Chapter 69
Brooke
Four weeks later, the house doesn’t feel like it's holding its breath anymore.
I’m in the kitchen with a mug that has gone cold in my hands, listening to the soft scratch of pencil against paper drifting in from the living room.
Elise is sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, sketchpad balanced on her knees.
One leg is tucked beneath her, the other bent, foot flat on the rug.
Her shoulders are pitched forward with concentration.
She presses too hard when she draws. I notice that early on.
The graphite smears under the side of her hand, darkening parts of the page she probably doesn’t intend to shade.
Seth stops when he sees her.
He doesn’t announce himself or comment right away. He just stands there, quiet, watching the movement of her hand like he is studying a mechanism rather than a picture.
After a few seconds, he clears his throat.
“You using an H for that?” he asks.
Elise stiffens, but she doesn't look up. “Yeah.”
“That explains it,” he points to the pencil beside her sketchbook. “It’s going to look flat unless you compensate with pressure. Try a 2B.”
She finally glances at him, suspicious and assessing. The same look she gave me during the first week. Then she reaches into the pencil case, fingers lingering for a second, and switches pencils.
Seth sits on the edge of the coffee table instead of the couch. He doesn’t crowd her. He doesn’t hover. I didn’t realize how much that matters until I feel my chest ease watching it.
“You’re still pressing too hard.”
Elise bristles. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he replies calmly. “You’re digging into the paper instead of letting the graphite do the work.”
She glares at him, jaw tight, then looks back down. Her grip loosens anyway. The line softens.
She doesn’t comment on the difference, but I can tell she notices it.
“What are you drawing?” he asks, not demanding, not prying. Curious in a way that doesn't feel invasive.
She hesitates. Then she tilts the sketchpad just enough that I can see it from the kitchen.
It’s Samantha.
Seth exhales under his breath.
“That looks just like her,” he says.
Elise’s voice is careful. “I know.”
He shifts, crouching so he is level with her instead of above her. His hands rest loose on his knees.
“I used to sketch in class when I was a kid. Drove my teachers crazy.”
Her eyes flick up. “You draw?”
“I did…Before everything else. Then it turned into tattooing.”
Her forehead creases. “You’re a tattoo artist?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “Turns out people are a lot less mad when you draw on their skin if they asked you to.”
That earns a small sound from her, halfway between a scoff and a laugh. She catches herself and looks back down at the page like it slipped out by accident.
“Mom used to draw too,” she says after a moment. “She said it helped her think when her head got loud.”
Seth’s gaze shifts to her hands, to the way she’s pressing the pencil harder than she needs to. He nods once. “Yeah. That sounds right.”
Elise hesitates, then glances up at him. “She used to draw pictures of you, too. When you were little. She kept them up in her art room.”
Something tightens in Seth’s expression, small but there. He doesn’t look away. “She did?”
Elise nods, then drops her eyes back to the page like she said more than she meant to. She doesn’t start over this time. She keeps going, adding detail, darkening lines, building on what’s already there instead of erasing it.
I lean against the counter and watch them both. Nothing is being fixed here. No one is saving anyone. But something is starting to take shape anyway, quiet and real, without anyone forcing it.
At the table, Ryan sits shoulder to shoulder with Travis. The laptop screen throws pale light across Ryan’s face, reflecting in his eyes as lines of code scroll past. It might as well be another language to me, but to him it looks like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
Travis doesn’t rush him. He explains each step for Ryan to follow.
“So if I change this,” Ryan asks quietly, pointing with one careful finger, “it reroutes the request?”
“Yeah,” Travis replies. “You’re not forcing your way in. You’re just telling it to knock somewhere else.”
Ryan nods, absorbing that. He leans closer, reading every line twice before touching the keyboard. His fingers hover for a second, then he types, like he is afraid the wrong keystroke might break the whole thing. The screen refreshes. A new window opens.
Ryan’s shoulders lift just slightly. “It worked.”
Travis smiles. “Told you. Systems don’t like being bullied. They respond better when you listen to them.”
Ryan keeps staring at the screen, unblinking. Then he glances up at Travis, searching his face.
“I didn’t mess it up.”
“No, you did it right.”
Ryan nods once. His hands settle on the keyboard.
I watch from the kitchen and realize something small but important. Ryan doesn’t just need reassurance or praise. He needs proof. He needs to see that when he follows the rules of a system, it behaves the way it is supposed to.
Travis gives him that without making a big deal out of it.
Ryan types again, a little faster this time.
In the kitchen, Beau has taken over breakfast without asking. He moves through the space opening drawers. Eggs crack cleanly against the counter. Butter melts.
Naomi leans against the counter, watching him with mild curiosity. “You’re actually good at that.”
He glances back briefly. “I have layers.”
She hums. “It smells good.”
“I will accept the compliment.”
From the table, Travis looks up from the laptop. “Since when do you cook?”
Beau slides the spatula under the eggs and flips them neatly. “Since I learned that food is a useful bargaining tool.”
Naomi smiles. “That explains a lot.”
Travis watches for a second longer than necessary, “You know he kills people for a living, right?”
Naomi freezes. Her head snaps toward Beau. “I’m sorry, what?”
Beau doesn’t even look up. “Only on days that end in Y.”
Naomi stares at Beau for another beat, then lets out a slow breath. “I thought you were just… helpful.”
“I am helpful,” Beau says. “The other thing is a separate skill set.”
Travis shakes his head and goes back to the laptop. “Who do you think you are? Liam Neeson. This isn’t Taken.”
Beau scoffs, “I’m way more efficient of a killer than he was in that movie.”
Naomi pours herself coffee, still looking at Beau like she’s recalibrating her understanding of reality. “I’m going to pretend none of this was said.”
“Healthy coping mechanism,” Beau replies. “Highly recommend.”
I watch the exchange and finally see it for what it is. Beau isn’t flirting because he wants Naomi. He is flirting because Travis notices. Beau enjoys the reaction more than anything. Chaos with intention. Loyalty buried under provocation.
I carry my mug into the living room and sit beside Seth on the couch. He shifts just enough to make room, his arm resting along the back cushion behind me.
He looks down at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Elise finishes her sketch and sets the pad on the table without a word. She doesn’t look at anyone when she stands. She just walks down the hall, shoulders squared, carrying something she doesn’t want inspected.
Ryan follows a minute later. He pauses by Travis’s chair, “Can I try the other thing later? The one you showed me.”
Travis looks up, surprised. “Yeah. Whenever you want.”
Ryan nods once and disappears after his sister.
The room settles. I lean over and reach for the sketchpad. I turn to the last page.
Elise. Ryan. Samantha.
All three of them are together. Elise is leaning into her mother’s side. Ryan is half asleep against her shoulder. Samantha’s hand rests over both their backs. Like nothing bad has ever happened. Like nothing ever will.
My throat tightens until it hurts.
I close the sketchpad and set it back on the table. The drawing stays where it belongs, untouched. If anything in this house deserves to survive what comes next, it is that.
Seth walks our bedroom. He sits at the foot of the bed with his shoulders tight, eyes fixed on nothing.
I move closer, keeping my voice low. “They’re adjusting.”
He doesn’t look at me right away. His jaw ticks once.
“Elise isn’t there yet,” he mutters. “Ryan’s easier. I think he wants to like me. He just doesn’t know how.”
“They’re both just… processing, but they’re watching you.”
He lets out a breath that sounds like it scrapes his throat on the way out.
“And you’re doing better than you think,” I add. “You’ve been patient. You’ve been honest. You’re a good brother.”
His mouth twists, like the words taste wrong. “Last time I was a brother, I taught him how to sharpen a knife and lie without blinking.”
“Luke made his own choices. He was only ten months younger than you. You couldn’t have changed him, even if you’d tried.”
Seth’s fingers flex at his sides.
“I was on the same path.”
“But you made different decisions. You never wanted to be like him.”
He finally looks at me, and his eyes are tired in a way that never fully goes away.
“No matter how much you taught him,” I continue, “and no matter how much you warned him, he was still the one who picked the worst version of himself.”
Seth stares at me like he is trying to push the guilt out through his skin.
“You’ve chosen to be better,” I add. “Elise and Ryan might not get it yet, but I see it. They’re starting to. Give it more time.”
He doesn’t answer, but his expression shifts. It softens slightly, like he isn’t fighting it as hard as he was.
Before I can say anything else, the door opens.
Travis steps in, already holding the tablet in his hand. His expression is off, tight in a way that makes my stomach drop before he even speaks.
“There’s another one. Another Live feed.”
Seth’s head turns immediately. Mine follows a second later.
Travis walks straight over and puts the tablet into my hands.
The screen flickers once.
And then his face fills it.
John.
He smiles like he is looking at something he already owns.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite niece.”
I don’t say a word. My grip tightens around the edges of the tablet until my fingers start to ache.
“You’ve really outdone yourself this time,” John eyes move slightly, like he is taking in more than just me. “The Vosses. The Talberts. You and Seth did what the Collective needed. You cut out the rot that was making us weak.”
Seth steps in behind me, close enough that I feel the heat of him at my back. He doesn’t touch me. He just watches.
John’s smile sharpens. “Elliot and Grant thought the Collective was a business. They wanted contracts and surveillance and leverage. They wanted control they could measure and sell. That’s not what we are.”
His tone drops, almost reverent.
“The Collective exists to keep the world in order. Predators on top. Prey beneath. Fear as a currency. Blood as proof.”
My stomach turns, but I keep my face still.
“You two have reminded everyone what real killers look like,” John continues. “You don’t negotiate. You don’t beg. You don’t back down.”
He leans closer to the camera, his eyes locked on mine.
“You were touched by it, Brooke. You’ve killed in pain. You’ve killed in love. Now look at you.”
His smile spreads wider.
“A weapon shaped by fire. Just like Seth. You two weren’t the problem. You’re the correction. You are what the Collective needs to survive what is coming.”
The frame jolts slightly, like he’s moving.
“You did what I needed you to do,” he adds, satisfaction threading through every word. “You exposed the weak ones. You made the fractures visible. You made people pick a side.”
Behind me, Seth’s breathing shifts.
John’s voice softens, almost gentle. “Tell me, doesn’t it feel righteous? Doesn’t it feel good knowing you are no longer the victim?”
I hold his gaze through the screen. I don’t blink. I don’t answer.
Then I reach forward and cut the feed.
The screen goes dark.
My hands are shaking when I lower the tablet. My pulse is too fast, my skin cold, like he reached through the screen and took something with him when it ended.
All I can think about is him watching from somewhere else, smiling like he already won.
Seth doesn’t say anything right away. He steps around me and takes the tablet from my hands, turning it over once in his grip like he might snap it in half.
I glance toward the hallway where Elise and Ryan are sleeping, and my chest tightens for a different reason. We brought them into this. We dragged them into it, even if we didn’t have a choice.
“I’m tired of waiting,” I say. “We need to end this. I can’t keep living like this.”
Seth nods once. “Then we finish it.”
I move, my hand closing around my gun on the nightstand.
“Travis, we need to find Grant and John. Now”
“We don't need to find them,” Travis turns the screen toward us, his expression uneasy. “They already know where we are.”