ROMAN
Rain hammers the windscreen hard enough to blur the world into just water and light.
The wipers fight it in fast, brutal sweeps.
My hands are locked on the steering wheel.
I can feel the vibration of the engine through the column in a low, steady thrum that keeps time with the bass pulsing from the speakers as ‘Castle by Halsey’ plays on the radio.
The address is burned into my memory as I keep repeating it in my head.
Rosebank Cottage, Melford Road, Sudbury.
If she’s here that means for the last thirty-five days, she’s been only twenty minutes from me.
Twenty minutes yet a world away. Fear creeps in at the thought.
It’s not the fear that she isn’t there, but the fear of what I will find if she is.
Because what if Fae doesn’t come back the same?
What if he has damaged her when I’ve just been twiddling my thumbs?
I’m not foolish. I know what captivity does.
I know what men like Fisher do. I know how they take pieces that don’t grow back.
But I also know Fae. Her strength isn’t soft.
It doesn’t crumble. It adapts. It is the kind that survives by turning itself into a weapon.
I have to hope that when I find her, she’s not only alive but still sharp too.
If I were a better man, I’d tell myself she deserves a choice when she comes home.
I’d prepare to stand back. To let her decide what I am to her after this.
Maybe captivity will have reshaped her into something even she doesn’t recognise.
Maybe she won’t want softness. Maybe she won’t want me.
The problem is, I’m not a better man. And I’m not letting her go.
I will bring her home by whatever means necessary.
I will kneel if that’s what she needs. I will bleed if she needs proof.
I will take her anger and hold it steady; let it scorch through me without flinching if that’s what convinces her she isn’t alone in it.
And Fisher… My grip tightens until my knuckles throb and the leather creaks beneath my hands.
When I get to him, there will be no theatre.
Just consequence.
The sat nav announces a turn pulling me out of my thoughts and I take it too fast. The tyres hiss on wet asphalt and Victor swears under his breath.
I push the car harder as the rain grows louder and the world around me is reduced to nothing but black trees and white lines.
But there is a steady certainty in my chest.
We are coming for you, Tinkerbell.
Atlas’ van is parked just off the lane where it is half hidden in the hedges as the trees lean in.
It looks like it always does when we do this.
Unremarkable from the outside, just another vehicle left in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I pull in behind it and kill the engine.
The silence that follows is so loud it suffocates me as the rain keeps tapping against the roof.
Cracking my neck, I open the door and step out before the cold slams into my chest.
Felix stands near the back doors of the van with his hood up and his shoulders squared.
Beside him, Atlas is crouched slightly as his hands move whilst he sets up the receiver.
He glances up at me as I make my way over.
Victor and Riggs climb out of my car and Riggs lifts his face to the rain before squinting at it.
“Love this weather,” he deadpans. “Really sets the mood for murder.”
“Focus,” Felix responds in a clipped tone.
“I’m focused. I’m always focused. I just also like to complain.” Riggs holds up both hands and flashes us his megawatt smile.
Atlas opens the back doors of the van wider for us and we pile in.
Inside, the van is exactly as I remember.
It is stripped bare of anything that isn’t useful.
Matte black walls. One side taken up by mounted monitors; four small screens and one central.
Atlas drops into the folded chair like it’s his living room as his fingers fly across his keyboard.
Felix and Riggs twist in their seats up front as they angle their bodies to see the screens.
Victor stands just behind me with his arms folded and his eyes steady.
“Drone is up, lads,” Atlas mumbles without looking up. The clicking of his fingers on his keyboard sounds like individual gunshots in the otherwise quiet space.
A faint mechanical hum threads through the rain as the drone feed sharpens into focus.
Grey-scale fields emerge first. Followed by hedgerows bending under the weight of water.
Then it finds it…the cottage. It sits back from the lane like it’s deliberately withdrawn, half-swallowed by trees that lean inward as if guarding it.
The thatched roof sags slightly in the middle, thick and uneven as moss clings to the ridge.
The chimney rises solidly against the storm as the brickwork is slick and shiny.
One upstairs window glows faintly amber but the rest of the house is pitch black and my heart skips a beat at what that might mean.
My jaw sets as I study the upstairs light and my mind is already mapping entry points and blind spots.
If she’s in there, she’s about to be brought home and I shiver at the thought.
This is the closest we’ve been in over a month
“Zoom,” I say roughly before clearing my throat from the roughness that comes through.
“Three guards,” Atlas murmurs. “One by the front smoking. One patrolling the side every…” we sit in silence as Atlas counts “…five minutes and one near the back entrance.”
My pulse slams against my chest. Not one guard, or none, but enough to mean that something or someone is worth protecting inside. I lean closer to the screen to get a better look.
“How many entrances and exits?” Felix asks like a soldier reading coordinates. Atlas adjusts the drone and the image dips slightly before stabilising again.
“One front door,” he responds, clicking a key and shifting the angle. “Back door too. The rear looks reinforced with new hardware.” The feed zooms tighter and I can see the faint shine of fresh metal against old wood.
“Best bet’s the front,” Atlas continues. “Victor can pick it quietly. The back will take longer.”
Felix gives a single nod but his shoulders don’t loosen. Neither do mine and I see his jaw clench.
“She’s here, I can feel her,” Felix states as he turns his intense gaze to me. “Okay, roll out. As soon as it’s clear I’m coming in too.”
Nobody argues.
Felix may handle our logistics, but Fae isn’t just a mission to him; she is his twin.
If anyone has earned the right to reach her first, to be close enough to see the damage before the rest of us, it’s him.
And I hate that. The thought of him getting to her before I do, of him touching her or speaking her name sends a possessive pulse through my chest.
“Comms check,” Felix says, slipping instantly into command.
“Clear,” I answer.
“Clear,” Victor echoes.
“Clear and freezing, cheers.”
“Clear. And Riggs, for fuck's sake, shut up,” Atlas barks as Riggs smiles.
“We do this clean and silent. No heroics. Roman, Victor, Riggs, take a guard each. Atlas, keep eyes. If we say freeze, you freeze. If we say pull back, you pull back. We currently only have eyes outside and she needs to come out as safely as possible.”
We file out of the van as Felix knocks each of us on the knuckles on the way through. He is serious in a way that makes the night feel sharper. It is the first time I have seen this side of him. And it is not because he has a thirst for blood but because he wants his sister.
The countryside swallows us immediately.
The rain feels heavier out here, a steady sheet drowning everything instantly.
Gravel crunches underfoot until we hit grass and the cottage sits ahead; it is low and deceptively pretty, framed by wet hedges and skeletal trees.
A place you’d expect to smell of woodsmoke and tea.
A place you’d expect to be safe.
“Front guard is alone having a cigarette; his back is turned. You’ve got a window.” Atlas’ voice is quiet in my ear.
“I’m taking the front,” I say.
“I’ll take the back,” Victor states and Riggs sighs like he’s been assigned chores.
“Fine. I’ll take the wanderer.”
I move first.
The front guard is exactly where Atlas said, standing beneath the porch light, his cigarette is bright in the rain.
He is hunched into his coat looking bored.
This son of a bitch isn’t expecting death tonight, but death has finally come.
I am already behind him when he realises something is wrong.
My hand clamps over his mouth as I pull him backward into the shadow of the wall. He struggles against me but it is weak.
He might be fighting for his life, but I am fighting for love.
I drag him back into the deeper shadow of the porch. One hand is still pressed against his mouth as the other hooks hard beneath his jaw. His body surges as his boots scrape uselessly against wet stone and his hot ash breath punches against my palm. I don’t hesitate.
I wrench.
It isn’t clean like films make it look. There’s resistance.
You have to rip through muscles, tendons and bones.
The human body does not want to break, it wants to protect and I feel the effort travel up my arms and into my shoulders as I force the rotation past where it should ever go.
A dull, sickening crack splits the air between us, followed by the heavy slack of something vital giving way.
He shudders once. Twice. Then nothing.
I hold him upright longer than I necessary to make sure there’s no final reflex. When I let go, he collapses in on himself, folding to the ground in a heap. My breath is steady, but my heart is not because somewhere inside this cottage is Fae.
I can feel her like a phantom in the walls.
“Front clear,” I murmur into comms, waiting for any sign from the guys. After what feels like an age, Victor’s voice echoes into my ear.