Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Gabbi
The flashing red and blue lights reflected against the damp ground, casting eerie streaks across the clearing.
Police officers moved quickly around us, their radios crackling, their voices overlapping.
Some were checking on the boys, wrapping them in blankets, asking gentle questions they were too exhausted to answer.
Others were securing the area, making arrests, sweeping the remains of the camp.
It was over.
I should have felt relief, but all I felt was numb.
Liam hadn’t let go of Bobby’s hand. Even as a medic crouched beside him, checking his pulse, asking if he was hurt, he clung to his brother like an anchor.
Bobby didn’t try to pull away. He just stood there, stiff, his grip unyielding, his free hand twitching at his side like he still wasn’t convinced they were safe.
Then—Detective Alvarez appeared.
His dark eyes swept over us, his face unreadable, his shirt slightly untucked, as if he had been running on too little sleep for too many days. He had been the last cop we had seen before everything went to hell. The last one who had told us to stay put.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, exhaling sharply. "I thought you were dead."
I barely had the energy to react.
McCall, another officer, stepped up beside him, flipping through his notepad before glancing at me. His expression was less relieved. More… irritated.
"You’re Gabbi Mason, right?" His voice was clipped, like he had been waiting to say something.
I nodded, forcing my throat to work. "Yeah."
McCall let out a sharp breath. "You realize how lucky you are?"
I let out a rough, humorless laugh. "It doesn’t feel like luck."
He didn’t smile. Didn’t even acknowledge the comment. His eyes swept over the group—the bruised, exhausted kids, the officers rounding up what was left of Victor’s men, the bodies being covered. "We’ve been tracking this operation for months," he said. "Had no idea how deep it ran until now."
I swallowed hard. "We figured that out pretty quickly."
McCall’s jaw tightened. "So tell me—what the hell were you thinking, running into the woods like that?"
Something in me snapped.
I turned to him fully, my muscles aching with every movement. "I don’t know, detective," I said, voice sharp. "Maybe it had something to do with the gunfire. The same gunfire that made us run in the first place."
Alvarez held up a hand, his voice calmer. "McCall, let it go." He turned back to me, his gaze unreadable. "You did what you had to do. You got them out."
The weight of his words settled in my chest. You got them out.
I hadn’t processed it yet. That the kids were safe. That Liam was safe. That Victor was dead, his empire burned to the ground.
That we had survived.
McCall exhaled through his nose, clearly still annoyed, but he didn’t argue. "We’ll have more questions later. But for now, get in the car. We’ll take you back to the station."
I nodded, my limbs suddenly feeling too heavy.
Bobby didn’t say a word as we climbed into the back of the patrol car, Liam tucked between us. His grip on his brother hadn’t loosened, not once.
The door shut. The sounds outside became muffled, distant.
The silence inside the car was thick, stretching between us like something fragile. I stared out the window, watching the flashing lights blur together, my heartbeat finally slowing.
Then, a small voice broke the quiet.
"Where will I go?"
Liam.
His words were barely above a whisper, hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask. He didn’t look up, his fingers curled into the fabric of his oversized blanket.
Bobby turned his head, his grip on Liam’s hand tightening slightly. His voice, when he spoke, was steady. Unwavering.
"Home," he said.
Liam inhaled sharply, his small shoulders lifting, his lips pressing together. He didn’t respond right away.
Then, slowly, his hand reached out, hesitating for only a second before gripping Bobby’s.
Bobby’s breath caught. Barely noticeable, but I heard it.
His fingers curled around Liam’s, firm and warm, grounding. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, just sat there, holding onto his little brother, finally touching something real.
I turned my head toward the window, blinking fast, my chest aching. I had told myself for years that if I could just help bring Liam home, it would fix everything. That it would erase the guilt, the weight, the pain.
But it didn’t.
Liam was safe. But nothing felt lighter.
I felt Bobby’s gaze shift toward me, and when I turned my head, his dark eyes met mine. There was something there. Something unresolved. Something that hadn’t been spoken yet.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "What now?" I whispered.
Bobby didn’t answer right away. His eyes flickered to Liam, to their joined hands, then back to me. Slowly, carefully, he reached for my hand.
His fingers found mine, lacing them together, his grip warm and steady. A silent answer. A quiet promise.
"We go home," he murmured.
I exhaled, my fingers tightening around his.
Home.
The word should have felt like an ending. But as I sat there, my hand in Bobby’s, the weight of Liam’s presence between us, I realized something.
This wasn’t the end.