Chapter Twelve
Holiday music drifted through the warm barn, soft against the low hum of laughter. The air carried pine, chili, and cookies—layered over the rougher scents of cloves and wood smoke.
Lights flickered across the Christmas tree, gold garland catching the glow. Silver stars and colored strands traced the rafters overhead, turning timber and shadows into something almost peaceful.
Winter scanned the room out of habit—lights strung high, exits clear, laughter loud enough to make him smile.
The YA crew filled the space with noise and motion.
Most weren’t kids anymore, but the rule held: anyone under thirty started with YA before moving up to work alongside the ex-military assassins.
Genesis had learned the hard way that not every recruit came from the service—some came from the streets, their skills carved out by survival and worse.
It was Christmas Eve, and they still weren’t all together.
Some had gone their own ways for the holiday, but those who stayed at Shadowfell Ranch were now scattered—split by a blizzard, a perimeter breach, and something moving out in the wild.
Funny thing, Winter thought, the men heading back hadn’t said what they’d found. Probably a dead animal, maybe a branch that tore through the fence. Either way, there’d been no gunfire—and that was close enough to peace for tonight.
The quiet broke when the barn door slammed open and five men stumbled in from the storm, soaked through and dragging half the blizzard with them.
Law came first, handing a small bundle—some kind of animal—to Doc, who carried it off without a word.
Behind him, Stone, Dave, Real, and Rip followed, soaked to the bone and moving like men who’d been fighting the wind itself.
Crow and Black both jogged forward to help shove the doors closed, sealing the blizzard back outside.
In the side room, they stripped out of wet gear—snowsuits hung to drip dry, boots lined the racks, jeans and sweaters replaced cold fabric. The air filled with the sharp scent of snow and wool as they pulled on thick socks and shook off the storm.
Stone caught Dave’s hands, blowing warmth over them before rubbing them together.
Dave’s smile said the rest. Winter couldn’t help the small grin that pulled at his own mouth.
The two of them were a perfect mix—Stone’s raw edge and Dave’s calm precision.
Took them long enough to find their balance, but damn, it fit.
“You good?” Black asked, crossing over with a steaming mug of coffee. He offered it out, steam curling between them.
“Yeah.” Winter took it, the warmth bleeding into his palms. “How’s Micah doing?”
Black gave a short smirk, shoving one hand into his jacket pocket. “He hates the snow. Hates anything cold—but he came.”
“That says a lot.” Winter lifted the mug for another sip, eyes tracking where Micah sat with the other young assassins.
“Does it?” Black muttered, shoulders tightening.
“Still feeling guilty?” Winter asked quietly, keeping his voice low so it didn’t carry over the laughter and music.
“Yeah.” Black downed the last of his coffee, the muscles in his jaw shifting. “Micah still doesn’t know it was me.” He gave a small, humorless shrug, lifted the empty mug in half a wave, and turned toward the beverage table.
Winter watched him go. Black had been in a bad spot—no easy way out of what he’d done. Micah’s best friend, Lucas, had fed intel that led to the hit on the former Secretary of Defense. Micah never knew that it had been Black who’d taken Lucas out.
But the truth was simple: when someone went after Dave, they didn’t stay breathing for long.
Hell, anyone who came for any of them usually ended up the same way. They were assassins, for fuck’s sake.
Laughter broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the music, the movement, the flicker of lights and life in the barn.
Someone cranked up Jingle Bells, and the barn came back to life.
Ocean whooped, grabbed Aspen by the sleeve, and dragged him toward the small crowd dancing near the fire.
Aspen protested once, then gave in with a reluctant grin. A few of the crew started dancing near the fireplace built into the far wall.
Between that and the heater roaring, the big barn stayed warm—warm enough to make a man forget how close he’d been to freezing his ass off.
Winter leaned back against a post, coffee warming his hands as laughter rolled through the barn. The firelight caught on faces he’d once only known in combat—now grinning, alive, and here.
Outside, the storm still howled, but in here, it was heat and light and the kind of calm men like them rarely found.
Peace didn’t come often—but he’d take it when it did.