Chapter 67
Brooke
Naomi and I lead the kids down the hallway of the house. Elise walks behind us stiffly, her jaw tight, her arms crossed. Ryan trails behind, clutching the strap of his backpack like it’s the only thing anchoring him. Neither of them has said much since we got here.
“Okay,” I keep my voice soft. “So this is your room. There’s another across the hall, whichever one you want to sleep in is fine. We’ve got extra hoodies and sweatpants. It’s nothing fancy, but they’re clean. Hopefully they’ll fit.”
Elise says nothing.
“If you need anything,” Naomi adds, standing beside me, “seriously, just ask. Food, blankets, toothpaste. Whatever.”
Still nothing. Elise glances around the room like she’s trying to find possible exits. Ryan sits slowly on the edge of the bed, his eyes distant.
“You’re safe now,” I add. “We promise.”
Elise blinks at me, but the rest of her face doesn’t move.
Naomi shifts uncomfortably.
“Well. We’ll give you guys a minute to get settled,” I force a small smile that no one returns.
We step back and leave them in the room, the door clicking shut behind us. As soon as we’re out of earshot, Naomi exhales like she’s been holding her breath since we left the car.
“Jesus,” she mutters. “They’re so shook.”
“I know.”
“I’m shook. I still can’t believe I just participated in a kidnapping. At a high school. On TikTok Live.”
I turn to her. “Wait, was it actually live?”
She makes a face. “No. I just recorded it. But still. That footage exists. It could be evidence.”
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “This is so fucking crazy.”
Naomi nods grimly. “Yup.”
“But if you hadn’t done what you did, those kids would be dead right now. You saved them.”
She glances at me, quieter now. “Yeah, thanks.”
I arch a brow. “So was it for the kids, or was it for Travis?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
“I mean, you did cross state lines and commit a felony. Just wondering if Travis asked you nicely or if it was more of a ‘whatever you need, I’m yours’ kind of vibe.”
She stutters and blushes instantly, looking away.
I grin. “It’s okay. If you two are… you know.”
She fidgets. “We’re taking things slow. I don’t even know what this is yet. I mean, are we just trauma bonding? Or is it real? I don’t know. Surviving a massacre together does weird things to your brain.”
I nod. “Trust me, I get it.”
Naomi’s voice softens. “He’s the only one who protected me at the hotel. Everyone else was screaming or running or just… dying. But Travis stayed.”
“Travis is a great guy,” I glance toward the hallway. “He deserves the best.”
She smiles faintly. “Yeah.”
Footsteps echo down the hallway before either of us can say more. Travis rounds the corner, still in his hoodie, dark circles under his eyes but more grounded than earlier.
“How are the kids?” he asks.
“As good as can be,” I rub the back of my neck. “They’re quiet.”
He nods like he expected that. Then his gaze slides to Naomi. “Can we talk? Somewhere private?”
“Sure.” She pushes away from the wall and moves toward him without hesitation.
I watch them disappear down the hall together, and something in my chest softens.
Travis is the only person who’s never left me.
When the world exploded after Stratford, he stayed.
When it got worse at Everspring, when people we trusted turned on us, when Uncle John betrayed me and Mary covered it up, he was still there.
Not just watching my back. Fighting beside me. Protecting people. Surviving.
And now here he is, trying to let someone in. It feels like hope. A weird, tentative kind.
He deserves that.
I walk down the hall to the bedroom.
I find Seth in the dark.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced tight like he’s holding himself together with tension alone. His head hangs low.
“Seth?”
He doesn’t lift his head.
I shut the door gently and step closer. My chest is already tight. I know that look on him.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He exhales like the breath has been trapped in his ribs for hours. “I don’t even know how to answer that.”
I sit beside him. I just look at him. His hands. His jaw. The faint bloodstain still on his shirt collar. I don’t know how to fix this, but I know I need him to know he’s not failing.
“You’ve been a better brother to them in one day than most people manage in a lifetime,” I lean my head on his shoulder. “You got them out. You kept them breathing. You protected them, even when they didn’t know they needed it.”
He lets out a quiet sigh.
I look down. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
His fingers twitch once, like he wants to believe me but can’t. “Then why does it feel like it?”
I could tell him it’s survivor’s guilt. That grief scrapes the inside of you raw and leaves nothing behind but blame. But he knows that already. And he’s not just grieving the people he lost. He’s grieving the life he never got.
I reach for the chain around his neck. His hand stills for a second when my fingers brush the vial, like the contact pulls him out of whatever he’s stuck in. The small glass rests warm against his skin, the darkened chain worn from never leaving his neck. My blood.
“I love that you never take this off,” I whisper.
His jaw tightens slightly. “They tried to take it when they brought me into the hospital. I almost tore the place apart trying to get it back.”
I look back down at it, my fingers steady around the glass. “When I drew my blood, I didn’t know it yet. But I was already pregnant.”
He goes completely still.
I lift my eyes to his. “So that’s me. And our baby. Both of us. Right there.”
He raises the vial slowly, holding it between his fingers. His thumb drags over its surface in a slow, absent motion, like he needs the contact to keep from spiraling.
“That was the only thing I thought about when I was bleeding out in that hotel. When I could barely see or breathe or move. This. You. Our baby. It was the only thing that kept me alive.”
I press my lips to his shoulder.
“I’m glad you made it back to me,” I whisper.
“I just don’t know what to do now.”
“You keep going,” I press my hand against his chest. “With me.”
But part of me still hurts. Something inside me still bleeds quietly where no one can see.
I draw in a breath and let it out slowly before the words start.
“They told me you were dead.”
Seth turns toward me.
The memory hits before I can stop it. Elliot standing there in the manor, his voice calm when he said it. Seth’s dead. The floor tilting beneath me. My lungs locking. My body collapsing before I even understood what was happening.
Then the basement.
My stomach twisting in sharp waves that stole the air from my chest. Blood soaking through my dress while panic tore through me because I thought I was going to die in that place.
And worse than that, I knew the baby was dying with me.
“I didn’t believe them at first. But when I did, when I believed you were gone, I wanted to die.”
Seth’s eyes don’t leave mine, but something changes in them.
“I didn’t think I wanted to be a mom,” I admit. “Not before.”
I glance down for a second, my fingers tightening around the edge of his shirt, then force myself to keep going. My throat tightens.
“But after I thought you were gone, the baby was the only piece of you I had left. The only thing I could protect.”
I shake my head.
“I fought so hard to keep it safe. I did everything I could.” My voice cracks. “But it wasn’t enough.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. I blink them back hard, but one slips free anyway. I wipe it away quickly.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Seth goes still beside me. For a moment he just stares at the ground. He reaches for me, pulling me into him until my face presses against his chest.
“That’s not your fault,” he says quietly. “It was mine.”
I look up at him.
“I should’ve never taken you to that hotel,” he continues. “We should’ve left the country the second I knew that PI was on us. I should’ve gotten you out before any of this started.”
His voice drops lower.
“All of it is my fault.”
I shake my head immediately.
“No, it wasn’t your fault, Seth.”
I draw in a slow breath.
“I think the world is just a fucked up place,” I tell him. “And we keep getting fucked by it.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, but the guilt doesn’t leave his eyes.
I reach into my hoodie pocket and pull out my phone.
“There’s this song. I play it when I think about the baby. It makes it hurt a little less.”
I open Spotify and queue the track.
“Sienna.”
The soft intro fills the quiet around us.
“I didn’t want to forget,” I whisper. “So I gave it a song. Something to hold onto.”
Seth watches me place the phone between us and let the music play low. He closes his eyes. For the first time in hours, maybe days, he takes a full breath.
I lean my head against his shoulder. His hand closes around mine.
And the music does the crying for us.