15. The Guardian’s Price #4
Peck absorbs this, his young face reflecting the mental recalibration happening behind it. “And the disappearances I’ve been tracking—”
“Not victims,” Silas interrupts. “Survivors.”
Understanding dawns in Peck’s eyes. “All this time, I’ve been trying to solve what I thought were murders, but I’ve actually been tracking rescues.” He looks around at the destroyed library, the fallen barricade, and the blood-stained chair. “Until now. This is different.”
“Garrow’s escalating,” I confirm. “The ritual in the main hall is preparation for a sacrifice. One that apparently requires Silas’s blood.”
Peck’s hand moves instinctively back to his weapon, though he doesn’t draw it. “We need to get you both out of here. Now. I can’t officially arrest Garrow yet, not with how deep his influence runs, but I can at least get you to safety while we build a stronger case.”
Silas’s jaw sets with surprising firmness despite the pallor of his skin.
“We can’t leave,” he says, voice low but unwavering.
“If we run now, Garrow wins. Everything my family has protected for generations—” His knees buckle suddenly, and Peck lunges to his other side, helping me guide him into one of the few chairs still standing.
“You need medical attention,” Peck says, slipping a compact first aid kit from his utility belt. “I did two tours as a combat medic before joining the force. Let me at least patch you up enough to travel.”
Peck puts antiseptic on the cut above Silas’s eyebrow, his hands steady and practiced.
I hold gauze where Peck tells me, my fingers brushing Silas’s skin.
“Press here,” Peck says, guiding my hand to Silas’s ribs.
“Do you feel anything moving?” Our eyes meet over Silas, and in that moment, the three of us—cop, watcher, and me—become a team.
We’re in this together now, whether we like it or not.
We’re so focused on treating Silas’s wounds that we don’t immediately register the voices echoing from the foyer, not until they’re close enough for words to become distinct.
“—absolutely irresponsible!” Maeve’s familiar voice cuts through the air, sharp with barely contained fury. “You said you could handle this discreetly, not turn it into some, some vigilante operation!”
“Your cousin has a right to know what she’s inherited,” responds another voice—Dr. Rao’s measured tones carrying none of Maeve’s agitation. “And a right to choose how she responds. As do you, Maeve.”
Peck draws his weapon again, moving toward the door, but before he can reach it, the arguing women appear in the entrance. They stop abruptly at the tableau before them, Silas bloodied in the chair, me kneeling beside him with gauze and tape in hand, Peck with his gun half-raised.
Maeve’s perfect composure shatters completely. “What the hell—” She backs against the wall, eyes fixed on Silas with undisguised horror. “He’s real. You’re real. All this time, I thought she was—”
“Oh, boo-hoo, Maeve,” I snap, the words flying from me like shrapnel. My voice trembles with a week’s worth of accumulated rage. “You had me sedated. Committed. You don’t get to have revelations now.” Maeve’s hand flies to her mouth, her sentence dying unfinished as she shrinks against the wall.
When Dr. Rao reaches for Silas, I slap her hands away with such force that everyone freezes.
“You knew,” I hiss, my palm still stinging from the contact.
Her fingers hover in midair as our eyes lock.
After a moment, I step back, letting her continue her work, but my voice remains razor-sharp.
“You drugged me, let them take me, made me look crazy, and you knew the truth all along.”
“I did what was necessary to protect the network,” Dr. Rao responds, meeting my eyes directly. “If I’d confirmed your story, if I’d opposed Maeve’s plan to remove you, we’d all have been exposed. Including the three families currently hiding in the underground sanctuary.”
“Families?” Maeve whispers, sliding down the wall until she’s sitting on the floor, her perfect pantsuit collecting dust and splinters. “There are families living in the walls?”
“Not just in walls,” Dr. Rao continues, opening her medical bag to properly treat Silas’s wounds. “The estate has extensive underground chambers. I’ve been providing medical supplies for Silas’s rescue operations for almost a decade.”
“I don’t understand,” Maeve says, looking younger suddenly, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? All these years, I thought grandmother was losing her mind, thought Elara was following the same path—”
“Because you were compromised,” Silas says quietly, wincing as Dr. Rao applies antiseptic to his split lip. “Your law firm represents Garrow’s development companies. Your husband golfs with his brother every Sunday. You’re surrounded by his influence, whether you recognize it or not.”
Before Maeve can respond, the windows illuminate with sudden, harsh light, flashlights or spotlights surrounding the house. A voice booms through what must be a megaphone, the sound distorted but unmistakably Garrow’s:
“Elara Hale! We have the property surrounded. We know you’re harbouring fugitives and interfering with an official investigation. You have five minutes to surrender the property and all occupants, or we will be forced to take more dramatic measures.”
There’s a pause, then his voice continues, dropping to that silky, dangerous tone I remember too well: “I’d hate to see this historic building suffer another tragic fire, especially with so many people trapped inside. The loss would be… devastating to the community.”
The five of us exchange looks—Silas bloody but unbowed, Dr. Rao calm beside him, Peck’s hand on his weapon, Maeve still on the floor, and me in the centre of it all, Nora’s knife in my hand.
“What now?” Peck asks, peering cautiously through a gap in the tattered curtains at the gathering forces outside.
Silas’s eyes meet mine across the room, something passing between us that needs no words, trust, resolve, the unspoken acknowledgement that whatever comes next, we face it together.
“Now,” I say, slipping Nora’s knife back into my belt, “we remind Garrow why this house has survived every attempt to destroy it for over two hundred years. We show him what happens when you threaten the estate and everyone under its protection.”
I cross to Silas and help him stand, despite Dr. Rao's protests. His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with a grip that defies his weakened state.
“The house protects its own,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper only I can hear.
Outside, engines rev as vehicles position themselves around the property. Boots crunch on gravel as Garrow’s men prepare for whatever order comes next. The ancient walls of the estate seem to hold their breath, waiting for the confrontation generations in the making.
For the first time since I inherited this strange and frightening legacy, I feel like a real Hale—not just someone who ended up here by accident, but someone who belongs, with all the responsibility and strength that comes with it.