Chapter Fifty-Four
I DIDN’T MEAN to fall asleep.
Didn’t even realize my eyes were closed until I woke up chokin’ on my own breath.
One arm was still stretched across the war room table, my cheek pressed against my cut like it was a pillow. Boots planted on the floor. The only light came from the red glow of the security monitors, castin’ the room in shades of blood. The fan overhead ticked like a metronome, steady, relentless.
My hand shot to my chest. Heart hammerin’. Like I’d been runnin’ through fire. The dream had started like it always did—soft. A woman’s voice. Humming. The faint lilt of a lullaby I couldn’t name.
The smell of Lavender soap.
A hand wipin’ blood from my face, gentle. “Don’t cry, baby. Don’t make a sound.”
Then a gun. Not held. Dropped. Red smeared on the handle. Red on the floor.
Red across a chest.
His chest.
My father’s, but the eyes weren’t open. I wanted to look closer, to see if he was breathin’, to know if the memory was real or just another nightmare. But before I could, somethin’ else ripped through me—
“Thunder.”
I jerked upright, a shudder tearing through my chest. My hand curled into a fist before my eyes found the doorway.
Mystic didn’t press me. He just handed me the file and kept walkin’, trustin’ I’d follow. That was the thing about brothers, you didn’t always need to ask the questions to know they were there.
But when he turned the corner, when the war room door shut behind me, I stopped.
Stood in the dark hallway, file clutched in my hand, heart still beatin’ too fast.
I dragged a palm down my face, breath shakin’. Sweat had gathered at my temples, cold now that the dream was gone. My shirt stuck damp against my back.
“Get it together,” I muttered under my breath, but the words didn’t stick, because I wasn’t sure I could.
The dream wasn’t just a dream anymore. Too raw. Too real. The smell of smoke still clung to the back of my throat, stingin’ like it had never left. The sound of that gun hittin’ the floor rang in my ears, clear as the tick of the fan overhead.
And my father’s face—slack, empty.
I swallowed hard. My throat felt raw.
There was a hole inside me, carved out the night we ran. A hole I’d kept buried under muscle, under scars, under this patch on my back. But now it was crackin’ wide open.
And I was afraid.
Afraid of what I’d see if the dreams kept comin’.
Afraid of what I’d run from.
Afraid of what I hadn’t.
I shoved the thought down, hard, the way I’d always done. Tucked it behind steel and fury, behind The Devil’s House name, but the fear stayed, heavy as lead in my gut.
I was rememberin’.
And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
***
I WAS STILL elbow-deep in the files Mystic had brought me when Devil came in the room.
He didn’t speak right off. Just walked over with that deliberate weight of his and dropped an envelope on the table in front of me. The sound of it hittin’ the wood was too loud, too heavy, like a weapon laid down in plain sight.
No markings.
No stamp.
No scent.
Just one word on the front in stiff, clean letters: Zeke.
The sight of it punched my chest. My heart thudded once, caught between the sharp edge of hope and the kind of suspicion that settles deep and don’t ever let go.
I reached for it. Inside was one sheet of paper.
I know where they are. I can help you get them out.
Come alone. Midnight. Old grain mill outside of Hollow Creek.
Bring no one. Trust no one.
I read it once.
Then again.
Then a third time, lettin’ the words burn into me until they felt carved into the back of my eyes.
“Who brought it?” My voice came out low, nearly a growl.
“Prospect found it sitting in the drop box out front,” Devil said. “Said it was just there when he checked. No one saw who left it.”
Course they didn’t. Ghosts don’t knock. They slip in, leave their mark, and vanish like they never touched the ground.
Chain’s voice came from behind me. “It’s a setup. Gotta be.”
“Or it’s the only goddamn breadcrumb we’ve got,” I snapped, frustration crackin’ through before I could leash it.
Devil leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes hard as stone. “If you go,” he said evenly, “you don’t go alone. We scout it. Shadow it. You wear a wire.”
“No.” I pushed up straight, the air burnin’ in my chest. “If they’re real—if they’re tryin’ to help—one whiff of backup and they’ll vanish before I take two steps through that door. I ain’t riskin’ that.”
Bolt stepped in, voice harsh. “So you’ll risk yourself for the mission?”
I turned, jaw clenched tight enough to crack.
“I’ll risk whatever the hell it takes to bring ’em home.”
The silence that followed was thick, heavy, like even the air was holdin’ its breath.
Then Devil gave one short nod. Final. “You go. We shadow. That’s final.”
That was all it took.
The room shifted.
Gatsby was already movin’, pullin’ wires from the drawer, settin’ up the mic with quick, precise hands.
Mystic rolled out maps across the table, mutterin’ about blind spots and angles, markin’ ways in that didn’t involve the front gate.
Chain stood silent, strapped up, rifle in hand, eyes already on the door like he could see the fight comin’.
But me?
I couldn’t stop starin’ at that letter. My fingers curled around it so tight the paper crumpled at the edges.
I wasn’t thinkin’ about wires or maps or backup.
I was thinkin’ about Sable.
About the fire she was livin’ through right now. About the cold in her voice when she realized I hadn’t been there to stop it. About Malik tryin’ to be brave for his sister. About Zara cryin’ for me when I never came. About my sweet momma and how helpless she must feel.
I pressed the letter flat against the table, breath draggin’ through my teeth, fury burnin’ hot in my gut.
I’m comin’, darlin’. The words tore through me like a vow. You hold on. Don’t you let him break you. Not again. Just a little longer, Sable. I’ll burn the world down before I let him keep you.
And Momma—rest easy I’m comin’—and don’t try and fight ‘em like I know you want too.
Then Malik. Stubborn and strong. You keep protectin’ your sister. You keep your chin up, no matter how dark it gets. I’m comin’ for you, son. You hear me?
And Zara. Sweet Zara with her big eyes and brave little heart. I know you’ve been cryin’ for me. I know you think I ain’t comin’. But you hold on, sweetie.
My fist curled around the letter, the edges cuttin’ into my palm. Rage roared through me, but beneath it was love. The kind that claws. The kind that bleeds. The kind that don’t quit.
They took my family.
And I’d die before I let it end that way.
No setup, no ambush, no trap in the shadows was gonna stop me.
I was comin’.
And whoever stood in my way was gonna burn.