Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
BANKS
I grip the steering wheel tighter as the truck bounces along the cracked service road leading to the old industrial park.
The blue truck pinged here less than two hours ago.
An abandoned factory complex on the eastern edge of Halo City that used to manufacture airplane parts before the company went bankrupt and left everything to rot.
Chain-link fences sag in places. Weeds push up through the asphalt.
It’s the kind of place where people go when they don’t want to be found.
"Stay close," I tell Anniston, keeping my voice low. "And stay behind me the entire time. If I say run, you run. No questions. No hesitation."
She nods, her face serious in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. "I will. I promise."
We park the truck behind a rusted storage container about half a mile from the main building.
I kill the engine and sit for a second, listening.
The night air is cool and damp, carrying the sharp scent of wet concrete, old oil, and decaying metal.
Broken streetlights flicker overhead like dying fireflies.
Somewhere in the distance a dog barks once and then falls silent.
This place feels like a graveyard, and I don’t like how exposed we are. Like sitting fucking ducks.
I check my pistol one more time, make sure the suppressor is tight, and hand Anniston a small backup piece. “You ever shoot one of these?”
She takes it without argument and tucks it into the waistband of her jeans. “Yes.”
I reach over and brush a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger on her cheek for just a second. "You ready?"
She leans into my touch for a heartbeat. "As ready as I’m going to get."
We move on foot, sticking to the deepest shadows along the chain-link fence.
My heart beats steady but hard in my chest. Every crunch of gravel under our boots sounds too loud.
I keep Anniston tucked right behind me, one hand ready to push her down or pull her to safety if needed.
The factory looms ahead, a hulking silhouette against the night sky, its broken windows like empty eyes watching us approach.
We slip through a hole in the fence where the wire’s been cut recently.
I scan the ground and spot fresh tire tracks in the mud.
A truck was definitely here. We cross the overgrown lot in a low crouch, moving from one patch of darkness to the next.
My pulse is steady, but my mind is racing.
My father was here. He used Wyatt Rivers' card. Every step feels like we’re walking deeper into something we might not walk out of.
We reach the side of the main building. A rusted metal door hangs crooked on its hinges.
I ease it open just enough for us to slide through without making a sound.
Inside, the air is thick with dust and the faint metallic smell of old machinery.
Moonlight cuts through the shattered skylights high above, painting long silver stripes across the concrete floor.
Massive presses and conveyor belts sit like sleeping giants everywhere.
Crates and tarps are scattered around. This place has not been truly empty for long.
We move deeper, slow and silent. I keep my pistol low but ready.
Anniston stays right behind me, her breathing soft but quick.
I can feel the tension rolling off her in waves.
She’s not trained for this kind of work, but she’s doing everything right.
No panic. No unnecessary noise. Just quiet trust that makes something warm and fierce twist in my chest.
We clear the first large room. Nothing but dust and shadows.
In the second room I spot fresh boot prints in the thick layer of dirt on the floor.
Recent. I point them out to Anniston and she nods, eyes wide.
We follow the trail toward the back offices, stepping carefully around broken glass and fallen debris.
The prints lead us to a small room that looks like it was used as a makeshift camp.
A sleeping bag is rolled up neatly in the corner.
A portable stove sits cold on an overturned crate.
I kneel beside a small fire pit someone had made with scrap wood and touch the ashes.
They’re still slightly warm. He was here tonight. Maybe even a couple of hours ago.
"He was here," I whisper.
Anniston moves to a metal desk pushed against the far wall. She picks something up and holds it out to me. My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
It’s my father's old pocket knife. The one with the worn wooden handle and the initials B.H. scratched into the side by Nash’s hand when he was fourteen.
He never went anywhere without it. I turn it over, feeling the familiar weight, the smooth grain of the wood.
He left this on purpose. For me. For us.
Under the knife is a folded piece of paper. I open it with steady hands even though my pulse is hammering.
Boys,
Stay out of Halo City.
They are watching.
I’m close to ending this.
Trust no one.
— Dad
The words hit like a punch to the gut. He knows we’re looking. He’s been here recently. And he’s warning us away. My eyes sting for a second before I blink it back. He’s alive. He’s close. And he’s still trying to protect us even after all this time.
Anniston touches my arm gently. "Banks..."
Before I can answer, I hear it. Footsteps. Multiple sets. Heavy boots on concrete. Coming from the east side of the building.
"Down," I hiss.
I pull her behind a row of old filing cabinets, pressing her against the wall and covering her body with mine.
We crouch low. I keep my pistol ready but pointed down.
Three men enter the large room we just left, flashlights sweeping the floor in sharp arcs.
They’re armed with rifles and move like they know exactly what they’re doing.
Not the same hired muscle from Wyatt's apartment. These guys are professionals.
One of them speaks into a radio. "No sign of him now. But someone was definitely here recently. Fresh tracks and warm ashes."
They start moving in our direction, checking behind machinery and kicking over crates. The sound echoes loud through the empty factory. My grip tightens on the pistol. If they get any closer I will have to engage but I can’t risk Anniston getting hurt.
She’s pressed tight against my back, her breathing shallow but controlled. I reach behind me and squeeze her hand once. Stay calm. I have you.
The men get within twenty feet. One of them kicks over a metal crate, the crash ringing out like a gunshot. I shift my weight, ready to move, ready to fight if I have to.
Then a loud crash comes from the far end of the building. Something heavy falling. Metal on concrete. The men spin and head toward the noise, flashlights cutting through the dark.
"Now," I whisper.
I grab Anniston's hand and pull her up. We move fast but quiet, retracing our steps through the maze of machinery toward the side door.
My heart pounds in my ears. Every second feels stretched too thin.
We slip out the same door we came through and run low across the lot, sticking to the deepest shadows between the buildings.
Shouts echo behind us. They’ve realized someone was inside.
We sprint the last hundred yards to the fence.
The spot we came through is a few hundred yards away, so I boost Anniston over first, then haul myself across right after her.
We run hard back to the truck, gravel flying under our feet.
I get her inside, slam the door, and peel out fast, killing the headlights until we’re well clear of the industrial park.
Only when we’re back on the main road and several miles away do I let out a long breath. My hands are still tight on the wheel. Anniston’s breathing hard beside me, but she reaches over and rests her hand on my arm, steady and warm.
"Banks," she says softly. "Pull over for a second."
I find a quiet turnout off the road and stop the truck. The engine ticks as it cools. For a moment we just sit there in the dark, the only light coming from the distant glow of Halo City.
I turn to her. The moonlight catches her face, and something inside my chest cracks wide open. All the fear from tonight, all the worry about my dad and my brothers, it collides with how much this woman has come to mean to me in such a short time.
"I’m falling for you, Anniston," I say, voice rough with everything I’ve been holding back.
"Hard. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but it did.
And when this is over, I don’t want you to walk away.
I want a future with you. A real one. Not just surviving this mess together.
I want you in my life. Every day. I want to come home to you. I want to build something that’s ours."
She stares at me, eyes wide and shining in the moonlight. Then she unbuckles her seatbelt, climbs across the console, and straddles my lap. Her hands frame my face as she kisses me, deep and desperate and full of everything we haven’t said yet.
I kiss her back like she’s the only steady thing left in my world. My hands slide under her shirt, gripping her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space between us. For a few perfect minutes the danger, the factory, my father's note, it all fades. There’s just her. Just us. Just this.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, she rests her forehead against mine.
"I want that too," she whispers. "All of it. With you."
I hold her tight, one hand buried in her hair, the other stroking her back. The road ahead is still dangerous. My family’s still broken. But for the first time since this nightmare started, I have something worth fighting for beyond just survival.
Her.
And I’m not letting her go.