Chapter 5 The War Room
Noah had coordinated dozens of operations for the family.
Pedophile rings. Human traffickers. Serial killers.
Mass murderers. They were all the same to him.
His job required a certain level of emotional distance, not from the targets, but from the assets.
His family. Every organized takedown meant sending someone he loved to go head-to-head with a monster.
Except tonight. Tonight, the odds were so stacked in their favor it felt almost like overkill. Literally.
The air in the war room hummed with low, mechanical life, the steady vibration of cooling fans and monitors, the faint tick of the timer on the far wall.
The glow from thirty screens painted everyone in flickering shades of blue and white.
Every sound carried through the comms: footsteps crunching on tile, muffled breathing, the crackle of distant static. It was part orchestra, part execution.
Some people might have found it ghoulish, hunting an old woman through the corridors of a home they all knew like the backs of their hands. But those people didn’t know Beverly Scott, or the years of psychological torture she’d inflicted on her own son simply because he’d had the audacity to live.
Anyone who did know Bev might say she was getting off easy. Noah had no idea what lay waiting for her at the end of this hunt—the hunt that would lead her to Aiden’s workshop—but he knew her death would be gruesome. And he knew he wouldn’t shed a single tear.
The same couldn’t be said for Zane. The man looked like he was trying not to come apart at the seams, grief sitting on him like a weighted vest. He paced tight circles around the war room while Felix hovered nearby like a human security blanket, steady, quiet, grounding.
Even tense, Zane moved like a caged animal, sharp shoulders, jaw flexing, hands clasped behind his neck as though physically holding himself together.
His eyes never strayed far from the main monitor, the red tracking dot that represented his mother creeping through the east wing.
Every time it shifted, his whole body went still.
Like he was waiting for the moment the dot stopped moving altogether.
Noah had never coordinated a hunt with over fifty people in such close quarters.
The mansion’s lower levels looked like something out of Panic Room, all reinforced steel and overlapping security grids.
The whole house felt sentient tonight, like it was holding its breath.
He was grateful that he had Calliope and Lola by his side tonight.
Calliope sat beside him, fingers flying over the keys like a concert pianist on a caffeine bender, her headset tilted just enough that he could hear the faint clatter of her gum chewing between keystrokes.
The main screen displayed the mansion’s blueprint, a grid of hallways and rooms rendered in stark digital blue.
A single floating red dot moved from hall to hall, Bev.
Thomas had tagged her earlier, slipping the tracker onto her when he’d oh-so-gently guided her into the ballroom.
Classic Thomas , smiling benevolence masking razor-sharp intent.
Even if she slipped through a camera blind spot, they’d still know exactly where she was.
“Where’s Dad?” Noah asked, never looking away from the monitors.
Calliope’s expression was equal parts dry and amused. “Where do you think?”
“In the nursery with his grandchildren and grandanimals?” he guessed, smirking.
“Affirmative,” Calliope said, a short laugh escaping her. “Shiloh and Arlo are in there too, keeping Ever, Cricket, and Charlie company.”
Noah could picture it, the chaos of toys, storybooks, and tiny monsters now in their Halloween pajamas. The stark contrast made his stomach twist. There was something obscene about innocence existing in the same house as a hunt.
“Dimitri’s hunting?” Noah asked Calliope.
“Of course,” she said. “Do you think he’d miss a chance to hunt with my permission? He’s with the murder muppets.”
“Are they all hunting in a pack?” Noah asked, leaning closer to the monitor, scanning for movement. He counted them off one by one. Arsen. Nico. Levi. Mal. Blips of motion flickered across the feeds like fireflies in the dark. “Where are the others?”
“Enzo and Seven are keeping watch in the workshop. Which I’m assuming is code for fucking on Aiden’s workbench,” Zane said, voice wobbling between humor and heartbreak.
“Okay, but where are Lake and Cree? Silas?” Noah asked.
Felix shrugged. “Silas said he couldn’t leave the shelter for Halloween weekend—things got too out of hand. I last saw Cree was deep in conversation with someone dressed as Deadpool and—”
Noah cut him off. “I know Lake’s here. I saw him. He and Cree are sitting out a hunt?”
“Nobody’s seen Lake since he arrived,” Felix said in that singsong, ‘I know something you don’t know’ tone that always preceded drama.
“What do you know?” Noah asked, narrowing his eyes.
Calliope grinned, sensing blood in the water. “Oh, yeah. Spill. Do we have dirt?”
Felix shrugged one delicate shoulder. “Well, I don’t know for certain, exactly. But rumor has it that Spiderman 2099 and an AU Spiderman were last seen heading upstairs…together. Potentially exploring a little crossover action.”
He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, jabbing the pointer finger from his other hand through it with a salacious look.
“Not sure if that’s kinky or narcissistic,” Noah said around a laugh.
“Oh, who’s playing the role of AU Spidey?” Lola asked from her position on the other side of Calliope, her voice rich and teasing.
Felix gave a sly grin. “Not sure. Didn’t get a look at him with his mask off.”
Noah frowned, the thought clicking into place like a lock turning. When the realization hit, he gasped so dramatically that even Zane startled. “Holy shit. I know who our Miles Morales is.”
They all turned toward him like he’d finally cracked under pressure.
“Good for you?” Calliope offered, lips twitching.
“No, Miles Morales,” he said, emphasizing the two words, waiting for them to connect the dots. When they didn’t, he rolled his eyes. “Miles Morales is the name of AU Spiderman,” Noah said, gesturing wildly.
“Do we know this Miles Morales?” Felix asked.
“Oh, my God. In the Spideyverse, this Spiderman’s name is Miles Morales, but tonight, the role of Miles is being played by someone with the same initials. M. M.”
When the room only stared blankly, he threw his hands up. “Matty Mulvaney! Lake just went upstairs to hook up with Aiden’s brother!”
For half a second, silence hung heavy, and then it cracked open like glass under pressure.
Zane let out a low whistle, breaking his tense pacing for the first time all night. “Oh, my God. Didn’t see that crossover coming.”
Felix smirked. “Guess we’re adding Spiderverse: The Mulvaney Cut to the family movie night lineup.”
Even Calliope snorted. The laughter didn’t last long, but for a brief moment, it broke the tension thick enough to choke on. It was the kind of humor soldiers made before the next firefight, quick, desperate, necessary. The calm before the next wave hit.
Zane shook his head. “On any other night, this would be the best dirt ever. Do you think they even know there’s an actual hunt happening?”
“I’m…verklempt,” Calliope whispered, pressing a hand dramatically to her chest, her other still flying over the keyboard. The gesture was pure theater, but her fingers never slowed, Noah just knew she could hack the Pentagon while quoting Steel Magnolias.
“Hello? I thought you wanted to do a second comms check?” Adam’s voice crackled through the headset, equal parts command and irritation.
Shit. Right. The thing. The game. No, hunt. The hunt.
Calliope had set up secondary channels for each couple, private frequencies so partners could keep tabs on each other even from opposite wings of the mansion.
The system glowed faintly green on her screen, every name pulsing with a color-coded heartbeat.
The war room looked like mission control for a space launch, rows of monitors, the faint hum of electronics, and enough blinking lights to make a Christmas tree jealous.
The air buzzed with caffeine, static, and adrenaline.
“Sorry, baby. We got…distracted,” Noah said, trying—and failing—to sound like a man who hadn’t just been gossiping during an operation.
Adam snorted. “What could possibly be more important than a bunch of murderers running through the house?”
“Matty and Lake are totally somewhere in the house hooking up,” Noah practically shouted into the mic.
A beat of static. Then: “And?”
Noah sucked his teeth. How did Adam of all people not understand the importance of such a discovery? “And they’re both dressed as alternate versions of Spider-Man.”
Another pause, heavy and incredulous.
“What? Shut the fuck up. Where are they?” Adam demanded.
Noah frowned. “I don’t know. I’m sure in Matty’s room?”
“Which is where?” Adam asked, voice dropping that half-octave that made the hairs on Noah’s neck rise.
He knew that tone, Adam was up to something.
“I have no idea,” Noah admitted. “Why?”
There was a sharp crackle, and then the primary comms channel came alive, Adam’s voice echoing through every headset across the estate.
“Okay, listen up, hunters. Side mission: somewhere in the mansion, two Spideys are getting busy. If you find them and get proof, I’ll give the first person to bring me evidence ten grand. ”
The response was instant chaos, laughter, cursing, the sound of boots pounding on tile as hunters changed course.
“Wait,” Aiden said over the comms, his voice half-shocked, half-delighted. “Wasn’t my brother dressed as Spider-Man?”
“Wait,” Arsen said. “Wasn’t our Lake also dressed like Spider-Man?”
“Holy shit,” Avi said. “Do you think they exchanged names or is it an anonymous hookup?”