Chapter 10 The Refuge, New Mexico #2
“Or been taken.” Ry’s voice was grave. “Or turned.”
“Fuck. It’s bad enough we’re all leaning toward the idea that Lorre tossed us all under the bus and most likely committed treason.” Kawan dragged a hand down his face. “But Lark can’t take another betrayal—not from someone she hand-picked for her team.”
“No,” Specs agreed. “She really can’t, and she’s been working with some of them on and off for years.”
“I know. Our team has worked with them too.” Kawan turned toward the window, stared out at Lark’s cabin.
At the woman sitting in a chair, posture rigid.
“Loyalty is important to her,” he said. “Her childhood… well, it was a lot. And now this—she has to relive every death each time she closes her eyes. And if we confirm someone she trusted sold her out?”
“It’ll put her over the edge,” Specs whispered. “Worse than I am.”
“You’re not…” Jupiter sighed, moved across the room, and stood behind Specs. “You’re aware. You know why you’re here. What happened. And you’re doing something about it. That matters.”
“So you keep telling me.”
Ry cleared her throat. “I’ve been digging in the darknet, looking for chatter around the AI. Nothing concrete, but I did find a few strings of code that look like gibberish—but I believe it’s shorthand for wargame modules. Or maybe simulated trials.”
“Meaning someone’s testing the software,” Jupiter muttered.
“Not necessarily,” Ry added. “It could be chatter meant to make us spin our wheels. Anything’s possible.”
Jupiter sat down and pulled up a separate window. “I’m tracing handles from the boards. A few names keep popping up. Could be aliases. Could be nothing. But we’re following every breadcrumb.”
Kawan watched them all work—Specs chewing on her hoodie strings, Ry tapping away like the keyboard owed her money, Jupiter toggling between tabs with speed only obsession could generate. Kawan felt both a bone-deep gratitude and a gut-level dread. They were doing everything they could.
But what if it wasn’t enough?
He turned to leave, pulling open the door, the early evening sun spilling in. Before he could step out, Specs’ voice stopped him.
“Kawan?”
He glanced back.
She stood in the doorway behind him, arms crossed, vulnerable. “I never said thank you. For bringing me here. For caring enough to drag me out of that spiral.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do. Because I wouldn’t have made it, not if I stayed back there. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even think. But here? At least, I can function.”
Kawan stepped closer. “You don’t have to be okay. You just have to keep yourself open to being okay.”
She nodded, swallowing hard. Then she added, quieter, “I’m worried about Lark.”
“I know. So am I.”
“She’s been drowning in work for the past two years. Like she couldn’t stop, like something was chasing her. This... might be the thing that breaks her. That convinces her she really is alone.”
Kawan’s jaw tightened. “I’m not gonna let that happen.”
Specs gave him a nod, one that said she believed him. Hoped he was right.
He stepped off the porch, the crunch of gravel beneath his boots suddenly sounding like thunder in the distance.
Because it wasn’t just a storm on the horizon.
It had already begun.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
No big belly laughs from her father. No giggles from her mother while she danced around the kitchen making breakfast.
Lark blinked into the shadows, the familiar peeling wallpaper and flickering ceiling light barely visible past the haze of hunger and fear.
Her feet were cold against the cracked linoleum.
She sat on the floor in the kitchen, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her middle.
Her tummy growled, and her throat burned from crying.
The fridge still hummed. The neighbor's TV blared through the walls. All the shades were drawn shut, but she knew it was daytime since the sun peeked through the sides.
Hours bled into each other, stitched together by whimpering and cold Pop-Tarts she couldn't heat because she wasn’t allowed to use the toaster without help. Her fingers were sticky. She wanted to be brave. She had been brave.
But bravery didn’t tell her where her parents were.
The bang at the door jolted her. She crawled under the table, clutching a plush bear missing one eye. The bear smelled like Mama’s perfume. Like something safe.
When the door creaked open, bright light spilled in. A uniformed man stepped inside, muttering a soft curse under his breath.
“Hello,” he whispered. “Baby girl… where are you?”
She held her breath, too scared to speak.
He crouched low, met her eyes. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
His arms were strong. His coat smelled like leather and cigarettes. He wrapped her in a scratchy blanket and carried her outside, where flashing lights painted the street red and blue.
“I’ll make sure you’re okay,” he promised, buckling her into the back of his cruiser. “You hear me? You’re gonna be just fine.”
Lark wanted to believe him.
Fog rolled in. The street disappeared.
Now she stood on a porch—different house, different people. Her first foster family. They smiled widely, and inside the house, the smell of homemade pancakes wafted through the screen door.
Lark fiddled with her braid that the woman had done earlier that morning.
“Here, Lark.” The man bent over and handed her a signed baseball. “Take this and keep practicing. You’ll make for a decent pitcher, for a girl.”
“Where am I going?” Lark asked.
“It’s time to go to another family.” The man straightened, patting her shoulder, then pointed toward a woman leaning against a vehicle.
Lark knew that woman.
“But you promised I could stay here,” Lark said with a quivering lip.
“Sorry, kiddo. Things change.” The man shrugged.
The dream flipped again. Another house. Another bed. Another lie.
And then—darkness.
Gunfire. Screams. Blood on her hands. Alvarez’s eyes, wide and unblinking. Mina slumped beside the comms gear, half her face gone. Wes gurgled into the radio.
“Where’s the backup? Where the hell is our backup?”
Lark stood frozen, her rifle heavy in her hands, her mouth open in a scream she couldn’t make.
Then it was fire. Smoke. Kawan yelling her name. A blast of heat, a rush of air—and silence.
“Lark.”
Her body jerked. She was tangled in sweat-damp sheets, heart crashing like thunder against her ribs.
“Lark, it’s okay.”
Hands. Strong, warm, steady. A thumb brushed against her temple. The weight of an arm around her waist grounded her to the bed.
She couldn’t breathe.
“It’s me,” Kawan said gently. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
The words stabbed. Because they weren’t true—and she’d heard them before.
She shoved at his chest, rolled free of the sheets, feet hitting the floor. Her lungs heaved like she’d run a marathon, and her fingers trembled as she reached for the stress ball from the bedside table—only there wasn’t one. She paced, jaw clenched, nails digging into her thigh.
“Talk to me,” Kawan said softly behind her.
She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a strangled groan.
Images still burned behind her eyes. Cold linoleum.
Static. Promises broken by time and silence.
Wes and Mina’s blood. Alvarez twitching in that final second—those images weren’t real—but her dream had been so vivid she wanted to scream.
She rubbed her hand up and down her thigh. “I let them die, Kawan.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I was supposed to keep them safe. They were my responsibility. My team.”
“You’re not God. You were one person in a warzone.”
“They trusted me.” Her voice cracked. “And now they’re dead.”
“They knew the risks. Just like me and my team.” Kawan stood. He didn’t approach, and that felt like he was letting her burn it out like wildfire.
“I can’t do this. I can’t be here and sit around and talk about my feelings. About my past and what it means to be… me,” she said. “I thought I could… but I can’t.”
He walked to her slowly.
“So, what? You’re going to wall yourself off from everything? Hide in a maze of darkness until there’s nothing but steel armor and empty space.” Kawan held out his hand.
She shook her head.
“Lark.”
“What?”
“Come here.” He inched closer.
She froze, staring at his… loving gaze. It unraveled something deep in her heart.
He wrapped her in his arms.
She stiffened—but didn’t pull away.
“I won’t give you space,” he whispered against her temple. “Not right now. Not when you’re drowning.”
Tears stung her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall.
He tightened his grip. “You didn’t fail. You survived. You kept going. You do that better than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“I didn’t want to survive.”
“I know.”
Her body sagged against his. The tension gave out. The shield cracked. “I keep thinking… if I’d done one thing differently…”
“You’d still be here. Still carrying the weight. That’s who you are.” He pulled back just enough to look at her. “But you’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to shoulder this on your own.”
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust that he would be the one who stayed. The one who didn’t break his promise.
She wanted to drown in the comfort of his arms and pretend that being loved didn’t terrify her.
But trust was a dangerous word—people who promised to stay always left. Or died. Or turned on her.
She let him hold her anyway. Let his warmth bleed into her skin. Let her breath slow. Let her heart settle.
She wouldn’t give him all of herself. She didn’t know how to do that.
But for this moment, she could give him her grief.
And maybe that was enough.
The first tear fell. Followed by a guttural sob.
“Let it all out.” He lifted her into his strong arms and carried her limp body back to bed. Cradling her, he held her close. Kissed her temple. Whispered kind, loving words in her ear.
And she cried until there was nothing left but exhaustion.