Chapter thirty-Eight
Kiera’s lying to me. The kind of lie where she dances around the questions, going still when she thinks I’m not looking.
On the surface, everything’s normal, which is exactly how I know it isn’t.
She’s sitting at the table with Cam, elbows bracing on the wood, scarred by a decade of bad decisions.
Hair twisted up, a few strands falling around her face.
Between the two of them, the phone sits like a relic—the one we pulled from the chapel.
“Signal’s faint,” Cam says, squinting at his laptop.
“Half of what is on this is encrypted, but there’s enough to work with. ”
“English, please,” Lila grumbles. “Preferably the short version.”
“It means Angelina didn’t want us to find her,” he says. “And she was very good at it.”
Kiera’s muscles jump in her jaw. She covers it by reaching for her mug of cold coffee, judging by the way she doesn’t bother sipping. “Yeah,” she says. “She was.”
I lean against the doorway, arms crossed. “Walk me through it again.”
Cam doesn’t look up; he’s in full analyst mode—one hand on the trackpad, the other drumming against the table in patterns only he understands.
“I was able to clone the SIM card and dump what’s left of the memory.
Most of the call and text data is wiped or corrupted, but there are a few pings from tower handoffs, and a few GPS crumbs from when the location services glitched on.
” Cam taps a key. A map pops up, and dots start to bloom across it; faint, scattered fireflies.
“These are her last known movements,” he continues.
“At least, the ones the phone was present for.”
The dots cluster around places we already know: the Nesting House, the chapel, safe motels. There are still some gaps—places where something should be and isn’t.
Kiera stares at the screen, looking for the missing pieces. “You said there were other locations,” she says. “Where they might’ve moved kids. Or stored…whatever they didn’t want in this facility.”
“There are.” Cam points to a spot on the screen. “But they’re not going to glow red and label themselves as an evil basement. I’m cross-referencing the tower hits with utility records, the land registry, and shell companies—anything we can tie to the Cicada fronts. That takes time.”
“How much time?” I ask.
Cam shrugs one shoulder, a tight movement full of frustration. “I don’t know. Days, weeks, months, if they were smart.” He doesn’t say your mother out loud, but it hangs there anyway.
Kiera’s fingers curl around the mug until her knuckles pale, vibrating at a frequency only I seem to hear—a new sharpness under her skin, something restless and coiled. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” The question comes out more pointed than I intended.
Kiera’s gaze cuts to me, sharp enough to shave bone. “Do I look like I’m not?”
Yes. No. Both. “You look like you haven’t slept,” I say. “And like you’re one bad piece of news away from punching a hole in my wall.”
Kiera snorts, but it’s thin. “Then consider it motivation for you two to find somewhere safe for these kids before I start to redecorate.”
Cam glances between us, reading the air.
He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes linger on the distance between Kiera’s chair and mine.
“I have a contact,” he says, zooming in.
“She runs a safehouse for victims of trafficking until they can be reintegrated into reality. No obvious facility on public records.”
Lila stumbles back into the room. “That will work, but who is this contact?” A hint of jealousy drips from her tone.
“Are you jealous?” Cam mocks sweetly, obviously trying to get a rise out of her. Lila glares at him as she pours her coffee, her eyes never leaving his.
“You two focus on the task,” I grumble. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s like living with children with them. “Is her safehouse underground or disguised?”
“Probably both,” he says. “But I need to call and make sure she has room.”
“Do it,” Kiera agrees.
“What are we going to do with Evelynn and that psycho doctor?” Cam asks.
“They come with us until we get everything we need, or they become useless,” she says.
He stops. The word hangs between them, raw. “Then what?” Lila asks quietly.
“Then they get everything that’s deserved,” she says. “There will be no other endings for them.”
Cam’s face softens. “You sure about this?” He questions. “You’ve been through a lot lately.”
Kiera looks like she wants to keep fighting.
Instead, she leans back, slumps just enough that I can see the exhaustion under the anger.
“It’s fine. My mom has been dead since I was eight years old.
Now it will be just…permanent.” There it is again, that extra layer of tired she’s been carrying.
It’s something smaller and denser, like a secret lodged under her ribs.
She’s fucking hiding something. The worst part is that some selfish part of me already knows roughly what shape it might be.
But knowing the math and hearing the answer out loud are not the same thing.
“Okay, I’ll give my contact a call,” Cam says, nudging us all back onto the rails. “Lila, check on the kids, prepare them to move. Sterling, can you get a van?”
“Yep. I’ll go make calls.” I nod.
“And what about the other facilities? We can’t just leave them,” Kiera demands.
“One thing at a time, Ki. We have our hands full with the seventeen now, and we have no other space. We will get to them soon, but we need to rest and regroup. We won’t survive if we keep pushing ourselves with bare-minimum plans. Then we are useless to everyone.”
“Soon doesn’t help the kids sitting in cages right now,” Kiera whispers.
“Exactly,” Cam agrees. “Which is why we need to get the kids moved and start looking for other facilities and coming up with a plan.” He clicks to another window. Blueprints. Security schematics. Camera grids, I know better than my own bloodwork. My warehouse.
“Going home,” I say.
Kiera drags a hand down her face. “You think they’re still alive,” she says. “The kids. You actually think…”
“I think your mom didn’t run this many routes for nothing,” Cam says gently. “If she got some out, somebody had to take them. And whoever that was? They might still be doing it. Or sitting on records that tell us where the others went.”
“Even if we find them,” she says quietly, “where are we going to put the others? Can your contact fit that many kids?”
“If she doesn’t,” Cam says. “She will know where to house them.” He hesitates, then adds, “We can trust her and her people.”
“Strange people,” she repeats.
“Safe people,” Cam says softly, trying to soothe her. “Community organizers, private shelters, and churches that are meant for hiding. Folks who’ve been funneling kids out of bad situations long before Cicada decided to scale the horror.”
My first instinct is to say absolutely not—to keep every variable within reach, to lock everything down and trust no one whose paranoia doesn’t match mine.
I look at Kiera, my eyes sweeping over her.
At the bruises, the brand I can’t see but can feel, the way her shoulders are pulled so tight they might snap.
We can’t warehouse this many kids alone. “You trust them?” I ask.
“With my life,” Cam says. “And more importantly, with someone else’s.”
Lila snorts softly. “You have friends,” she says. “I’m not sure how I feel about learning this at such a late stage in our relationship.”
“Acquaintances,” he amends. “I’m not emotionally available to have a relationship.”
Kiera’s lips ghost a smile; it’s small, but it’s there. “Okay, well, let’s get to it then.” She gives in momentarily. “We need to be on the road by nightfall.”
“Exactly, I’ll go make the call.” Cam stalks off to the backroom.
I run through the mental checklist automatically: access codes, lock rotations, dead drops.
The warehouse has been dark since we pulled this batch of kids out and moved them here.
It’s due for a sweep. I need to get a van, too.
“It’s going to put us back on their radar.
Moving that many bodies around, firing up systems we’ve kept quiet… ”
“We’re already back on their radar,” Kiera says bluntly. “Nesting House burned. Files missing. You think they’re sitting in a boardroom telling themselves it was all a drill?”
Fair point. “You’re right, but we still need to move as silently as possible. Drawing as little attention as we can. Be the ghost and shadows that we’ve become.”
“Now you’re speaking my love language, Ghost.” Kiera’s eyes light up just a bit brighter than before. “What?” She asks, noticing that I’m staring at her, burning her image into my mind.
“Nothing,” I grunt, shrugging. “Just wondering what you’re not ready to share yet. ”
Kiera’s hand strays, almost unconsciously, fingers brushing the invisible S like she’s checking it’s still there.
My ribs pulse in answer. “We have a warehouse to prep, a network to tap, kids to hide. Along with chasing our fucking mothers’ ghosts through cell towers.
You're going to have to file your suspicions for later.”
Later is becoming a big fucking problem. Right now, she is right, and I need her to be functional. “Pack light; we won’t have much room.”
Kiera looks up, meeting my eyes. There’s something naked in her expression: fear, want, something in between. “And what do you consider light?” she asks jokingly, because if she doesn’t, she’s afraid she’ll fracture.
“Knives, clothes,” I list, “questionable life choices.”
“In that case, we’re going to need bigger bags.”
By the time I get back from picking up the van, the rain has slowed.
The van idles at the edge of the trees. I kill the engine and sit there, fingers still wrapped around the wheel, listening to the tick of cooling metal and the distant sound of kids inside the cabin.
The porch light is lighting the silhouette of Cam at the door, mug in hand, looking like he hasn’t moved since I left.
“That it?” he asks, nodding toward the van.
“That’s it, seats twelve, space in the back for gear—no tracking, no GPS, nothing.
Kiera will drive my truck with Lila and the babies. You’ll drive your car back.”
Inside, the air’s thick with kids' noise and nerves, and backpacks line up against the wall like an army of mismatched, worn canvas and cartoon characters. Cam has them organized into groups—babies on the couch with blankets and infant carriers, older ones hovering near the door. Kiera’s checking the list by the table.
Her eyes find mine as soon as I walk in.
That same secret sits behind them, dark and steady. “Van’s here; we leave in fifteen.”
A ripple of anxiety runs through the room.
One of the smaller ones wraps both arms tighter around a stuffed animal that’s seen better days.
“Okay, team,” Cam says, clapping his hands once, not too loudly.
“Like we talked about. We’re going to another safe place.
Bigger than this. More beds. More people who know how to help you feel human again. ”
“Is it like this?” a boy asks, voice small. “Or like… there?”
“Nothing is like there,” Kiera says before Cam can answer. Her voice is flat, certain. “You won’t go back there. Ever. I will do everything in my power to make sure that never happens.”
Cam nods, picking up the thread. “It’ll feel strange at first,” he admits. “New walls always do, but you’re not being sent away as punishment. We’re just adding more adults on your side.” He tips his head toward Kiera and me. “These two are coming with you.”
Kiera moves to the door, list in hand. “Okay,” she says softly.
Fuckkkk, she would be a damn good mom. My cock twitches with that thought.
I turn to the wall to adjust myself before anyone notices.
Now is not the time. “You’ll be in the van with Sterling.
The babies will be with Lila and me. We are all going to the same place, so there is nothing to worry about. ”
The group of kids holds their breath as Lila starts packing the truck bed.
A few kids look relieved, a few more look as if someone just gave them another sentence.
One girl refuses to let go of her little brother until Kiera drops her voice and promises that they will not be separated.
“We won’t break you guys apart,” Kiera says, loud enough for the room to hear.
“Got it? No one goes somewhere alone who doesn’t want to.
” It’s a promise she should not make. It’s also one I’ll bleed to keep.
I take the first two kids out, one on each side, their bags slung over my shoulder. The cold night air hits all of us as I help them climb in. Kiera follows with another pair, talking low about music and who gets what seat. “Front row or back?” she asks a girl with a scar bisecting her eyebrow.
“Back,” the girl says. “Easier to see exits.”
The corner of Kiera’s mouth twitches. “Good answer. Always pay attention to your surroundings.” Damn it, there she goes doing it again.
Trip after trip, the van fills, eleven kids, buckled and wide-eyed, clutching bags and blankets like shields.
Six babies are strapped in the truck with Lila.
Dr. Reyes and Evelyn are hog-tied in the bed of the truck.
Cam hovers by the cabin door, tablet in hand, already juggling routes, contacts, and worst-case scenarios.
Shutting the doors, I check the latches and circle to the front.
“No main roads unless you have to. If anything feels wrong, you turn around and come back. I don’t care if you’re five minutes from the handoff,” Cam informs us.
“We got it,” I say.
Cam looks at Kiera next. “Protect those babies,” he says. “And Lila…” he says even quieter.
“Yes, Dad.” Kiera rolls her eyes. Cam doesn’t rise to it. Just squeezes her shoulder once, quickly, and steps back.
Sliding into the driver’s seat as Kiera leans through the window, twisted halfway around so she can see the kids.
Her hand finds the dash, tapping out a restless rhythm.
“Everybody buckled?” she calls. A chorus of yeahs and one mumbled whatever, a call back to her.
“Okay, then. Next stop, somewhere that doesn’t suck quite as much.
” She giggles at the kids as the kids giggle back.
I start the engine as she walks over to the truck, the van rumbling to life.
In the rearview, the cabin looks smaller than it ever has, a box of light in the trees.
Cam is loading into his car—everyone is ready to leave this place behind.
As we pull away, one of the littlest in our van lifts a hand and waves back, tentative.
We can’t save them all. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But we’re moving some of them. Today, that has to count.
Getting on the radio system, Cam rigged it so we could all stay in contact with minimal effort. “Ready?” I ask.
“No,” Kiera says honestly. “Drive anyway.”