Chapter Thirty-three Amethyst
The following day, Raven’s voice cuts through the hallway. Sharp. Precise. Impossible to ignore.
“Everyone. Conference room. Now."
I’m already moving. Kade beside me. His hand brushes mine. Brief. Grounding. The wound in his chest—
Still healing. But he moves well. Controlled. Steady. We reach the conference room. The Raven is at the head of the table. Jake beside her. Three other operatives I recognize. Two I don’t. Everyone filters in. quiet. Focused. Waiting. When the room is full—
Twelve people total—
Raven doesn’t waste a second,
“We’re evacuating. Immediately."
Silence. Heavy. No one questions it. They know better.
“Enzo knows this location," she continues.
Her eyes find mine. Brief. Acknowledging.
“He’s planning to move on us. We don’t know when. But we’re not waiting to find out."
She pulls up a map on the screen. Digital. Detailed. Three locations marked.
“Safe houses," she says.
“My specific houses that have never been used by any of you. They are safe, secured and unknown. You’ll be divided into groups of four. Each group gets a location. No communication between groups unless it’s an emergency routed through me."
Smart. Compartmentalized. If one group is falls, the others stay safe.
“Pack light," The Raven continues.
“Essentials only. Weapons. Documents. Medical supplies. Nothing that can’t be replaced. We move in thirty minutes."
She looks around the room. Meeting every eye.
“This is not a drill. This is not precautionary. Enzo is coming. And when he gets here, I want this place empty."
Heads nod around the table. No hesitation. No arguments.
“Questions?"
Silence.
“Good. Move."
The room empties immediately. Everyone already knows what needs to be done.
“We’re not going with them," I say quietly.
Not a question. A statement. He nods.
“The cabin."
“Yes."
The Raven approaches. Stops in front of us.
“You two are off the grid," she says.
“The cabin is secure?"
“As secure as anywhere. Remote. No paper trail. Marcus didn’t know about it."
“You’re sure?"
“Yes."
I study her face. Looking for hesitation. For uncertainty. There’s none.
“We’ll help with the evacuation first," Kade says.
The Raven nods.
“Appreciated. But don’t linger. I want you gone within the hour."
“Understood."
She walks away. Already coordinating. Directing. Kade’s hand finds mine. Squeezes. “Let’s move," he says.
The facility moves like a machine pushed into overdrive. Fast. Efficient. Controlled.
People moving. Bags being packed. Weapons checked. Supplies gathered.
I move through it. Room by room. Checking. Confirming. Making sure nothing critical is left behind.
Room 1. Empty. Bed stripped. Closet cleared. Good.
Room 2. Same. Efficient. Clean.
Room 3. I pause at the door. Marcus’s body is gone. The blood cleaned. The chair removed. Like it never happened. Raven’s people work fast. I close the door. Move on.
Room 4. Two operatives packing. Quick. Methodical.
“Five minutes," I say.
They nod. Don’t stop working. I continue down the hall. Medical bay. Jake is there. Loading supplies into cases. Organized. Labeled.
“Status?" I ask.
“Almost done. Two more cases."
“Need help?"
“No. I’ve got it."
I nod. Move to the next room.
Armory.
Kade is there. With two others. Weapons being distributed. Ammunition counted. Everything accounted for. He looks up when I enter.
Our eyes meet. Brief. Enough. He’s steady. Focused. Ready.
I leave him to it. Continue my sweep. Kitchen. Someone’s packing non-perishables. Canned goods. Dried food. Water bottles. Smart. Can’t rely on supply lines if you’re scattered.
“Ten minutes," I say.
They nod. Work faster. I move through the common areas.
Living room.
Empty.
Furniture left behind.
It stays.
Office. Raven is there. Shredding documents. Feeding them into the machine. Methodical. Thorough.
“Status?" she asks without looking up.
“Rooms one through six clear. Armory in progress. Medical almost done. Kitchen wrapping up."
“Good. Check the basement. Make sure the servers are wiped."
“On it."
I head for the stairs. Down. Into the basement. Cooler here. Darker. The server room is at the end. Door open. One operative inside. Typing. Fast. Focused.
“How long?" I ask.
“Three minutes. Wiping everything. Then physical destruction."
“Good."
I watch. The screen fills with code. Scrolling. Deleting. Erasing. Every piece of data. Every file. Every record. Gone.
When the screen goes black—
He stands. Pulls a hammer from his bag. Starts smashing. Hard drives. Processors. Memory cards. Methodical destruction. Nothing recoverable. Nothing traceable.
“Done," he says.
“Good. Get upstairs. Your group leaves in five."
He nods. Grabs his bag. Leaves.
I do one more sweep of the basement.
Storage room. Empty.
Utility room. Clear.
Nothing left. Nothing that matters. I head back upstairs.
The first group is ready. Four people. Bags packed. Weapons secured. Raven hands them keys. An address.
“Stay low. Stay quiet. Check in every twelve hours."
They nod. File out. The door closes behind them.
Second group. Same process. Keys. Address. Instructions. They leave.
Third group. One by one they disappear through the door. The facility feels smaller with every departure.
Kade appears beside me. His hand touches my lower back. Light. Grounding.
“Almost done," he says quietly.
“Yes."
The last group leaves. Just us now. Me. Kade. The Raven. Jake.
“Final sweep," The Raven says.
We split up. Kade takes the east wing. Jake takes the west. I take the main floor. Raven takes the basement.
I move through each room. Again. Slower this time. More thorough.
Looking for anything that can be traced. Anything we missed.. Nothing. The place has been stripped clean.
I meet the others in the main hallway.
“Clear," Jake says.
“Clear," Kade confirms.
“Clear," I add.
Raven nods.
“Good. Let’s go."
We walk to the front. The Raven locks the door behind us. Pockets the key.
“This location is burned," she says.
“Don’t come back."
We nod. She and Jake head to their vehicle. A black SUV. Nondescript. They’ll go to a fourth location. Separate from the others. Command and control.
Kade and I walk to our truck. Different vehicle than before. Older. Less conspicuous. The Raven’s work. Always prepared. I slide into the passenger seat.
Kade takes the wheel. The engine starts. Quiet. Smooth. We pull out. Leave the facility behind. I watch it disappear in the side mirror.
The building. The place where Marcus died. Where we planned. Where we recovered.
All gone now. Just another empty building waiting to rot.
The road is empty. Long. Winding through trees.
Kade drives steady. Not fast. Not slow. Just—
Controlled. My ribs ache. Dull. Persistent.
The painkillers are wearing off. I should take more. Don’t. Not yet. Need to stay sharp. Alert. Just in case.
Kade’s hand moves from the wheel. Finds mine. Rests there. Warm. Solid. Real. I don’t pull away. Just let him hold it. Let the contact ground me. We don’t talk. Don’t need to.
The silence is comfortable. Familiar. His thumb traces circles on my palm. Absent. Unconscious. Soothing.
I watch the trees pass. Dense. Dark. The road narrows. Turns to gravel. Then dirt. We’re close. The cabin appears. Small. Isolated. Surrounded by forest. Perfect.
Kade parks. Kills the engine. Silence. Just the wind. The trees. The quiet.
“Home," he says quietly.
Not really. But close enough.
We get out. Grab our bags. Light. Just essentials. Like Raven said. The cabin door is unlocked. We step inside. It’s cold. Dusty. Hasn’t been used in weeks. But it’s intact. Secure. Safe. For now.
Kade drops his bag. Moves to the windows. Checks the locks. The sight lines. The exits. Always assessing. Always preparing for the next threat.
I set my bag down. Move to the kitchen. Small. Basic. But functional. I open the cabinets. Canned soup. Pasta. Rice. Dried beans. Not much. But enough. The fridge is empty. Unplugged. I plug it in. It hums to life. Kade appears behind me.
“What do we have?"
“Enough for a few days. Maybe a week if we’re careful."
He nods.
“I’ll check the perimeter. Make sure we’re clear."
“Be careful."
His hand brushes my shoulder. Brief. Reassuring. Then he’s gone.
Out the back door. Into the trees. I watch him disappear. Then turn back to the kitchen.
Start pulling out supplies. Soup. Crackers. Canned vegetables. Not gourmet. But it’ll do.
I find a pot. Rinse it. Pour in the soup. Set it on the stove. The flame catches. Blue. Steady.
I stir. Slow. Methodical. My ribs protest. The movement pulling. Stretching. I ignore it. Keep stirring.
The soup begins to simmer. Steam curls towards the ceiling. The smell fills the cabin. Simple. Familiar. Almost normal.
Kade returns. Closes the door behind him. Locks it.
“Clear," he says.
“No tracks. No signs of anyone."
“Good."
He comes to stand beside me. Close enough to touch. Watching me stir.
“Smells good."
“It’s canned soup."
“Still."
I smile. Small. Brief.
He reaches past me. Grabs two bowls from the cabinet. Sets them on the counter. I ladle soup into each. Careful. Even.
We sit at the small table. Eat in silence.
The soup is hot. Salty. Nothing special. But after the last two weeks, it might as well be perfect.
Kade finishes first. Sets his bowl aside. Watches me.
“How are your ribs?"
“Sore."
“Pain level?"
“Manageable."
He doesn’t look convinced.
“Amethyst."
“I’m fine."
“You’re not fine. You’re just functional."
I set my spoon down. Meet his eyes.
“Functional is enough."
He holds my gaze. Searching. Assessing.
Then nods. Accepts it. For now.
We clean up. Wash the bowls. The pot. Put everything away. Efficient. Practiced.
Like we’ve done this a hundred times.
Maybe we have.
In different places. Different circumstances. But the rhythm is the same.
“Shower?" Kade asks.
“Yes."
We move to the bathroom. Small. Cramped. But clean. The water heater kicks on. Loud. Groaning. But it works.
Kade strips first. Careful with his shirt. The bandage underneath. White. Clean.
Raven changed it this morning.
I watch him. The way he moves. Controlled. Precise. Even injured, he looks dangerous. Controlled. Focused. Mine.
He catches me watching.
“What?"
“Nothing."
“Liar."
I smile. Small. He steps into the shower. Lets the water hit him. Careful. Avoiding the wound.
I undress. Slower. My ribs protest. Every movement. Every stretch. I grit my teeth. Push through.
Join him. The water is hot. Almost too hot. But it feels good. Loosening muscles. Easing tension. Washing away the last two weeks.
Kade’s hands find me. Gentle. Careful.
He soaps my back. My shoulders. Avoiding the ribs. Mindful. Always mindful.
I lean into him. Let him support me. Let him care for me.
His lips brush my shoulder. Light. Tender. Nothing possessive. Nothing demanding. Just him.
We’re here. We’re alive. We’re together. I turn. Face him. My hands move to his chest. Around the bandage. Careful. Like he’s something fragile.
“Does it hurt?" I ask quietly.
“Yes."
“How much?"
“Less than it did."
I trace the edge of the bandage. Light. Barely touching.
“I’m sorry."
“For what?"
“For this. For all of it."
His hand catches mine. Stops me.
“Don’t."
“Kade—"
“I’d do it again. Every time. Without hesitation."
I look up at him.
His eyes never waver. Certain. Absolute.
“I know," I say quietly.
He kisses me. Soft. Slow. Not demanding. Just—
Present. Here. With me. We finish washing. Rinse. Step out. Dry off.
Careful. Methodical. I wrap the towel around myself. He does the same.
We move to the bedroom. Small. One bed. Enough.
I find clean clothes in my bag. Simple. Comfortable. Kade does the same. We dress. Slow. Tired.
The adrenaline is fading. The exhaustion setting in.
I sit on the edge of the bed. My ribs thank me. Kade sits beside me. Close. His hand finds mine again.
“We’re safe here," he says quietly.
“For now."
“For now," he agrees.
We sit in silence. Just breathing. Just being.
The cabin is quiet. Isolated. Secure.
For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel hunted.
The phone rings. Loud. Jarring. I’m awake instantly. Hand reaching for the weapon on the nightstand.
Kade is already sitting up. Alert. Ready.
I grab the phone. Raven’s number. I answer.
“Yes."
“It’s me."
Her voice. Calm. Steady.
“Just checking in."
I exhale. Slowly.
“We’re here. We’re good."
“Everyone settled?"
“Yes. All three groups confirmed arrival. No issues."
“Good."
Silence. Brief.
“How are you two?"
I glance at Kade. He’s watching me. Listening.
“We’re fine," I say. “Ribs are sore. Kade’s wound is healing. But we’re functional."
“Good. Stay low. Stay quiet. I’ll contact you if anything changes."
“Understood."
“Get some rest, Amethyst."
“You too."
She hangs up. I set the phone down. Look at Kade.
“Everyone’s safe," I say quietly.
He nods. The relief is subtle. But I see it.
“Come here," he says.
I move closer. Careful with my ribs. He pulls me against him. Gentle. Mindful.
His arms wrap around me. Secure. Protective. Unyielding.
I rest my head on his shoulder. Feel his heartbeat. Steady. Strong. Alive.
“Sleep," he murmurs against my hair.
“You too."
“I will."
We settle carefully. Mindful of ribs. Mindful of wounds. But close. Connected.
The cabin is silent.
Dark. Safe. For now.
I close my eyes. Let exhaustion take me. Let myself fall. Into sleep. Into safety. Into the quiet. Kade’s breathing evens out. Deep. Steady. He’s asleep. Finally. I follow. Drifting. Sinking. Gone.