Chapter 15
ADRIAN
The words on my screen were a gut punch.
I'm coming. Don't know how yet. But I'm coming.
I was out of bed before my brain had fully processed the command, my heart hammering against my ribs. I threw on the jeans and sweatshirt from the day before, my mind racing. He's doing it. He's actually doing it.
I quickly texted back, barely thinking about the words as I wrote them yet knowing in my heart they were true.
We're ready. Be safe. I love you.
I burst out of my room and into the dark, quiet living room. "He's running," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "Jesse's running. He's escaping. We need to go find him before they do."
The effect was instantaneous. A light flicked on. Phoenix sat bolt upright on the couch where they'd fallen asleep, their hair a chaotic mess. "What? Now?"
"I think he's still at his parents' house but he’ll be walking," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I pulled on my shoes. Diana emerged from her room, pulling a hoodie over her pyjamas. Andrew followed a moment later, already looking terrifyingly alert.
"Okay," Diana said, her voice taking on a field-general tone as she scooped her keys from the bowl by the door. "Logistics. Where are we going? Do we have a location?"
"Not yet. He said he'll send it when he's far enough away," I said, grabbing my jacket. "I'm going with you."
"Adrian, no." It was Elijah, his voice calm but firm as he stepped out of his room, fully dressed. He must have heard everything. "If his parents wake up and see you there, it pours gasoline on the whole fire. They'll call the cops and say you abducted him. You know that."
He was right—a month ago, I would have bulldozed through this argument with my usual stubbornness, turning it into a battle of wills.
But the icy dread in my stomach wasn't about being right anymore; it was about Jesse's safety.
So I swallowed my instinctive protest and met Elijah's gaze with something new—desperation, not defiance.
"I know the risks. But I can't stay here while he's out there alone.
Let me navigate. Let me be close enough that when he reaches us, the first face he sees is mine.
He went to me for help. After everything, he needs to see me first."
My plea hung in the air. I looked from face to face, willing them to understand. Diana hesitated, her keys dangling from her fingers.
Elijah held my gaze for a long moment, then gave a sharp nod. "Fine," he said, taking the keys from Diana's hand. "Then I'm driving. You're too worked up. You navigate."
Relief washed over me so fast it almost made me dizzy. "Thank you."
"You two go," Diana said. "Phoenix, make coffee. Andrew, stand by. We don't know what we'll need."
The short drive felt like an eternity. The streets were empty in the light drizzle coming down, bathed in the eerie orange glow of the streetlights. The world was asleep, oblivious to the war being waged in the dark. My phone lit up.
Think I'm on Willow Creek Rd. Near the old park.
Stay on Willow. We're five minutes out. Keep moving.
"He's on Willow," I told Elijah, not looking up from my phone.
Elijah didn't answer, his focus entirely on the road. He was a calm, steady presence in the eye of my personal hurricane.
A car just passed. Not you.
My heart seized. "Someone just drove past him."
"It's 5 AM, Adrian. People go to work," Elijah said, his voice even. "Just keep him talking."
It's okay. It's not them. Almost there. Can you see our headlights?
I scanned the darkness ahead, my eyes aching. Every shadow looked like a person. Every flicker of light was a possibility.
"There." Elijah's voice cut through my panic.
I looked up. And I saw him. A lone figure, half-hidden in the shadows of the sidewalk, limping badly with one leg dragging slightly.
Moonlight glinted off something wet and dark soaking through his jeans at the ankle.
He was wrapped in a thin jacket that was soaked through, his head on a swivel, looking terrified.
Elijah didn't slow down. He passed him, then quickly pulled over to the curb a hundred feet ahead, cutting the engine. "Go."
I threw the back door open before the car had fully stopped and jumped out. "Jesse!"
His head whipped around. In the dim light, I saw recognition flood his face, followed by a wave of relief so profound it seemed to buckle his knees. He stumbled forward as I ran to meet him.
"Window—" he gasped as I reached him, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "Had to—kick it out—"
I grabbed his arm, pulling him into me, my hand cradling the back of his head. He was shaking violently, his clothes damp and freezing cold. "I've got you," I whispered into his hair. "You're okay. I've got you."
I half-carried him to the car, noticing how he favoured his right leg.
As I bundled him into the backseat, the dome light revealed the damage—his jeans torn at the calf, blood streaking down to his sock.
He didn't let go, practically falling on top of me, his arms wrapping around my torso like a drowning man grabbing a life raft.
"First aid kit," I barked at Elijah, who reached under the passenger seat without hesitation. Jesse buried his face in my shoulder as I worked, his entire body shuddering with silent, ragged breaths while I tore open an alcohol wipe.
"This'll sting," I warned, but he barely flinched as I cleaned the jagged cut. His fingers dug into my sides like I might disappear if he loosened his grip. The wound wasn't deep, but it was messy—glass glittered in the blood when I angled his leg toward the light.
"Got it," I murmured, picking out the last fragment with tweezers before wrapping his calf in gauze. His skin was ice-cold under my hands. "You're safe now. I've got you."
Elijah pulled away from the curb smoothly, his eyes checking the rearview mirror once before focusing on the road home. Jesse didn't speak, just clung to me as the dark houses of his old life slid past the window and disappeared behind us, his bandaged leg resting across my lap.
He was here. He was safe. He was mine to protect. And we were taking him home.
JESSE
The key turned in the lock with a click that sounded unnaturally loud in the early morning hush.
I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered, the adrenaline crash leaving me weak-kneed and hollow.
Adrian's arm tightened around me—a solid, scorching band of heat along my shoulders—and for one delirious moment, I thought he might actually carry me.
I wouldn't have stopped him. Every point where our bodies connected—his chest against my back, his thigh brushing mine, the palm splayed across my ribs like he could will warmth into me through sheer stubbornness—felt like the only thing keeping me from dissolving into the cold early morning.
I pressed closer, shameless, my fingers twisting into his sweatshirt.
The fabric was damp from my clutching grip during the car ride, when I'd clung to him so tightly the seatbelt warning had chimed the whole way home.
I hadn't cared. Couldn't make myself let go.
Every shuddering breath I'd taken had been full of his scent—leather and bergamot and safety—and when he'd murmured "nearly there" against my temple, I'd felt the rumble of it in his chest like a second heartbeat.
Now he guided me inside, his body a sheltering wall between me and the world as the living room's warmth rushed over us.
I stumbled on the threshold—not from the limp, but because the sudden safety made my legs forget how to hold me.
Adrian caught me effortlessly, his arm sliding down to cinch around my waist. For one dizzying second, my forehead dropped to his shoulder.
His free hand came up, cupping the back of my neck through the clammy fabric of my jacket. Not guiding. Just holding. Claiming.
"Easy, take it one step at a time," he murmured. His lips brushed my ear—accidental or intentional, I didn't know, but the spark of it raced down my spine nevertheless. "We're home."
For a frozen second after we entered, no one moved.
I stood there, dripping on the floor, wrapped in Adrian's jacket like a piece of lost luggage, my phone buzzing incessantly in his hand.
Dad. Mom. Dad. Dad. The vibrations were a frantic, distant heartbeat of their rage.
Then, the fragile silence shattered into a storm of voices.
"Oh, hell no," Phoenix exclaimed, vaulting off the couch. "Adrian, what did they do to him?"
"Don't just stand there, he's freezing!" It was Diana, a whirlwind of motion. "Phoenix, get the blue blanket! Andrew, put the kettle on!"
Her voice was a sharp command cutting through the fog in my head.
A moment later, a massive, ridiculously soft blanket was being draped over me as I was practically carried onto the couch.
The world was a blur of frantic energy. Phoenix was pacing, ranting about glitter bombs being thrown through open windows in my parents' home.
Andrew was shouting back about legal statutes from the kitchen.
It wasn't anger directed at me. It wasn't judgment.
It was a bizarre, overwhelming, cacophonous wall of protection.
And it was all for me.
My throat felt thick. All my life, distress was met with cold silence, a slammed door, a whispered prayer for my corrupted soul. This... this was the opposite of silence.
Through the noise, a figure detached from the armchair. Sam moved with an unnerving quietness, a stark contrast to the room's frantic energy. They went to the kitchen and returned with a simple glass of water, holding it out to me.
I looked up at their face. Their expression was unreadable, but their eyes were steady. There was no pity in them, just a flat, knowing calm. It was the calm of someone who had stood on a similar cliff edge.
"Drink," they said, their voice low but clear, cutting through everything. "You're safe here, Jesse."