Chapter Ten #4
Tyler stepped closer to one of the trucks, running his fingers along the side compartment before glancing at the reinforced brackets bolted near the cab. “Response time?” he asked, already studying the layout. “From alarm to wheels rolling.”
“Under ninety seconds,” Zeke answered without pause.
“Two minutes to the ridge, sixty seconds to the perimeter.” He crouched and popped open a lower panel, revealing neatly stacked breathing apparatus and sealed kits secured with elastic webbing.
“Gear’s staged based on threat level. Fire’s one configuration.
Chemical’s another. If security calls it hot, we strip weight and move fast.”
Tyler leaned in, nodding once, eyes flicking from the air tanks to the quick-release clamps. “And manpower?”
“Minimum six per engine. Twelve if we’re integrating with security.” Zeke stood, wiping the back of his wrist across his forehead, smearing a line through the sweat at his temple. “We don’t wait for ideal conditions, even under fire. We move and adjust.”
Taylor huffed a quiet breath through his nose, impressed whether he meant to show it or not. “Have you been under fire?”
Zeke smirked. “The cartels like to flirt with us on occasion.”
“The cartels? Holy shit,” Tyler said with a nervous chuckle.
Zeke didn’t look at them when he added, “No one here gets caught with their pants down. The General built this place on one assumption: the Devil’s always gonna come knocking. We train so when he does, we send him back to Hell.”
I waited in place while they moved through the bay.
Taylor stood with his hands braced at his hips, head slightly bowed as he studied the layout, absorbing it the way he always had when it came to things he found interesting.
Tyler had already stepped closer to the engine, shoulders angled toward Zeke, questions coming in a steady tempo.
Zeke answered without hesitation, gesturing toward compartments and response charts, pointing out redundancies in their system.
But it wasn’t the exchange itself that held my attention, it was my brothers’ faces.
The twins wore an expression I hadn’t seen in years.
It wasn’t excitement in a loud, careless sense.
It was focus edged with anticipation. The same look they used to have on Christmas mornings when we were kids, standing side by side in identical flannel pants, fidgeting while posing for a photo, pretending they weren’t analyzing which present they were going to tear into first.
Tyler crouched to test the tension on a quick-release bracket, giving it a firm tug before nodding once.
Taylor leaned over his shoulder, automatically making space as if they were still sharing a single set of instincts.
They had always moved like that, adjusting without collision, thinking in parallel.
I’d watched their boyish excitement fade over the years, but seeing light return, even in something as utilitarian as response protocols and equipment staging, entertained me more than it should have.
They weren’t talking about crime syndicates or calculating worst-case scenarios; they were arguing about hose pressure and engine weight like it was the most interesting problem in the world.
For a moment, they looked younger. Not naive but unburdened.
Zeke caught me watching. The pride in his eyes mirrored mine, but his came from someplace different.
Zeke had arrived at this compound barely breathing, more liability than asset, and now he stood at the center of a unit that moved with discipline and coordination at the level it did because he had helped build it.
The twins laughed at something one of them had said, the sound echoing off concrete and steel. It took me back to a version of us that had existed before everything became so fucking convoluted, I could barely look them in the eye.
We’d lost time—years of it. Along with proximity, context, and whatever trust had existed before impossible choices had to be made.
Watching them now, fully engaged, curious instead of guarded, I felt something tighten in my throat before I could stop it.
Relief, maybe. Or the absence of constant dread.
Guilt and grief still lingered beneath it, but for the second time that day, something resembling hope surfaced.
I hadn’t allowed myself that before today, not since we’d taken Olive. It had seemed smarter to assume the damage was permanent, that whatever truth came out would finish what other secrets had already corroded.
“Maddox!” someone shouted from across the yard.
We all turned, but Travis was already waving.
He glanced back at me the way he used to as a kid, checking to see if I’d noticed, if I’d seen him do something worth approving.
I gripped his shoulder once before letting him go, then looked back toward the bay where the twins were still following Zeke, absorbed in his every word and gesture.
It wasn’t until I caught Trenton’s glare that I was reminded of where I stood. Optimism didn’t erase what I’d done. Hope vanished, and my chest felt twisted and heavy again. Even if we weren’t permanently at odds, the best outcome might simply be tolerance.