Chapter 38 Mara
THIRTY-EIGHT
MARA
Ihaven’t really slept, just dozed in fitful intervals between checking on Talon, listening to Dredyn’s uneven breathing, and watching Jasper stare at the ceiling with haunted eyes.
Talon’s sitting up on the couch, his color better than a few hours ago but still pale.
“How do you feel?” I ask, bringing him water and the antibiotics the doctor left.
“Like I got shot.” He takes the pills and swallows them dry. “But alive. Better than the alternative.”
A small black shape winds between his legs, and my chest tightens.
I crouch down and Ghost immediately trots over, pressing his small body against my shins. His purr is a low rumble. He has no idea we’re about to upend his world again.
“Hey, baby,” I whisper, scratching behind his ears. He leans into it, eyes closing. “You ready for an adventure?”
He meows softly.
“Yeah. Me neither.”
“We should eat something—long flight ahead,” I say, standing.
“Not hungry,” Dredyn responds, but he starts pulling food from the refrigerator anyway. We eat in silence, all of us thinking the same thing: this is the last morning we’ll wake up in America. For a while, at least.
A knock at the door makes us all freeze.
But it’s Beck.
He enters carrying a banker’s box and a cat carrier, and I almost laugh. Of course. Even now, someone’s thinking about the practical details.
“For Ghost,” Beck says, setting the carrier down. “Airport security, even private airports, will want to see proper documentation. I’ve got a health certificate, vaccination records, the works. All backdated so you should be good.”
I look at the carrier, then at Ghost, who’s watching from his perch on the windowsill with slight suspicion.
“You really thought of everything,” I say quietly.
“That’s my job. And so was this.” He pulls out passports, IDs, and birth certificates. All official-looking. All fake.
“Dredyn, you’re now Derek Stone, software consultant for Thorne Industries. Jasper—Jason Thorne, your father’s nephew, also with the company. Talon—Tyler Marsh, family friend of the Thornes, taking a gap year before grad school.”
He looks at me. “Mara, you’re the hardest. The President’s daughter can’t just disappear without questions, so we’re not hiding it.
You’re ‘taking time to process trauma from media scrutiny’—a vague mental health sabbatical, staying with family friends—the Thornes—at a private recovery facility.
It’s close enough to the truth that it’ll hold up to scrutiny. ”
“Recovery facility?” I repeat.
“The island has a small medical staff—technically qualifies. Anthony’s lawyers have already drafted the paperwork. Your father will be notified that you’re safe but need privacy. If he pushes, Anthony has enough dirt on him to make him back off.”
What could Jasper’s father possibly have on the President?
So my father knew. Maybe not the details, but he knew something was wrong and did nothing.
I shouldn’t be surprised, but it still hurts.
“How long do we stay hidden?” Dredyn asks.
“Minimum six months, ideally a year. Long enough for the initial fury to die down, and for the Syndicate to stabilize after losing James. Edmund and the stranger will be focused on consolidating power, not revenge. Probably.”
“Probably. Super reassuring,” Talon says.
“Best I can do.” Beck pulls out a laptop, opening it to show us a map. “The island. Southeast Asia, international waters, technically owned by a shell corporation that’s twelve layers removed from Anthony Thorne.”
The island looks small on the map. Maybe five miles across.
“Internet?” Jasper signs.
“Satellite connection—encrypted. I’ll be monitoring it remotely, but you’ll have access to secure communication channels. News, email, research—anything you need. Just no social media. No public-facing anything.”
He closes the laptop, then pulls out a thick envelope. “Cash. Fifty thousand in various currencies, and there’s more available through offshore accounts I’ve set up.”
Beck pulls out a burner phone. “This has secure contacts. Me, Anthony, and a few others who are coordinating the next phase.”
“Next phase?” Talon asks.
“Edmund Mercer and the stranger are still alive, but you’re done. You struck your blow, you’re getting out. Others will pick up where you left off.”
Beck checks his watch. “Car’s outside. He’ll take you to the airfield. Jet leaves at nine a.m. sharp. Wheels up, and you’re gone.”
He pauses at the door. “For what it’s worth, what you did last night? It mattered. James Steele’s death is going to send shockwaves through the organization. You weakened them, maybe fatally. That counts for something.”
“Does it? Feels like we just made them angrier.” Dredyn’s voice is hollow.
“Maybe. But you also showed them they’re not invincible. That’s worth everything.”
And with that, Beck leaves.
Getting Ghost into the carrier is harder than I expected. He squirms and digs his claws into the fabric of my shirt like he knows something’s wrong.
“I know, baby. I know,” I murmur, gently prying him loose. “But you have to trust me. We’re going somewhere safe. All of us—together.”
He meows, but finally settles into the carrier with a treat Jasper gives him.
“He’ll forgive you,” Jasper signs.
“Will he?”
“Cats always do. As long as you keep feeding them.”
I almost smile.
“We should go,” Dredyn says.
The drive to the airfield is quiet. Twenty minutes through back roads, avoiding main highways.
Ghost meows occasionally from his carrier on my lap, and I stroke a finger through the carrier’s mesh. Ghost presses his nose against it, purring despite his circumstances.
What’s yours doesn’t end up in a cage.
I remember the night Dredyn said that. Remember the way he looked at me, like he saw straight through every wall I’d built. Like he understood that giving up that kitten had been one more loss in a lifetime of losing things.
And he’d fixed it by going to that shelter, filling out paperwork, and bringing Ghost home.
Home.
The word sits strange in my mind now. Because home isn’t a place anymore, it’s three men who killed for me. Who are giving up everything for me. Who are sitting in this car right now, driving toward exile, and none of them are complaining.
When we pull up to the private airfield, I see the jet immediately—sleek, white, with a Thorne Industries logo on the tail. And standing near it: a figure I’d recognize anywhere.
My heart stops.
Milo.
The car stops and we get out—carefully, since Talon’s still injured. Ghost meows indignantly as I lift his carrier.
“Mara.”
I set down Ghost’s carrier and make my way over to him. He pulls me into a hug. The kind of hug you give someone when you don’t know if you’ll ever see them again.
“You’re really leaving. You’re really doing this,” he says against my hair.
“I have to. It’s not safe here, not anymore. You know that.”
His voice breaks. “I just don’t know when I’ll see you again.”
He pulls back, hands on my shoulders, and I see it—all the years of standing by while our father controlled me. All the times he told himself he was protecting me when really he was just making my cage more comfortable.
“I’m sorry, for everything. For not seeing it sooner. For not standing up to him. For letting Chase … for letting any of it happen. I thought I was helping. I thought if I just followed the rules, played the game, you’d be safe, but I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong.”
I grip his arms. “I know. But you see it now, that’s what matters.”
“Does it? You’re leaving, Mara. You’re disappearing, maybe forever, because of what I helped build—what I helped maintain. That’s on me.”
I shake my head firmly. “No, that’s on the Syndicate—on Father. On every man who decided our lives were theirs to control. You were trapped too, Milo. Just a different cage.”
“Maybe. But I could’ve let you out. I should’ve.”
Tears burn my eyes. “You’re letting me out now by not trying to stop me. By being here to say goodbye instead of dragging me home. That’s enough.”
He shakes his head like he doesn’t believe me, but doesn’t argue.
“Listen to me,” I say, gripping Milo’s jacket to make him focus. “What we started last night … someone has to finish it. Edmund and the other guy are still out there.”
“I know.”
“Then finish it. You, Valen, Kade, whoever else you can trust. Take what we learned, what we gathered, and burn the rest of it down. Make sure James Steele’s death wasn’t for nothing.”
Milo’s jaw tightens. “You’re asking me to—”
“I’m asking you to be what I needed you to be all along—brave, strong, willing to fight instead of just surviving. Can you do that?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”
“You sure? Because this is not going to be safe. They’ll come after you when they realize what you’re doing.”
“Someone has to finish this. Someone has to make sure no other girl gets sold to the highest bidder—no other sister gets trapped. If that’s me, then fine. I’ll do it.”
This is the brother I always wanted.
The one who protects instead of controls.
Who fights instead of compromises.
I reach into my bag, pulling out a flash drive. “Good. This has everything we gathered. Schedules, security protocols, financial records Beck compiled, as well as locations, safe houses, bolt holes. It’s all yours now.”
He takes it.
“Beck… he’ll be your contact. He can provide real-time intelligence and logistics support. And Talon will be available remotely if you need tactical planning. We’re not leaving you completely alone in this.”
“Tactical planning from a tropical island,” Milo says.
“Yeah. Well, just until this is done. When Edmund and the stranger are dead and the Syndicate’s just ashes.”
He looks at the three men standing behind me.
“Before you go, I need something from them,” Milo says.
I step aside, letting him face them directly.
“You’re taking my sister away,” Milo says, and his voice has that politician’s steadiness again.
But underneath it, I hear the brother, the twin.
The person who shared a womb with me, who knows me better than anyone, other than the three men standing in front of him.
“Into hiding, into danger, into an uncertain future for years … possibly forever. So I need something from you.”
“Name it,” Dredyn says.
“Take care of her, all three of you. Keep her safe. Keep her happy. Keep her loved. She’s choosing you over everything—over her family, her name, her entire life. Don’t make her regret it.”
“We won’t,” Talon says immediately.
“You can’t promise that—”
“Yes, I can. I took a bullet last night. Dredyn killed his own father. We burned down our home, destroyed our futures, became fugitives, all to keep her safe—to give her freedom. You think we’re going to let her down now?”
Milo holds his gaze for a long moment, then looks at Dredyn.
“You love her?”
“More than anything.”
“Enough to die for her?”
“Already almost did, multiple times. She’s it for me—for all of us. We’re not perfect, we’re probably going to mess up, but we’ll never stop trying. Never stop protecting her. Never stop choosing her,” Dredyn says.
“And when the Syndicate’s destroyed? When it’s safe to come home?”
Dredyn glances back at me, something soft in his expression. “Then we come home. Rebuild. Start over. Live the lives we fought for. But until then?” A small smile. “We’re going to enjoy a well-earned vacation—beach, sunshine, no one trying to kill us. Sounds pretty good, actually.”
“Sounds like paradise,” Milo says quietly. Then, to me, “You sure about this?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
“Even though you might never see me again? Never see Father, despite everything he’s done? Never see America?”
Dredyn’s hand finds mine as Jasper’s settles on my shoulder and Talon shifts closer, despite his injury.
“Wherever they are is home. And I’d rather have that than anything else.”
“Okay. Okay then.” He pulls me into one more hug, crushing me against his chest. “I love you, Mara. I should’ve said it more, should’ve shown it better, but I do. I always have.”
“I know. I love you too. Be safe, be smart, and finish what we started.” My voice is muffled against his jacket.
“I will. I promise.”
He releases me, stepping back.
“Go. Before I change my mind and try to talk you out of this.”
I pick up Ghost’s carrier.
“I know, buddy,” I whisper. “I know.”
At the stairs of the jet, I turn back.
Milo’s still standing there, watching. My brother. My twin. The person who shares my blood, my history, my pain. The person who failed me for so long but is finally, finally trying to make it right.
I raise my hand. He raises his.
Then I climb the stairs, and don’t look back.