Chapter Eighteen #3
We see you.
Whatever you want, make it count.
The cursor blinks. For a long agonizing moment, nothing happens. The house hums around us—the fridge kicks on with a low mechanical growl, and somewhere down the hall, a pipe ticks as it cools. Then the screen updates.
Bold.
Confidence suits you.
Lila, who had silently crept into the doorway at some point, mutters, “If that thing starts typing ‘seven days’ next, I’m burning the whole laptop.”
Kiera doesn’t smile, her voice almost clinical. “They’re testing us.”
Cam nods, slowly. “Seeing if we’ll escalate.”
“We’re just matching them,” I say. A new message appears.
You’re protecting her now.
That’s new.
My grip tightens before I can stop it. Kiera feels it, but she doesn't pull away. Cam swears under his breath. “They’re watching in real time.”
“No.” My voice drops. “They’re guessing. They have to be.”
Kiera leans forward, eyes sharp. “Reply again.”
Cam hesitates. “Ki…”
“Trust me.” She says. I meet her gaze. Whatever’s in her eyes isn’t panic. Cam types slower this time.
You’re confusing proximity with control.
That’s a mistake.
The reply comes faster now. Too fast.
Is it?
Basements make excellent teachers.
The air drops out of the room. Lila goes still. “Okay. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Kiera doesn’t flinch. But I feel the shift in her beside me, the way her spine straightens like she’s bracing against something invisible. I lean closer, my voice low. “I’m not sure, but we don’t answer that.”
Cam nods immediately. “Agreed.”
Kiera studies the screen for a long time. Then she exhales, slowly and in control. “They wanted a reaction. They don’t get one.”
Cam closes the laptop halfway. “But we log everything,” he says. “Every keystroke. Every delay. Every word.”
Kiera looks up at me, something fierce and steady in her expression. “We keep tabs on it all. They think they’re ahead, but they’re playing our game.”
I brush my thumb once over her knuckles. “Let them.” Behind us, the laptop screen flickers one last time before Cam snaps it fully shut. Whatever just reached for us didn’t get what it wanted. Now we wait for the other shoe to drop.”
Cam pushes back from the table and rubs his face. “I need to set up new alarms for everything. If they ping again, I want it screaming.”
Kiera glances at me. “We’re out of food anyway.”
I catch the look in her eyes. A quiet ask for space without distance. “We’ll go,” I say. “Grocery run. Fifteen minutes. Twenty, max.”
Cam raises an eyebrow. “You sure that’s wise?”
“They already know we’re awake,” I reply. “Might as well act human.”
Kiera snorts softly. “Dangerous strategy.”
“Well, no one ever got anywhere playing it safe,” I say, grabbing my keys.
The truck ride is quiet at first. The kind of silence that doesn’t necessarily need to be filled. Kiera stares out the window, knees bouncing faintly, mind clearly still moving faster than traffic. “You okay?” I ask, looking over at her quickly.
She hums. “Define okay.”
“Still breathing. Not dissociating. Thinking about groceries instead of basements.”
“Barely,” she huffs.
I pull into the parking lot and cut the engine. “We don’t have to do this.”
Kiera turns in her seat, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “No. I want to. If I sit still right now, my brain is going to turn on itself.”
A corner of my mouth lifts. “I get it. Let’s go then.” I slide out of the seat, walking around the front of the car. Kiera, surprisingly, sits in the passenger seat until I open the door this time. “Mmm,” I hum, low and rough. “Doing what you’re told this time. Good girl.”
Kiera gets out, slow and deliberate. Her shoulder brushes mine as she passes, close enough to feel the heat, but her eyes are fixed forward as she heads toward the entrance to the grocery store. “Don't get used to it.”
Inside the store, fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and pop shit is playing softly through their speakers. Kiera grabs a cart and immediately veers toward produce. “If Cam eats like this,” she mutters, tossing kale in, “no wonder he’s constantly on edge.”
“I survive on caffeine,” I say. “He’s doing better than I am.”
We move aisle by aisle, getting essentials: bread, milk, eggs, toilet paper.
Things neither of us comments on because talking about milk brands feels oddly intimate after everything else.
I catch her watching couples pass by. Normal couples having playful arguments, kids begging for cereal. “You miss it?” I ask quietly.
Kiera looks at me, considering the question. “I don’t know if I ever had it.” That fucking lands heavier than it should. The same answer I would give if asked.
We reach the freezer section. She pauses, staring at the doors as if they might bite. “Hey,” I say softly.
She shakes it off. “Sorry, cold air. Brain glitch.”
I step closer without touching her. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”
She smirks, the playful look back. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning to.” She grabs a box of frozen pizza and tosses it in the cart. “Emergency food.”
“Excellent choice,” I say. “Good snack for late-night fuel.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous and need to eat better.”
“And yet,” I reply, leaning in just enough for her to hear, “you came with me.” Her cheeks warm.
At checkout, she insists on paying. I let her. Not because I couldn’t or really wanted to let her. But because she needs normalcy, to feel like she still has some say in something. Back in the truck, bags rustling between us, she exhales long and slow. “That helped. I needed the breather.”
“Good,” I say. “Because we’re probably not going to get more of it for a bit.”
She glances over, softer now. “Thanks for not treating me like glass.”
I meet her gaze. “You’re not fragile, Thorn. You’re sharp. People just keep grabbing you wrong.” Something unspoken passes between us. Understanding. I start the engine and pull back onto the road, a war waiting at home.
The house feels wrong the second we step inside, like we interrupted something.
I set the grocery bags down slowly, scanning the space like my body already knows what my brain hasn’t caught up to yet.
The living room is untouched. No laptops or half-drunk coffee lying around.
No Cam-shaped chaos humming through the walls.
Kiera stops beside me, voice rising with panic.
“Where are Cam and Lila?” I don’t answer right away, listening.
The silence isn’t peaceful. It’s scraped clean.
“They would’ve said something if they left,” she continues, quieter now.
“Lila doesn’t just disappear.” I move into the kitchen.
The table’s clear. Chairs pushed in. One mug overturned near the sink, coffee dried dark against the counter as if it had been knocked over in a hurry.
My phone buzzes. My stomach drops before I even open it.
Unknown number: You came back sooner
than expected.
Kiera’s watching my face. “Sterling,” she says, so lightly it's almost a whisper. I open the message.
Unknown number: They were cooperative.
That made it easier.
My jaw clenches. Anger, building up until it feels like my chest is about to explode. Another vibration.
Unknown number: You’re going to want
to listen carefully now.
I don’t respond, refusing to give them the reaction they want. Kiera reaches for my arm. “What is it?”
“They fucking took them,” I say flatly. Saying it out loud makes it real. Makes the air feel thinner. “They fucking took Cam and Lila.”
Kiera’s breath catches, sharp and quick. “No. Cam would’ve…”
“He didn’t have time.” I scan the room again, seeing it clearly now. The missing gear. The cleared drives. The way the house feels staged. “They wanted us gone. They waited until we were the most vulnerable.” My phone buzzes again.
Unknown number: Don’t try to find them
yet. You won’t like what it costs.
Kiera’s hands curl into fists. “Who?” I look at the screen.
Unknown: Someone who remembers
basements.
The word hits wrong. Too deliberate. Too personal. Kiera goes still beside me, looking over my shoulder at my phone. She locks down any bit of emotion. “Someone is listening.” I turn to her, voice low, steady.
“They picked the wrong people,” she says.
I nod, agreeing. “They did.” Another message comes in.
Unknown: You’ll hear from us soon.
Do not contact Wade.
Do not run your program.
And don’t pretend you’re in control.
I slip the phone into my pocket and step closer to Kiera, grounding us both in the same space. “We don’t do anything stupid,” I tell her. “We don’t rush. We don’t panic.”
She looks up at me, eyes dark and focused. “We get them back.”
“Yes,” I say. “But we do it our way.” The house creaks softly around us, like it’s holding its breath. Whoever took Cam and Lila didn’t come for chaos; they came prepared. And now they’re waiting to see what we’re willing to break.