20. Hail
Hail
T he sight of my pottery barn’s destroyed interior hit me hard. I stood frozen in the doorway, unable to process the devastation spread out in front of me like a battlefield.
Everything I’d built, everything I’d created over months of careful work was gone.
Shelves that had once displayed my pottery lay overturned and broken, their contents smashed into glittering fragments across the floor.
Glazed pieces I’d spent weeks perfecting were reduced to colorful shards that crunched under my boots as I stepped inside.
The blue-green vase I’d been working on for Allie’s birthday next month lay in pieces near the overturned wheel.
Months of experimenting with that particular glaze combination, ruined.
The set of matching bowls that had taken me three attempts to get perfectly symmetrical had also been destroyed.
Even the simple practice pieces from Allie’s first lessons were scattered and broken.
I walked slowly through the room with Allie’s hand on my lower back, clenching my shirt, making my way to the back room with the kiln.
There, my knees nearly buckled. They’d taken hammers to it, cracking the firebox and destroying the heating elements I’d spent weeks calibrating.
The heart of my workspace, the tool that transformed clay shapes into art, lay in ruins like a wounded beast.
“Oh, Hail, I’m so sorry.” Allie’s voice sounded hollow behind me, thick with unshed tears.
I couldn’t speak. My throat had closed off entirely as I surveyed the wreckage of everything I’d worked for.
This barn had been my sanctuary, the place where I’d found my voice through art when words failed me.
Pottery wheels overturned, tools scattered and bent, clay trampled into the floorboards.
It would take months to rebuild, if I could even find the heart to try again.
The workshop I’d dreamed of since childhood, the space where Allie had learned to trust in creation again, reduced to rubble. They hadn’t just destroyed my pottery, they’d violated the sacred space where we’d built our love.
“This is my fault,” Allie said, her voice breaking as she stepped carefully through the debris. “All of this destruction, because of me.”
That snapped me out of my shock faster than a slap. I turned to see tears streaming down her face, her hands pressed to her mouth in horror. She looked so small standing among the wreckage, so fragile, like she might shatter into pieces to match my broken pottery.
“No.” I crossed to her in three quick strides, pottery crunching under my boots as I pulled her into my arms. “We don’t know who did this. It c-c-could be kids. Vandals.”
“It’s him. I know it. He’s sending a message.”
“Then this is Will Carmichael’s fault, not you-you-yours.”
“They wouldn’t be here if not for me.” Her words came out muffled against my shirt, her body trembling with suppressed sobs. “Your beautiful work, your art… It’s all destroyed because they’re hunting me.”
I held her tighter, my own pain forgotten in the face of hers. The pottery could be replaced, as could the kiln. But seeing her blame herself for this violation made my heart ache worse than any material loss.
“It’s just pottery, love. Clay and glaze. I can make more.”
Even as I said the words, they felt like lies.
Some of those pieces had taken weeks to perfect, glazes I’d experimented with for months to get exactly right.
The kiln alone represented years of careful planning.
But looking at Allie’s devastated expression, I meant every word.
No art was worth her safety, no creation more precious than her life.
“Just pottery?” She pulled back to stare at me in disbelief, tears still tracking down her cheeks. “Hail, this was your life’s work. Don’t try to minimize this for my sake.”
“You’re my life now,” I said simply, cupping her face. “Everything else is just…just things. Th-things can be replaced. You can’t.”
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, but she managed a watery smile that made my chest tight with love. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” I kissed her forehead, breathing in her scent to ground myself in what mattered most. “We’ll get through this.”
Tressa whined from the doorway, her ears flattened against her head as she took in the destruction. Even she could sense the wrongness of this, the way our safe haven had been turned into a crime scene.
We joined her, stroking her soft fur, keeping her from stepping inside and potentially hurting herself.
“They were looking for something,” Allie said, gesturing at the systematic way every storage area had been searched. “This wasn’t just random destruction.”
“You’re right.” I forced myself to look at the devastation with analytical eyes instead of emotional ones. “They pulled apart every hiding place, checked inside every container.”
“Is what they think I have truly worth all this?” Her voice carried exhaustion and frustration in equal measure.
“They’re g-g-getting desperate enough to take bigger risks.” I pulled her closer, needing the reassurance of her warmth against me. “Which means we’re winning, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
I immediately pulled out my phone and called Dungar. “The pot-pot-pottery barn’s been destroyed,” I said the moment he answered. “We need security sweeps around the entire area. N-n-now.”
“On it,” was his crisp reply. “Don’t move from where you are and lock your doors. I’m calling the others.”
Within minutes, the thunder of sorhox hooves approaching from multiple directions echoed around us.
Dungar appeared first, but instead of dismounting, he rode a wide perimeter around the barn while speaking rapidly into his phone.
“Greel, check the plain behind the building,” he called out as my brother arrived.
“Ostor, sweep Main Street and the alley. Tark, ride the north approach. Look for anyone watching, fresh tracks, anything out of place. Swing back to the west on your return. Ruugar? Take the east and southern sections.”
“What about us?” Allie asked, her voice tight as we remained by the doorway.
“We stay right here until they cl-clear the area,” I said, my hand moving instinctively toward my sword hilt. “If Will’s people are still around?—”
“They could be watching our reactions,” Allie said with a shake in her voice.
The next twenty minutes felt like hours as my brothers swept the surrounding area.
Finally, Dungar’s phone buzzed, and after a series of short conversations, he dismounted and approached us.
“Clear. No signs of anyone nearby, confirmed by Fernandez’s team.
Greel found tire tracks on the old logging road.
They were fresh, but several hours old. They’re gone, but they were definitely here. ”
Only then did we step fully into the ruined barn, Allie close behind me.
“Fates,” Dungar breathed, taking in the systematic destruction. “What a mess.”
“They were searching,” Allie said, her voice hollow. “When they didn’t find what they wanted…”
“They sent a message,” I said.
Dungar was already on his phone again. “Detective Fernandez? We need to accelerate the timeline. They’ve escalated.” He explained, but paused after, listening. “No, but they’ve shown they’re willing to cause problems in the heart of town. We need that trap set up immediately.”
As the other brothers arrived and confirmed the all-clear, Dungar finished the call.
He tucked his phone away and turned to us.
“We’re moving you both to my place within the hour.
This level of boldness means they’re getting desperate, and people like that take bigger risks.
We’re not leaving you exposed for another night. ”
“How dare they,” Ostor snarled, kicking a piece of shattered pottery. “Who destroys art like this?”
“Males with no respect for creation,” Greel said, his hands clenched into fists. “They’ll pay for this.”
“The ki-ki-kiln was custom-built,” I said. “It’ll take months to replace, if I can even find the same parts.”
“We’ll help you rebuild it,” Becken said, his voice brooking no argument. “Better than before. And we’ll add security measures to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“The whole family will help.” Ostor’s hand dropped onto my shoulder. “Whatever you need.”
The matter-of-fact way they talked about rebuilding, the automatic assumption that we’d restore everything, made my chest ache with gratitude.
This was what family meant, not just blood, but the people who stood with you when everything fell apart.
Who saw your dreams destroyed and immediately started planning to rebuild them bigger.
“Right now, we need to focus on our next moves.” Dungar brought us back to the immediate situation, explaining his plan to hide us until Detective Fernandez could be ready. “Hail, can you and Allie be packed and moved to my place within the hour?”
“I don’t have much to gather,” Allie said quietly, her fingers squeezing tight.
“Good.” Dungar was already moving into operational mode, taking over in his sheriff’s role. “Greel, ask around town. Find out if anyone saw anything suspicious.”
“On it.” Greel nodded, already heading for the door.
“Ostor, Tark—I want you two monitoring the road between Hail’s place and mine. I don’t want them seeing Allie and Hail going to his home or then on to mine. They must suspect we’re hiding her, but we can’t give away the secure location.”
“I’ve got just the right set-up for that.” Tark’s gaze met mine. “Remember that wagon I built?”
I nudged his shoulder. “Perfect.”
He strode toward the door. “Meet me out back in about twenty minutes.”
Allie’s concerned gaze met mine, and I leaned close, telling her about Tark’s false-bottom wagon he’d crafted with tourists in mind—for fake heists—and she gave me a wan smile.
“How can I help?” Becken asked.