Chapter 42 #2
He reaches me and grips my shoulders, checking my face and my arms like he’s counting pieces. “I heard people say there was an explosion.”
“It wasn’t an explosion,” I say. “The building moved.” I turn and point. My arm feels heavy. “Marcus is still inside.”
Liam looks where I’m pointing. He doesn’t say anything.
Lights bloom across the site. Engines. Voices. Radios.
Max appears with the firefighters, already talking to them. They move toward the collapse, marking edges and testing the ground.
“There’s another access point,” someone says. “We’ll find it.”
“You stay here,” Max tells me. “With Liam.”
But I take a step forward anyway.
Liam’s arm comes around me firmly, stopping me without force. “No, Iris,” he says. “Stay.”
I don’t argue. I don’t have anything left for that.
I just stand there with my eyes fixed on the ground where Marcus went under. Blanket is pressed against my leg, Liam solid behind me.
Blanket is quiet now, but suddenly, he breaks away from my side and trots toward the far end of the site, his tail stiff, nose low.
“Blanket—” I run after him.
But the drug hasn’t finished with me yet, so everything feels a half-second delayed.
Still, I follow. Liam stays close, one hand hovering near my elbow without touching, as if he knows better than to steady something that might sway on its own.
He keeps up with Blanket, stopping once in a while to let me catch up.
Blanket slips into an alley between the buildings, the kind of space meant for dumpsters and nothing else.
Then, I hear voices.
Two of them.
The same cadence. Same pitch.
We stop short.
There are two men at the far end of the alley. They’re both tall, both broad-shouldered, and both in dark shirts and jeans. Both of them also have the same face.
They’re locked together, with one on his knees, and the other braced over him, his forearm cinched tightly at his throat. A gun is up.
My mind stalls. I look from one to the other, searching for a tell. Something. Anything. The alley light flattens everything, draining color and depth, and even when I catch small differences, they don’t resolve.
Was Marcus wearing sneakers or boots?
How dark were his jeans?
I can’t remember. Not now.
From this distance, I can’t feel Marcus’s hold. Can’t read him the way I always do.
Liam lifts his weapon. “Which one is Marcus, Iris?”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“I—I don’t know,” I mutter, hating the sound of it.
The man on the ground thrashes. “Take him down, Liam!” he yells. “It’s me!”
The one standing doesn’t raise his voice. “I’ve got him. Call the cops. Now.”
My heart stutters.
Both sound right.
Just then, Blanket breaks away from Liam. He crosses the space at an easy trot and stops beside the man who’s standing. Then, he presses in close and stays there.
Something in me lurches, but I still can’t call it.
The man on the ground moves again, and his hand disappears behind his back. Metal flashes.
Liam sees it and makes the decision. The shot is deafening in the narrow space.
Marcus reacts. He shoves Blanket back with one arm and turns his body sideways, shielding the dog. The man on the ground jerks, and the hold breaks. They separate in a rush of motion as the second gun skids across the concrete and comes to rest between them.
Marcus already has his weapon.
Drake doesn’t. He crawls for it anyway.
Marcus tracks him easily, his gun trained. One step would close the distance. One squeeze would end it.
But he doesn’t do any of it.
For a beat, he just watches.
Drake looks up at him. “Go on,” he says. “You always were better at finishing things.”
Marcus keeps the gun raised, but doesn’t advance. Doesn’t fire.
Drake drags himself forward, his fingers brushing the gun at last, hope flaring.
That’s when Liam shoots.
It hits clean. Drake’s reach is cut short, and he collapses where he is. The gun slips from Marcus’s hand and skids away.
Silence drops hard.
Marcus stands there, shaking now, his hands empty, his eyes fixed on the body at his feet. Blanket presses in close, solid against his leg.
I move, my breath coming too fast, my steps uneven. But the pull is undeniable. I cross the distance in seconds, then slow, stopping just short. I still need to be sure.
Liam is already there. But he doesn’t look at either man until both weapons are well out of reach.
Only then does he glance at me, though his gun is still raised.
I search Marcus’s face. His eyes lift to mine, relief knotted with fear.
He reaches for me and catches himself halfway, like he’s afraid contact might undo me.
So I close the last step.
My hands go to him. One at his throat, my fingers pressing against his skin and feeling the uneven jump of his pulse. The other braces against his ribs, counting breaths, weight, and heat. Familiar. Human. Marcus.
He exhales into me, and his arms come around like he’s holding something he almost lost.
I nod at Liam.
He’s real.
Liam exhales and finally lowers his weapon. Blanket presses against my legs again, his tail wagging now, the job done.
I bury my face into Marcus’s chest and breathe.
This time, I know exactly who I’m holding.
Marcus is shaking. I feel it through his shirt and through his bones and breaths. He’s upright, but only because I’m there.
Liam moves past us, and I hear him crouch. There’s a pause that stretches just long enough to settle into certainty.
Then Marcus speaks into my shoulder. “I couldn’t do it,” he says. The words scrape on the way out. “I had the shot. I just—” His voice fractures. “He was my brother.”
I shift my grip, one hand pressing firmly between his shoulders, the other anchoring at his back. Just enough pressure to keep him present.
“You didn’t freeze,” I say. “You saw him.”
That makes his breath hitch.
“You saw everything,” I continue. “And you stayed yourself.”
His head lifts slightly, like my words have interrupted the spiral.
“You don’t measure who you are by what you can destroy,” I say. “You never have.”
His hands tighten once at my waist. Then they ease.
Behind us, Liam speaks quietly. “Marcus, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I had to take the shot.”
Marcus nods without turning. “I know.”
Understanding doesn’t erase the impact. It just keeps it from spreading.
I rest my forehead against his. “You don’t have to carry this alone,” I say. “You don’t have to decide what it means tonight.”
His eyes close. He exhales, long and uneven, like his lungs are finally catching up with the moment. “Stay,” he whispers. “I won’t survive this without you.”
“I’m here,” I answer, simple and solid.
His breathing steadies against mine. The shaking doesn’t vanish, but it transforms into something calmer. Whatever his twin tried to tear open in him didn’t break.
He’s still here.
And I know how to hold him.