Chapter Seven
Liis
By the time the sun dipped low enough to turn the windows amber, the adobe home we’d been assigned had almost stopped feeling borrowed.
That surprised me.
I stood at the sink, sleeves pushed to my elbows, warm water running over my hands as I rinsed the last of the dinner plates.
The home was modest, barely two thousand square feet, single story, and low profile, built and decorated to feel unmistakably domestic—an intentional choice meant to ease families new to the compound into the idea that this was still home.
I recognized the subtle, benign manipulation for what it was, the intent behind the careful normalcy, yet I was settling in with disarming ease.
Every appliance worked and appeared to be only a few years old. The cabinets opened cleanly, the stove heated evenly, the water pressure steady, with hot water on demand. After leaving the home I loved with no say in where we would land, that kind of reliability felt profoundly reassuring.
Towels were folded with military precision in the hall linen closet, with extras stacked beneath.
A crib stood assembled in Stella’s room, the mattress sealed in plastic until I tore it open myself.
A baby monitor charged quietly on the dresser.
Every exterior doorknob, cabinet, and outlet had already been toddler proofed.
The pantry held staples and shelf-stable basics, nothing indulgent, but nothing overlooked.
Cleaning supplies waited beneath the kitchen sink, labels turned forward.
Dishes and silverware, pots and pans, each matching but unremarkable, were stacked neatly in their cabinets and drawers.
In the bathroom, toothbrushes sat sealed on the cabinet next to unopened bottles of shampoo and soap.
Ibuprofen, floss, and bandages were arranged neatly in the medicine cabinet.
By the door, a set of keys had been cut and labeled, resting in a glass dish on the narrow entry table. Phone chargers were already plugged in, cords coiled neatly and ready for use.
The thoroughness of General Marcel’s militia was unnerving in its competence, especially given they had less than twenty-four hours to prepare.
Thomas stood beside me, drying, methodical as always.
Olive was on his other side, shoulder brushing his arm as she took the dishes from him and put them away.
The three of us moved easily together, a quiet rhythm that looked deceptively normal.
Domestic, even, if you ignored the compound gates, the armed patrols, and the fact that not much around us was ours.
Bodhi was still seated at the table beside Stella’s highchair, entertaining her with the miniature baby dolls he’d found in the toy basket in her room.
Since dinner, he’d cleared the table, rinsed the dishes, and taken out the trash.
He wasn’t required to leave, but he wasn’t supposed to stay.
So, he earned the space he occupied, reducing friction where he could, absorbing small burdens, becoming someone easier to keep than to send away, especially when Olive relaxed the moment he was near.
“So,” he said, rocking his chair backward just enough to make me nervous. “How do you think it’s going to go? With the family, I mean.”
Thomas didn’t look up from the dish towel, a stubborn expression on his face.
“Just answer him,” I prodded. “He needs to know what to expect.”
Thomas sighed. “The honest answer? Expect volatility. That’s the Maddox baseline on a normal day, and what we did could take it up ten notches.”
Olive’s hands paused over the stack of silverware. Her shoulders tensed, then settled. She exhaled slowly through her nose, the way I’d seen her do when guilt threatened to tip into panic.
I turned slightly, resting my hip against the counter.
“We’re hoping it won’t be,” I added. “We’re hoping with Marcel’s threat of removal they’ll be on their best behavior, but it’s always smart to be prepared, if anything so you stay out of the way.
Thomas’s brothers are trained fighters. If something does happen, don’t try to intervene. ”
Bodhi nodded, accepting the warning without flinching. He was good at absorbing hard truths without dramatics. It was one of the things that made him dangerous and dependable in equal measure.
“It’s not your fault,” Olive said, her voice heavy with sadness and maybe even a bit of frustration. “If I can understand it, they can. I mean, they should. I hope they do.”
I reached over to rub her arm, pressing my lips into a thin line.
“And if something does happen? What then?” Bodhi asked.
Thomas handed Olive the last plate, then dried his hands, tucking the towel into a nearby drawer handle. “Marcel was clear. If they’re disruptive, they go home… without Olive.”
Olive glanced at Bodhi, then back at Thomas. “That’s not going to be easy for them. Especially Trent.”
Bodhi leaned forward, forearms on the table. “You think they’ll really make them leave?”
“Yes,” Thomas said without hesitation. “And I worry what would happen next, because no one in my family is easily forced to do anything.”
Bodhi’s eyebrows rose, creating three thin lines across his forehead. “No offense, but your family sounds crazier than mine.”
Thomas chuckled. “My family would get the gold medal for crazy.”
In truth, the Maddoxes were not a family built for restraint.
Passion ran hot, emotions surfaced loud and fast. But love and conflict are always drawn from the same well.
Their loyalty was absolute; once you were theirs, protection was instinctive, ranks closing without hesitation the moment one of their own was threatened.
It was also the reason this family reunion carried so much risk.
“They’re not bad people,” Olive said, almost defensive. “They’re the best people I know, actually. They just love with everything they have, and sometimes—when you feel that much—it’s hard to tap the breaks.”
Thomas huffed softly, something that might have passed for a laugh if you didn’t know him. “That’s one way to put it.”
“It’s true, they love fiercely,” I mused. “There’s no conditional loyalty in that family. Once you’re in, you’re in. Forever.”
“Until now,” Thomas said, and no one but me would have recognized the grief folded neatly inside his words.
Bodhi tilted his head. “Loyalty doesn’t go away, even if you want it to. It’s baked in.”
“Agreed,” I said. “They’ll be hurt, angry, maybe even say some things they don’t mean. But in the end, even if it takes longer than we hope, they’ll come around.”
Thomas finally turned, leaning back against the counter, arms folding loosely. “I don’t know this time. Loyalty is sacred to them, which is why what we did feels unforgivable.”
Olive swallowed. Her gaze dropped to the sink, to the water still running, forgotten.
“I should’ve just—” she started, reaching to pull down on the lever.
“No,” Thomas said immediately. He closed his hand gently around Olive’s wrist. “This wasn’t your decision, and no matter which way you look at it, nothing about this is your fault.”
She looked up at him. “I know that… logically.”
“Logic is what we have to cling to,” I said. “Now more than ever.”
Bodhi watched the exchange closely. “So… it sounds like if this blows up, it’s going to go nuclear.”
Thomas stared at him, seeming to mull over the words he was about to say. “I’ll be surprised if blows aren’t exchanged and they’re here longer than an hour.”
“Trent will want to, but he won’t,” Olive insisted.
“I hope you’re right,” Thomas grumbled. “Because I’d have to let him pummel me.”
“Maybe they’ll just yell,” Bodhi said with a shrug.
Thomas shrugged. “They definitely will. They’re Maddoxes. It’s how we talk to each other.”
Bodhi smiled faintly at that, then looked at Olive. “I don’t care if they yell.”
She grinned at him.
“I care if it hurts you,” he said. “I don’t care if they’re loud or messy or pissed. I care that you’re not blaming yourself for it. This is about how much they love you, not about any choice you made.”
Her shoulders fell, something like relief crossing her face.
“But Bodhi, if it gets hairy… just stay back. Thomas and I will handle it. Your priorities are Olive and Stella and keeping them out of the line of fire.”
Bodhi reached for Olive’s hand then, threading their fingers together without ceremony. “I can do that.”
I turned to lift the window over the sink, letting the cool desert air waft in through the screen. Outside, the compound was humming with quiet activity. A truck passed. Boots crunched on gravel. Somewhere, a radio crackled softly.
“Possible inbound,” Thomas said, listening.
I nodded. “They’re here.”
I lifted Stella from the highchair and carried her to the front room, looking out the front window for any sign of movement beyond the perimeter.
When I realized the buildings obstructed the view, I opened the door and stepped outside, walking until the entrance came fully into sight. Thomas, Olive, and Bodhi followed.
Engines droned low over the desert, a steady vibration under my boots, followed by the faint rattle of gear and metal.
Dust rose first, a pale brown veil pulled across the road that led from the outer checkpoint up to the gate.
The sun sat low and flat, turning the cloud into a smear of muted gold.
It looked harmless at a distance, but so did a lot of things.
We walked to the Longhouse, standing just outside the entrance. The steel bars of the gate opened in a narrow span, big enough for friendlies to pass through, small enough for control.
“Bodhi? Take Olive and Stella into the Longhouse. Wait in the back room.”
“Bet,” Bodhi said, gently pulling Stella from my arms. He guided Olive through the door, giving us one last nod before closing it behind them.
“Vitals?” Thomas asked quietly.
He wasn’t talking about heart rate. It was his shorthand for my read.
“Compound’s calm,” I said. “Perimeter tight. Patrols casual on purpose. It’s quiet, but in a way that usually has teeth behind it.”