnel below. The drop is about eight feet, manageable with the parkour training Jinx drilled into me during endless rooftop sessions. My body remembers the lessons even as my mind races ahead to where he might be now.
“I’m in the maintenance tunnel,” I report, landing in a crouch that sends only minor complaints through my still-recovering body. The air down here is thick with dust and neglect, heavy with the scent of rust and stagnant water. “Which way?”
“Follow it east, approximately sixty meters,” Finn instructs. “There should be a ladder leading to an emergency exit.”
The tunnel is cramped and musty, forcing me into a half-crouch as I navigate by the dim light of my tactical flashlight. Pipes and conduits line the walls, carrying the facility’s lifeblood—water, electricity, data. I move as quickly as silence allows, counting off distances in my head. Spider webs brush against my face, invisible strands catching in my eyelashes, adding to the claustrophobic press of darkness.
“Ryker, Jinx, status?” I request, anxiety building with each moment of silence.
“Engaging,” comes Ryker’s terse reply, followed by what sounds distinctly like someone being thrown into a wall. “Proceed to extraction. We’ll be right behind you.”
“Define right behind,” I press, reaching the ladder Finn described. Metal rungs, cold and slightly slick beneath my gloved hands.
Jinx’s laugh carries through the comm, wild and slightly unhinged. “After I finish this little dance. These guys are fun, Glitch. Good training.”
“Jinx, damn it?—”
“Go,” Ryker orders, alpha command vibrating through the single syllable. “That’s an order, Cayenne. Get the data out.”
Conflict tears through me—mission parameters versus pack instinct, tactical necessity versus the need to protect my alphas. The data in my pack could save thousands of betas, could give Mona what she needs to perfect her vaccine. But leaving them behind feels like running a system without proper backup, like abandoning critical hardware to potential failure.
“Thirty seconds,” I compromise, already scaling the ladder. “Then I’m coming back for you. With or without a plan.”
“Stubborn wildcat,” Ryker mutters, but I catch the approval beneath his frustration.
The emergency exit opens onto an empty loading dock, the night air a shock after the tunnel’s stale warmth. Rain has started falling, fine droplets that seem to hover in the security lights like a spectral curtain. I scan for threats, finding none immediate, then move to the extraction point where our secondary vehicle waits.
“I’m at the vehicle,” I report, stowing my pack securely before checking weapons. “Finn, where are they?”
“Moving your direction,” he responds, relief evident. “They’ve disengaged and are proceeding through the west corridor.”
I watch the facility’s exit, counting seconds that feel like hours. Every instinct screams to go back in, to find them, to fight alongside them. But the data I’m carrying is too important, the risk too great. My fingers tap restless patterns against my thigh—binary for calm down, breathe, wait.
Just as I’m about to ignore orders and return for them, two shadows detach from the building’s darker edges. Ryker moves with his usual controlled precision, but there’s a hitch in his gait that suggests injury. Jinx follows, supporting what appears to be a dislocated shoulder but grinning like he’s had the time of his life.
Relief hits me like a successful system restore, knees almost buckling with the intensity of it. “About time,” I call softly as they reach me. “I was about to stage a very dramatic rescue.”
“Unnecessary,” Ryker responds, though his eyes warm slightly at the sight of me. “Though I appreciate the thought.”
“You okay?” I ask, noting the blood staining his tactical gear.
“Not mine,” he assures me, already moving to the driver’s side. “Jinx had fun.”
“So much fun,” Jinx agrees, sliding into the back seat with a wince that belies his cheerful tone. “We should do this more often. Team bonding and all that.”
“You’re insane,” I inform him, but there’s no heat in it. Just relief that we’re all together, all whole, all alive. My hand finds his knee, squeezing briefly—an uncharacteristic gesture of affection that surfaces before I can think better of it.
“Obviously,” he agrees, covering my hand with his for a moment. “It’s part of my charm.”
As Ryker drives us away from the facility—no lights, no speed, nothing to draw attention—the tension finally begins to ebb. In my backpack is data that could change everything. In my chest, the warmth of successful mission, of pack working in perfect synchronicity despite separation. Rain streaks the windows, blurring the world outside into an impressionist painting of shadows and distant lights.
“Finn, Theo, we’re clear,” Ryker reports. “ETA twenty minutes.”
“Copy that,” Finn responds, exhaustion evident now that the immediate danger has passed. “Theo’s already prepping medical for Jinx’s shoulder.”
“It’s fine,” Jinx protests half-heartedly. “Just a little dislocated.”
“A little dislocated is like a little pregnant,” I point out, turning to check his injury more thoroughly. The joint sits at an angle that makes my own shoulder ache in sympathy. “It either is or isn’t.”
“Fine, it’s completely dislocated,” he concedes with a dramatic sigh. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” I deadpan, turning to check his injury more thoroughly. “What happened?”
“Threw a guy through a door,” Jinx explains, as though this is perfectly reasonable behavior. “But he was heavier than expected. Physics and all that.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I inform him, but my hands are gentle as I help stabilize the injury for transport.
The drive back passes in comfortable silence, the adrenaline crash leaving us all in that strange liminal space between hyper-alertness and exhaustion. Despite Jinx’s injury and Ryker’s obvious frustration with him, there’s a sense of accomplishment humming between us—mission complete, data secured, pack intact. The rain intensifies, drumming on the roof in a soothing rhythm that matches the quiet certainty building in my chest.
“We did good,” I offer quietly as the mansion comes into view. “All of us.”
Ryker’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, something approving in his gaze. “Yes. We did.”
The simple acknowledgment carries more weight than flowery praise might have. We functioned as a unit tonight—separated physically but connected through purpose and trust. The realization settles warm in my chest, displacing some of the horror from what we discovered.
As we pull into the garage, Theo already waits at the door, worry and relief warring in his expression. Despite his obvious struggle with heat symptoms—skin flushed, eyes too bright, movements slightly unsteady—he’s there for us, for pack. Finn stands beside him, leaning heavily against the doorframe, face pale but determined. Beyond them, I catch a glimpse of Mona, pacing impatiently in the hallway, already anticipating the data we’ve brought.
“You should be resting,” I scold as we exit the vehicle, but there’s no heat in it.
“Like I could sleep while you three were playing commando,” Finn retorts, his smile tight but genuine. “Besides, someone had to keep Theo from climbing the walls.”
“I was perfectly calm,” Theo protests, though his scent carries notes of distress and lingering fear. His eyes scan each of us, cataloging injuries with the precision of someone too familiar with assessing damage. “Jinx, you’re an idiot.”
“Love you too, piccolo,” Jinx responds cheerfully, wincing as movement jostles his shoulder.
Before I can follow them inside, Jinx catches my hand, tugging me back into the shadows of the garage. His good arm loops around my waist, pulling me against him with surprising gentleness.
“You were worried,” he says, not a question but an observation, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
“Of course I was,” I admit, too drained for pretense. “You and Ryker playing hero while I stared at a download bar? Not my idea of a good time.”
His smile softens into something genuine rather than feral. “But we came back. Always will.”
“You better,” I mutter, focusing on the collar of his tactical gear rather than meeting his eyes. “Or I’ll have to hunt you down myself.”
“Now that,” he murmurs, tilting my chin up, “would be fun to see.”
Before I can respond, his mouth claims mine in a kiss that carries equal parts reassurance and promise—warm, solid, real. Not the chaotic hunger of our first encounter, but something deeper. When we break apart, his eyes hold mine, uncharacteristically serious.
“We’re pack, Glitch. The rules changed.”
“I know,” I whisper, the admission easier than expected.
His smile returns, the wildness I’ve come to expect from him sliding back into place. “Good. Now let’s get inside before Theo decides we both need medical attention.”