Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
HURRICANE
ZACK
Philly always feels like it’s watching you. It’s so bright and colorful with this feeling of never truly being alone, the buildings all filled with history and the secrets of a time long since forgotten.
Even from the highway, the city has a way of sitting back on its heels, pretending not to notice while it catalogs every car that passes through.
I don’t slow until the last possible second, cutting down side streets and doubling back once just to be sure.
The routine is so ingrained it barely registers as effort anymore.
The safe house is a narrow brick row home tucked between two identical ones, forgettable by design.
No cameras pointed outward. No obvious security.
Just another place someone might live and never ask questions about.
I park two blocks away anyway; I’m gonna need a new rental car anyway, so I’ll make the guys get us another one while we’re out tonight.
“Home sweet, extremely temporary, home,” Hazel says, hopping out and stretching like we didn’t just drive nearly nine hours straight.
“Fake names,” I remind her automatically as I shoulder the bag. “If anyone asks.”
She grins. “Obviously. Who am I today?”
“Claire.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Rude. I’m not a Claire.”
“You are here.”
She sighs dramatically. “Fine. But I’m a fun Claire.”
Inside, the place is already stocked; clean clothes, basic food, burner phones charging on the counter.
My MC, Broken Halo, set it up weeks ago as a fallback; no questions asked, cash handled through channels that don’t exist on paper.
I do a quick sweep out of habit, then finally let my shoulders drop when everything checks out.
Hazel wanders the living room, peering at the shelves. “You know,” she says, “for a guy who pretends he doesn’t plan ahead, you plan ahead a lot.”
“I don’t pretend,” I say. “People assume.”
She flashes me a smile that says she knows exactly what I mean, and doesn’t plan on letting me hide behind it.
“Are we sharing a bed?”
“No—” My voice is clipped, but I see her shoulders sag, and I can’t help but feel guilty. “Yeah, yeah that’s fine.”
Her face lights up, and it’s truly the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. “I need a nap, join me?”
Hazel and I crawl into the bed, and once we’re settled, I check my phone again. A message from Lincoln lights up the screen.
Lincoln: MEDIA. 6:30. Nora’s awake and already negotiating dessert.
I huff a quiet laugh.
“We’re heading out again,” I tell Hazel, my hand gently rubbing up and down her back. Her tiny body is barely half of mine, but somehow we just fit together. “Lincoln lives in Media, about thirty-five minutes west. We’re meeting for dinner.”
Her eyes light up immediately. “Wait—Lincoln Lincoln? The hacker genius with the dad energy?”
“That’s him. It’ll be him and his daughter.”
“…His daughter?” she adds, already smiling wider.
“Nora,” I confirm. “She’s three. And she’s—” I search for the word. “A lot.”
Hazel claps her hands once, delighted. “I love her already.”
I roll my eyes knowing that she and Nora are going to be absolutely inseparable. I smile because normally I would never let anyone near my people, but Hazel isn’t just anyone.
The restaurant is low-key, family-friendly without being loud; the kind of place where no one looks twice at a tired-looking dad and his kid coloring on the table.
Lincoln’s already there when we walk in, Nora perched beside him in a booster seat, her pink sneakers kicking against the chair legs like she’s powering up for something.
Her head snaps up the second she sees us.
“UNCLE ZAAACKKYYYYYY!” she announces, sliding off the seat with zero hesitation and barreling straight into my legs.
I catch her automatically, lifting her just enough that she squeals.
“Hey, sweetie pie.” I go soft for this little ball of pure star fire, she’s known more pain than any child should, we’re kindred spirits in a way.
I’ve just so happened to make it my personal goal in life to keep this little girl safe from anything else bad. No matter the cost.
She immediately cups my face in both hands, squinting at me like she’s inspecting a crime scene. “You’re scratchy.”
“Occupational hazard.”
Her gaze slides past me, locks onto Hazel, and her entire demeanor changes.
“Who’s that?” she asks her little body wriggles, trying to escape and already halfway out of my arms.
Hazel crouches instantly, eyes bright. “Hi,” she says warmly. “I’m—”
Before she can finish, Nora has wrapped her arms around Hazel’s neck like she’s known her forever.
“Oh,” Hazel breathes, laughing softly, her melodic laugh settles over me, and I feel at home in this moment. “Okay. We’re hugging now. I love that for us.”
Lincoln winces apologetically, his gentle face looking more tired than I’ve seen him, though you’d never know it. “Sorry. She decides things fast.”
“I respect that,” Hazel replies, grinning as Nora presses her cheek against hers.
Nora pulls back suddenly and gasps. “You’re pretty.”
Hazel pretends to swoon. “Wow. I’m keeping her.”
Then Nora’s attention snaps back to me like a magnet finding metal.
“Uncle Zacky,” she says seriously, pointing at my arm. “Your pictures.”
I glance down at the ink creeping out from under my sleeve. “Yeah?”
“Can I color them?”
Hazel bites her lip, trying not to laugh.
Lincoln groans quietly. “She’s been asking since she learned what markers are.”
I consider it for exactly one second. “Washable?”
Lincoln nods. “Very.”
Nora lights up like Christmas morning, her little mouth popping open in an absolutely adorable “O” shape.
“Deal,” I say.
She cheers, throws both arms in the air, then immediately starts explaining her artistic vision to Hazel in great detail as Lincoln goes to grab the markers from his bag.
Hazel leans over to me, her voice low and delighted. “She’s perfect.”
I watch Nora gesture wildly, already deciding which tattoo needs a rainbow, and feel something unfamiliar settle in my chest. Normal. This…this is normal. Dinner plans. A kid arguing about colors. Hazel laughing so freely it feels contagious.
For tonight, at least, the world isn’t closing in.
We sit down, order food, let Nora “decorate” my arm while Hazel gives enthusiastic commentary, and for the first time since we crossed into Philly, I let myself exist in the moment.
Tomorrow, we find our best friends, and finally get the answers we have been looking after for weeks.
Tonight, we eat pasta, trade bad jokes, and let a three-year-old decide that my tattoos need more purple.
And somehow, that feels like the safest thing in the world.