7. Caleb
SEVEN
Caleb
Less than forty-eight hours after the rescue, we were in the middle of a storm that wouldn’t let up as I sifted through everything we’d found at the house. We were getting results, and I should’ve been happy.
What if we hadn’t gotten the kids out?
They would have died as well.
I felt sick.
It would have been my fault for not seeing the space before. An old room blocked up and used as a holding cell.
So close to losing those kids.
The security lights along the expanded fence cast long white beams across the courtyard, and every time thunder sounded, the clinic windows flickered like distant lightning strikes in the war zones I’d never quite left behind.
The place was safe, layered, guarded—but trauma didn’t care about reinforced gates.
This wasn’t the first time I’d spent hours here, working through intel the kids passed over when they were ready to give it.
I’d built maps at the kitchen table, reconstructed timelines in the clinic office, cross-referenced fragments in the common room while Mickey Gillespie, the man who owned and ran Reed Way Hostel, pretended not to hover.
But it was the first time I’d sat on the floor outside the dormitories to work, laptop balanced on my knees, line of sight fixed on a bedroom door as if my being here could fix everything for Ezra and Seth.
They’d nearly died.
It would have been on us.
Mickey’s boots scuffed down the hallway, and he crouched beside me with a soft grunt, gray threaded through his beard and hair, looking exhausted as usual. He was permanently busy, even more so since the Cave funded it as a safe place for the kids Doc rescued to stay.
He held out a mug. “Coffee.”
I took it. It was strong and already cooling. I’d been mostly awake nearly forty-eight hours now, only interspersed with short naps, and my eyes were gritty. Caffeine would help me with the work I needed to do.
And my vigil to keep an eye on the two boys in the room.
He set a napkin on my keyboard. Something flattened and defeated sat on it. “Stale Danish.”
“Luxury,” I muttered and smiled at him.
He studied me instead of the laptop. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Working.” I gestured to the open files on the screen.
Mickey leaned slightly, following my line of sight to the open doorway across from us. “Working where you can see the door to the room of the two kids you rescued?”
Well fuck. I guess it was obvious. “Yes.”
He didn’t mock me. Just nodded once. “Right.”
Thunder rolled again.
“They haven’t talked yet,” he murmured. “Not to staff. Not to the counselor.”
“It’s not even officially two days,” I said.
Hell, some of the kids we brought in were so injured that they were unable to talk for weeks, and some were moved on to hospitals because Reed Way couldn’t handle the injuries when they were too severe.
Doc might be at the other end of the phone, but sometimes… yeah, the kids needed more.
Mickey tapped his temple gently. “Physically, they’re in good shape, but their heads are still in crisis mode.”
I sighed. “Fuck.”
“They’ve been whispering, though,” he added, voice softer. “Not secrets I’m going to repeat. But there’s more to their story.” He nudged the Danish closer. “You planning to sit here all night?”
“Yes.”
“Because you’re working?”
I wish I had an answer. “Because I need to be here for… Jeez, I missed them, and they could have died, and we’d never have known.”
“But they didn’t, and they’re safe now.” Mickey wasn’t judging me; he was understanding. “You can’t have worries about things that never happened, and you can’t fix everything, Caleb.”
“I know.”
“But you’re going to try anyway.”
“I don’t like unfinished things.”
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “I get that. You look wrecked,” he said gently.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s three a.m.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“They’re probably sleeping.”
I shook my head. “They’re not. I hear them moving around. I think they shifted the beds at least.”
He waited a beat and then sighed. “Did you know Novak is in reception?”
I shot Mickey a glance. “He’s what now?”
“Was here all last night, back tonight, just standing against the wall, looking like a tattooed terminator.”
“He’s not here with me.” Did I sound defensive?
Mickey shrugged. “He’s not doing any harm, and some of the other kids like him, so it’s all good. Maybe he’s invested in the kids you rescued and feels the same way as you.”
“Novak doesn’t feel shit,” I said, tired.
“Guess so,” Mickey said and stood slowly, cursing when his knees clicked. He rested a hand briefly on my shoulder. “Don’t sit here all night, yeah? And remember,” he said, voice warm now, “You all finding the boys and getting them here is already fixing something, so take it as a win.”
He walked away, leaving me with burnt coffee, a stale Danish, a line of sight to the door, and the puzzle of why Novak was at the hostel. He’d better not have been planning to kill someone here.
Another crack of thunder split the air, and the kid’s door slammed open, Ezra standing there terrified. I shut my laptop.
“Ezra?”
“Seth! Help Seth!” he begged, not at all surprised to see me sitting there. I was up and at their door in a second, and Ezra let me through without hesitation.
Seth was upright, eyes wide, breathing hard.
“Help,” he managed to gasp, and I clambered over the bed and fell to my knees beside him. The mattress lay on the floor, wedged into a corner; the other a barrier between them and the door. They’d been sleeping in the same small space, and I reached out to touch the terrified kid.
His eyes were wide, panicked breath coming too fast, chest barely lifting before it fell again, fear tipping into a panic attack. Thunder cracked, and he yelped and grabbed for his brother.
“Seth,” I said, firm and loud, but not crowding him. I gripped his shoulders—not hard, just with enough pressure to anchor him. “Look at me.”
His gaze flicked, skidded, then locked onto mine.
“You’re here,” I said. “Reed Way. You’re safe. No one’s coming through that door. I won’t let them. Okay?”
His breathing didn’t slow.
“Count with me,” I ordered, keeping my voice level. “In for four. Hold. Out for four.”
He shook his head.
“I’ve got you,” I said. “You’re safe.”
I exaggerated my own breathing so he could follow it.
“One. Two. Three. Four.”
His shoulders trembled under my hands, but the next breath came deeper. Still shaky.. But deeper.
“Again,” I said.
There was movement behind me, and Ezra gasped, then clambered to sit next to his brother, holding him close. I didn’t have to turn to know it had to be Novak.
I focused on Seth, who was breathing fine now, soft and quiet, curled into his brother’s arms.
“We need him!” Ezra shouted at me and pointed, and I turned to check he was pointing at Novak. Lightning flashed, and it cut Novak into hard white lines—jeans, T-shirt, black jacket hanging open, boots planted.
“You killed them all,” Ezra said, exhausted.
“I did,” Novak said.
“We need you!” Ezra repeated, and he wasn’t making any sense.
“You’re the one who goes in, kills Father Michael, and gets our brother and sister out.
” Ezra’s voice flattened. Father Michael?
SaintMichael ? Ezra gripped my arm, shook his head, and pointed at Novak.
“He can save Noah and Eden and kill anyone who tries to stop him.”