Chapter Twenty-One – D.C. Wants Their Investment Back #2
He leans forward even more. “I’ll say this once: we are a minority.
Humans have the numbers, the money, the institutions, and the political power.
So yes, we work with them. We follow their laws.
We restrain ourselves even when they strike first. But we do not mix with them, and we sure as hell don’t open our homes to them. Ever.
“Maybe your particular upbringing blurred some lines. You were raised in a lab, without the guidance of a real pack of fathers to teach you what it means to be an aegis. But that excuse doesn’t fly anymore. ”
His voice sharpens. “You’re dismissed.”
As we leave the administrative building, everything feels off. I used to dream about this — being outside the human command chain, working federal cases only. But now, it’s not even bittersweet. It’s just bitter.
The High-Risk Unit turned out to be a better place than I ever expected a PD could be for us.
In the weeks after Jo left, we practically hid there, avoiding the silence at home and the weight of her absence.
We were treated fairly. I even think Fontes is becoming more than a fellow officer, feels like, for the first time in our lives, we’re building an actual friendship.
We have no idea what the Special Ops garrison will be like. Even though it’s an aegis unit with no humans in the chain, we’re still strays. There’s no guarantee we’ll be respected.
When we get back to the housing unit, Jo’s waiting for us with all our bags packed and ready by the door. Shane breaks the news.
“Oh my god! Congratulations!” she squeals, excited despite our somber mood. She hugs us tight, and we hug her back.
Jay and I grab the bags and load the truck. Before heading home, we stop by the cafeteria. It’s already after two, so the hot line’s shut down, but we grab sandwiches for the road.
This time, I drive. Jo takes the front seat with me while Jay and Shane share the back. I watch the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh. Her fingers curl over mine without looking.
Her phone buzzes, and she picks it up.
“It’s Jayme,” she says, reading the text. “I talked to Alice earlier today, and she must’ve told him you’re willing to accept his help. He says he wants to talk about the case as soon as possible. He’s asking if you can meet with him tomorrow.”
I don’t want to talk about the damn criminal charges.
Not after today. Before, I was handling it, or trying to, at least. But getting bumped to Tier-Two, transferred to Special Ops with this hanging over our heads…
it was the last drop. If it were up to me, I’d pretend it’s not happening. Just shut it out.
But I can’t, so I sigh and answer her. “Tomorrow’s probably not a good idea. It’s our first day at the garrison, and we don’t even know what time we’ll be home. Maybe we can reach out once we know our shifts?”
Jo bites her lip as she types, probably letting him know. “He says that’s fine. He’ll wait for you to get in touch.”
It’s almost ten when we finally get home. As I pull into the driveway, the truck’s headlights sweep over the gravel strip beside the house. Jo leans forward, squinting.
“Is that a basketball hoop?”
“Kind of,” Shane replies. “It’s a little crooked.”
“You guys really are into basketball,” she says with a small smile.
When we get inside, she heads straight for a bath, and soon after, the spice in her scent hits my senses. I hear her calling out for us.
She always bathed with the door closed, so her call catches me off guard. But we don’t hesitate.
When we enter, she’s in the clawfoot tub, her head tilted against the rim, hair damp and skin flushed.
The clear water reveals all of her, bare, gleaming, and devastating.
Jay drops to his knees beside her. Shane perches on the edge behind her, and I squeeze in last, shutting the door with my back.
It’s cramped. But the air is thick with her scent, so none of us are thinking about space anymore.
I still have her taste in my mouth when I wake up in our nest the next morning. I never thought sex with Jo could be better than it already was, but it’s insane how free she seems now. Like she’s dropped all restraint.
She’s still on leave from work, but she gets up with us anyway. In her absence, we started taking turns making breakfast instead of the three of us crowding the kitchen together like we used to. Today is Jay’s day. Shane and I sit at the table with her while Jay makes eggs and toast.
“First day, huh?” she asks softly, her eyes flicking between us. “You nervous?”
“A little,” I admit. “The garrisons are classified. All we know is there are no humans, and they only work with federal agencies.”
Jo smiles. “Sounds so secretive and fancy. I feel like I’ve got my own James Bonds.”
It’ll take nearly an hour to get to the garrison, counting the drive across Great Sky and the road that leads through the restricted area inside Stone Ridge State Park. And first, we need to stop by the unit to clear out our lockers and sign the papers, so we hit the road right after breakfast.
When we walk into the unit building, the fact that we’re leaving feels off. When we enter the squad room, Fontes is already at his desk. He stands and crosses the room, hand extended.
“Sarge told us about the transfer during end-of-shift yesterday,” he says. “You’d better not get all weird on us now.”
Jay grins and takes the handshake, then me. Shane claps him on the shoulder.
Sergeant Wilsbone appears in the doorway like he’s been waiting for us. “My office,” he says.
We follow him down the hall, past the break room, past the gear cage. Inside his office, he sits behind the desk while we stay standing. There’s still only one chair in front of him. That never changed.
“Well,” he says. “Looks like D.C. wants their investment back.” His tone is dry, but not cold. “You did good work here. All three of you. You showed up, you put in the hours, no bullshit.”
We all nod.
Jay clears his throat. “Thank you, sir. For treating us fairly. We won’t forget it. ”
Wilsbone gives him a look. “Don’t thank me for doing my damn job.” But his mouth twitches with the ghost of a smile.
He stands, and for the first time, offers his hand. “Good luck.”
We shake it, each of us. Then it’s done. No ceremony. Just the quiet reality of moving on.
Before we leave the unit, we go through the standard offboarding process: turning in our department-issued firearms, badges, body cams, radios, and vests to the quartermaster. Everything’s logged, scanned, and signed in triplicate. Even the cuffs.
Then we head to admin to sign the final paperwork: equipment return confirmation and a confidentiality clause covering anything we saw while working in High-Risk.
Takes less than an hour, then we’re out the door, heading for whatever comes next.
We get in the truck, and Great Sky blurs past the window. As soon as we cross the west bridge, the streets stretch wider, the traffic thins, and the road starts to climb.
The forest creeps in slowly. First, there were a few trees dotting the roadside. Then, thick woods closed in. Within ten minutes, the city’s completely behind us. Just pines and oaks now, towering high on either side, tangled with fresh vines and bright undergrowth.
Jay drives with both hands on the wheel. Shane sits upright in the passenger seat, alert. I keep my eyes on the treeline.
The entrance to Stone Ridge State Park is a wide metal gate cut into the trees, flanked by short stone walls that look like they’ve been there a hundred years. A narrow booth sits to the side, but it’s empty. This isn’t the real checkpoint.
Jay turns onto the access road, a narrow two-lane strip of cracked asphalt that winds uphill fast, the forest pressing tight on both sides.
We follow it for another five minutes before it opens into a clearing just big enough for a vehicle turnaround, bordered by a high steel fence topped with coils of razor wire.
The gate is solid reinforced metal, matte gray and unmarked.
Jay parks in front of it. I can’t see any surveillance gear, but I know it’s here. No way this place goes unwatched. Since we don’t know what else to do, we wait. After a few minutes, Shane opens his door and rolls out.
“Stretching my legs,” he says, and starts pacing.
Jay and I climb out too, leaning against the side of the truck as Shane paces in front of us.
“Never thought I’d care about leaving a fucking PD,” Jay blurts.
“It’s just that one was a fucking good PD,” Shane replies.
Yeah, sometimes we miss the weirdest things. I glance up at the blue sky, open above the trees.
“You guys remember that post-grad who monitored us when we were, like, fifteen? Georgia something?” I ask them.
Jay chuckles. “The one who used to sneak us candy bars behind the med team’s backs? I remember Shane cried when she finished her doctorate.”
Shane shoots him a look. “That’s what you remember? Candy bars? She was a nice lady. She hugged me after every one of those stupid tests with the electric shocks.”
I laugh. “You remember she was the one controlling the shocks, right?”
Shane snorts. “Yeah, but she could’ve just given the shocks without the hugs and candy bars.”
We’re all smiling when I hear a low rumble behind the gate.
I catch it out of the edge of my hearing.
It’s still a few minutes out. Big engine.
Heavy tires grinding over uneven asphalt.
Steady. Heavy. Moving with that slow, deliberate force you usually hear in a convoy.
No electrical buzz. No light bar hum. No siren gear whine.
I piece it together: an unmarked SUV. Government issue. Armored.
Shane and Jay’s smiles fade, so I know they hear it too.
The sound draws closer and louder until it stops just on the other side of the gate. I hear vehicle doors open, and a moment later, the gate moves, sliding open to reveal a pack in tactical gear standing beside the black SUV .
At first glance, the vehicle looks like a Bronco, but bigger. Stretched and raised. Not a model you’d find on any lot.
Shane squints. “Is that a Bronco?”
Jay tilts his head. “Sort of. Looks like one, but on steroids.”
I’d never really thought about it before, but now it feels obvious: there isn’t a single car on the market designed to hold a Tier-One pack.
Human companies make things like nests and aegis-size chairs, but no one’s redesigning a vehicle for us.
So this was retrofitted. Modified as a way to cram Tier Ones aegis into human-sized machines.
The aegis are fully geared out: black vests, boots, radios clipped to their shoulders, sidearms holstered at their hips. One of them carries a tablet. We can tell right away they’re Tier-One, all of them over seven feet tall, massive builds, serious presence.
The aegis with the tablet steps forward. “Identification.”
We hand over our IDs. He scans them one by one with a handheld reader, then looks at us. “You’re cleared for entry. We’ll escort you to the garrison. Follow our vehicle. Stay close.”
Jay gets back in the truck, and we follow.
Inside the restricted zone, the forest thickens. We follow the SUV for nearly ten minutes as the road climbs, twisting higher into the ridge.
Then, we see it, set back in a wide basin of flat earth carved into the slope: the garrison.