Chapter 68
Brooke
It’s been three days since the kids got here.
For three days, the house has echoed with quiet footsteps and doors that close too softly.
They stay in their room together like if they separate, something else will be taken from them.
They eat when I bring food to them. They shower when I remind them.
They don’t explore the house. They don’t ask questions. They don’t trust us.
I can’t blame them at all.
Ryan watches everything like he is storing information away for later use. Elise doesn’t talk much, but her eyes say enough. She studies us constantly, assessing and calculating, waiting for one of us to prove her instincts right. I can feel her suspicion even when she’s silent.
Seth and I wake up tangled together in the kind of sleep that only comes after too much adrenaline and not enough time to grieve.
His arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me close like I might vanish if he lets go.
For a few seconds, everything feels almost normal, which makes it worse when reality comes rushing back in.
The feeling fades quickly.
We get dressed without talking much. I tug on a tank top and jeans. Seth pulls on his shirt, and grabs his phone from the nightstand.
We walk into the living room and find Travis and Naomi on the couch.
They are sitting close to each other. Travis’ arm was slung behind her shoulder.
The space between them feels electric in a way that is hard to ignore.
Naomi’s top hangs half off her shoulder.
Travis looks rumpled and wide awake at the same time.
They both straighten when they see us, like they were caught doing something they weren’t supposed to.
“Morning,” Travis says, rubbing his neck.
I arch a brow at them. “You two okay?”
Naomi clears her throat before answering. “Yeah. Just… talking.”
Seth’s attention shifts past them toward the hallway. “Have you seen the kids?”
Travis shakes his head slowly. “Not for a few hours.”
Something tightens painfully in my chest, and my first instinct is to tell myself they’re fine. My second instinct is to stop lying to myself.
“They usually don’t come out without Brooke,” Naomi adds quickly. “I figured they were sleeping.”
Seth turns toward the hallway without another word. I fall into step beside him because I already feel the change in him, the way his shoulders set and his pace tightens.
He knocks on the door firmly. “Elise,” he calls. “Ryan.”
There’s no answer.
He knocks again, harder this time. “Hey. It’s Seth.”
Silence answers him again, and my pulse starts to climb. A cold wave moves through my body. He opens the door slowly, and everything inside me drops.
The room is empty.
The beds look untouched. There are no shoes by the door. There are no backpacks on the floor. The window remains locked from the inside.
“No. No, no, no.” I rush past him and check the bathroom. The bathroom is empty. I open the other room down the hall. That room is empty too.
We rush back into the living room. The security monitors glow in the corner of the living room.
Travis is at the keyboard within seconds, fingers moving fast and precise.
The footage rewinds, and the house feels like it is holding its breath with us.
Naomi stands behind the couch tense, like she is waiting for the moment the screen confirms our worst fear.
We all lean in. There they are.
It is early morning, an hour ago. Elise moves first. She has the keys in her hand, and the sight of that makes my stomach twist. Ryan follows her without hesitation. They pause at the door like she is listening for something beyond the walls, like she is checking for danger before she moves.
Then they're gone. The van backs out of the driveway and disappears down the road.
Seth slams his hand into the wall. “Fuck.”
I grab his arm before he can move again. “Hey. Hey. We can track them.”
He nods once, jaw tight and eyes already focused. His breathing is shallow, and his stare is locked on the screen.
“They won’t get far. I’m not losing them, not after everything.”
The tracker pings sharply on the screen.
Travis is already pulling up the live signal. Seth grabs a gun off the rack by the hall closet, checks it once, then shoves extra ammo into his pocket. I grab the keys and my phone, hands moving on muscle memory because my mind is too loud.
The sky is still dark when we climb into the Jeep. Seth drives without hesitation, hands tight on the wheel, shoulders set like he is bracing for impact. I watch the tracker like it might disappear if I blink. They are fifteen miles ahead of us, moving west.
The tracker leads us to a small grocery store just off the highway. The building looks worn down and half-forgotten, which makes sense because Elise wouldn’t choose a crowded store with cameras on every corner. She would choose somewhere quiet, somewhere that feels invisible.
Seth turns into the lot and pulls into the far corner without speaking, angling the Jeep so he can see the entrance clearly. The engine ticks as it cools. One of his hands rests on his thigh. The other looks empty, but I know the gun is within reach.
“They’re inside,” I say, watching the van parked crooked near the side of the building.
He nods once. “I see it.”
“I’ll go in.”
His eyes meet mine. “Two minutes. If something feels off, you get out.”
I nod and step out and cross the lot without hesitation. The automatic doors stall before sliding open. Inside, the air smells old and sour, like refrigerators that haven’t been serviced in years. The tile is cracked. The fluorescent lights hum overhead.
An older man sits behind the counter with a crossword book open in front of him. He glances at me once, then back at the page like he has seen every kind of trouble and decided none of it is his business. A scratched shotgun is mounted beneath the counter, within reach.
I spot Elise and Ryan near the snack aisle with a basket between them. A couple canned things. A bag of chips. A jar of peanut butter. Elise scans the aisles, shoulders tight, eyes moving. Ryan keeps grabbing whatever he can reach and dropping it into the basket without thinking.
Relief hits hard enough to make my vision blur for a second.
“Elise,” I say carefully. “Come on, we need to go.”
Ryan looks relieved. Elise doesn’t. Her jaw locks, her whole body going rigid like she has already decided I’m the problem she needs to get away from.
Then she runs.
“Help me!” she shouts as she sprints toward the counter. “This is the woman who kidnapped me!”
The clerk startles, knocking his stool back as he pushes to his feet. My stomach drops, not because of what she said, but because of what it could trigger. Police. FBI. Grant. A call that puts our faces on a screen. A mistake we don’t get to fix.
The front window explodes inward.
The clerk’s head snaps back as a bullet tears through it. He collapses instantly, blood spraying across the counter and the crossword book.
Elise screams.
“Get down now!” I shout.
Automatic fire rips through the storefront. Glass and shelves explode around us. The lights stutter, buzzing harder, and the noise drills straight into my skull.
I grab Ryan and shove him behind an aisle endcap. “Stay down. Both of you. Don't move.”
Elise drops beside him this time without arguing. Her hands clamp over his shoulders, pulling him down with her. It takes a dead man for her to listen.
Boots hit the tile inside the store.
Two masked men move through the shattered entrance. A third stays outside, firing in controlled bursts that keep us pinned. They don’t rush. They move like they know exactly what they’re here for.
I crawl toward the counter, keeping low, and reach behind it. My fingers close around the shotgun. It is old and heavy, but it is loaded.
“Keep down,” I whisper. “Stay low.”
The first masked man moves down the cereal aisle, weapon raised, checking each row with slow precision. I press myself flat against the tile in the next aisle over and wait until he passes.
Then I shift, aim low, and fire.
The blast tears through his shin. Bone gives out. He screams and drops hard, his rifle clattering across the tile and skidding out of reach. He drags himself forward, fingers slipping in his own blood as he reaches for it.
I pump the shotgun and rise into a crouch.
He keeps crawling, leaving a thick smear behind him. His breathing turns wet and uneven. The second man’s shadow cuts across the shelves a few aisles over, searching, closing in.
I step in behind the first one.
He stretches his fingers toward the rifle.
I fire.
The shot drives through his back at close range. His body jerks, then collapses over the weapon he never reaches.
The second masked man shouts and shifts position. The one outside keeps firing through the broken windows, glass still raining down in sharp bursts.
The second man inside charges down the opposite aisle, trying to flank me. I drop back behind a shelf and wait, forcing myself to breathe through the noise.
He steps into view between two displays.
I fire again.
The blast catches him high in the torso and throws him sideways into a rack of canned goods. Metal crashes. He doesn’t get back up.
Movement flashes at the entrance.
The last man pivots, trying to retreat. Seth appears in the doorway at the same time, gun already up, moving fast, locked in. The masked man turns toward him. For a second, the angle lines up wrong.
I fire first.
The shot hits him from the side and spins him into the doorframe. He drops hard and doesn’t move again.
Smoke hangs in the air. The clerk lies behind the counter, motionless. Blood spreads across the cracked tile. My arms start to shake as the adrenaline burns off, leaving everything cold and hollow. He didn’t deserve to die for a basket of chips and a panicked lie.
Seth steps inside, sweeping the store, gun still raised. He moves past the bodies, then slows.