Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
SILAS
Penelope looks wrecked in the most beautiful way. Tired eyes, tight jaw, bravado hanging on by a thread. Talon looks like a kicked dog and a cornered wolf at the same time. Gideon looks like he is already five steps ahead and halfway into a legal argument and a tactical raid.
I feel all of it. In my chest. Under my skin.
“Okay,” Penelope says, rubbing her forehead. “I’m tapped. I need a shower and something that isn’t crisis-flavored coffee.”
Gideon softens. “Go. Clean up. Eat something if you can.”
She nods and slips off toward the bathroom, bare feet whispering across the hardwood.
Talon hesitates like he wants to follow, then aborts and heads for the balcony instead. He scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m gonna step outside. I need air.”
Gideon raises an eyebrow. “Do that. Don’t jump.”
Talon gives a half-hearted middle finger on his way out.
The moment the door shuts, Gideon turns toward the laptop on the table. He cracks his knuckles and sits, pulling the screen closer.
“I’ll keep digging,” he says. “There’s more in here than Abi ever intended someone else to see.”
That’s an understatement. The USB is like a pressure cooker just waiting for someone to tap it. Every file he opens feels like pulling teeth out of a corpse—ugly, necessary, and confirming everything we feared.
I slide into the chair beside him. “As you open them, I’ll read over your shoulder. We’ll split it, two sets of eyes are faster than one.”
He nods and starts typing, opening file after file. Clinic schedules. Administrative memos. Redacted notes. This place runs like a prison with better lighting.
Gideon pulls up a document. “This one’s new. Entered just yesterday.”
Student Evaluation Rotation – The student is to be brought to the clinic for yearly evaluation. Mother has suggested meds to help with memory. Pharmacist suggested Halcion or Sonata. Needs pat down and nurse escort to clinic.
My stomach tightens as I scan down the list. Then I see it.
Grant, Minxy S.
Annual Evaluation – Wednesday, 10:30 AM
Location: Riverview Medical Center (Off-Site)
Transport: Facility Van
Escort: Nurse Halloran
Three days. Three goddamn days.
I lean back, blowing out a slow breath. “That’s our window.”
Gideon taps the page. “Limited staff. Controlled environment. They like keeping this quiet.”
“Quiet is good for us,” I say. “Fewer variables.”
He clicks on a different file.
Incident Report – Restricted
Access Level 4
It loads with a lag, then opens.
Gideon whistles under his breath. “Well. That’s something.”
I read over his shoulder.
Unauthorized call attempt. Repeated stress speech. Witnessed incident—details withheld. Monitoring recommended. Possible extended stay. ‘Accident’ prone possibility.
Extended stay. Because Abi is scared she’ll tell someone what she saw? The question is, what did she see? And what does ‘accident’ prone possibility mean?
My mind instantly screams they’ll get rid of her permanently and claim it was an accident.
Something inside me coils. “We’re getting her out. Three days. No excuses.”
Gideon leans back, rubs his eyes once, then looks at me. “Walk me through your plan because I know you have one.”
That’s why we work. He digs. I strategize.
“Clinic day means fewer eyes,” I say. “We go and follow the vehicle they take her to the clinic in. Then we go in clean—credentials, cover story, something that doesn’t raise alarms. We walk her out the back exit.”
“And Talon?” he asks.
“He’s outside. In the car. First face Minxy sees. Then we stash her with Penelope until we figure out what Abi thinks or knows that Minx saw.”
He nods. “She’ll be good for her.”
“She’s good for all of us,” I say before I can pull it back.
Gideon smirks but keeps his mouth shut.
He pulls up one more file—building blueprints, already downloaded.
“I found an access point at the back of the clinic,” he says. “Emergency exit. No cameras on the outer wall.”
“That’s helpful.” I trace the route with my finger. “Two turns. Thirty-second walk. If she freezes up or the escort gets suspicious, that time doubles. So we have to make it clean.”
He nods. “Agreed.”
We’re still studying the map when Penelope returns.
Her hair is damp, face fresh, cheeks a little pink from the heat of the shower. She’s wearing one of Gideon’s shirts—dark blue, soft-looking, huge on her. It skims her thighs and makes her look like she walked straight out of my fantasies.
She pads closer. “Tell me you found something.”
“Sit,” I say, pulling out the chair beside me.
She sits.
Gideon swivels the screen. “They’re taking her to an off-site clinic for a yearly eval. Three days from now at ten thirty.”
She goes still. “That soon.”
“Yes,” I confirm. “Which means she’s in danger now.”
Penelope swallows. “Alright, walk me through it.”
I do. I explain the clinic. The emergency exit. The escort protocol. The evaluation language that makes my skin crawl.
By the time I finish, she’s breathing harder.
“And me?” she asks.
“You wait outside with Talon,” I say. “You’re the soft landing. He's a familiar face, the one who tells her she’s safe.”
She stiffens. “I can help inside.”
“You can,” I agree. “But we’re not entirely sure our recon is accurate. I’d feel better if it were me and Gideon. Plus, if no one sees you, they can’t ever link back that she’s hiding at your place.”
She hates it, but she also knows I’m right.
After a long moment, she exhales. “Fine. But you don’t get to be smug about it.”
Gideon murmurs, “He’s always smug.”
I ignore him.
Footsteps sound behind us—Talon returning from the balcony. His eyes are a little red, like he’s been trying not to break apart.
He looks at Penelope first, then at us.
He steps closer, bracing his hands on the table. “What do I do?”
Gideon answers before I can. “Stay quiet. Stay normal. Keep Abi from knowing you’re suspicious. That’s the biggest help right now. The day of, you sit in the car with Penelope and make sure she’s safe. We’ll get Minxy and bring her out. She’ll want to see you first.”
Talon nods, jaw clenched. “Okay.”
Penelope reaches out and touches his wrist. “Are you okay?”
He looks at her like she just placed a hand on his heart.
He doesn’t answer at first. Talon just stands there, staring at her hand on his wrist. His throat works once before any sound comes out.
“No,” he admits quietly. “I’m not okay. But I will be once she’s safe.”
Penelope’s expression softens. “You don’t have to pretend with us.”
He huffs a humorless laugh. “I’m not pretending. I’m just… holding it together long enough to be useful.”
Gideon leans back in his chair, studying him with that sharp, analytical stare. “You’re more than useful. You’re the reason she’ll walk out of that building alive. Don’t underestimate your place in this.”
Talon nods, but he doesn’t fully believe it yet. He pulls his wrist back slowly, careful not to be abrupt, and drags both hands through his hair. “I’m gonna grab a glass of water.” It’s an excuse, but none of us call him on it. He heads toward the kitchen, shoulders tight, breathing shaky.
Penelope watches him go, her face pinched with worry she’s trying hard not to show. “He looks like he’s unraveling.”
“He is,” I say. “He has every right to. But he’ll hold on for Minxy. That kid’s the only thing stronger than his panic.”
She nods, chewing on her bottom lip. “We all have someone we break for.”
Gideon stands, stretching his spine until it pops, then shuts the laptop gently, like he’s sealing bad news inside it. “We’ve got the plan. We’ve got the window. We’ve got three days to prepare.”
Talon returns with a glass of water, eyes slightly clearer. “What now?”
“Now,” I say, “we rest. We prepare. And when we walk into that clinic, we don’t flinch.”
He nods. “Okay.”
Penelope pushes her hair behind her ear, fingers trembling just barely. “Three days.”
“Three days,” I echo. “We make each of them count. Until then, we should eat.”
“Seconded,” Gideon says, folding his arms. “This place is running on caffeine and spite. One of those isn’t sustainable.”
Talon wipes his face with the heel of his hand. “I’m not hungry.”
“You don’t have to be,” I tell him, reaching for my phone. “You just have to eat something. Shock does weird shit to your body.”
He gives a humorless huff. “This isn’t shock.”
“Sure,” I say gently. “And I’m the Easter Bunny.”
His mouth twitches.
I scroll through the food apps, thumb hovering over menus. “Pizza? Thai? Something easy?”
Talon shrugs, defeated. “Whatever.”
“Thai it is,” I mutter, adding four entrées because I know Gideon will pretend he doesn’t want anything until he steals half my plate.
Talon leans back against the couch, tilting his head up like gravity just hit him all at once. “Three days,” he whispers to the ceiling. “Feels like a lifetime.”
“Or nothing,” I say. “Both at the same time.”
He nods, slow and miserable. “She’s just a kid. She didn’t deserve any of this.”
“No kid does.”
He swallows hard and presses the heel of his palm against his forehead. “I hate that Abi has her hands on her. I hate that Penelope got pulled into this. I hate that I even need your help.”
“You didn’t need help,” I correct. “You needed a team. There’s a difference.”
He breathes out, shaky. “Feels like I’m drowning.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “But you’ve got hands pulling you up now. You’re not alone.”
“You ordered?” Gideon asks.
“Thai.”
“Good,” he says. “If we’re going to plan a borderline illegal extraction, we’re doing it with spring rolls.”
I snort. Talon almost cracks a smile.
The tension in the room loosens—not gone, not even close—but shifting into something bearable.
The storm is still coming. We all feel it. But for the next hour, we get to breathe. Together.