Ozzy clears his throat and steps back, giving me space like he’s practicing restraint on purpose. “Okay,” he says, picking up the notebook again. “List continues. What else have you never done?”
I inhale slowly. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself imagine a future that isn’t just fear. A future that doesn’t involve me leaving this place and returning home. A place I really don’t want to return to. “Roller skating,” I say suddenly.
Ozzy’s brows lift. “That’s… very specific.”
“I always wanted to,” I admit, embarrassed. “But it costs money. And I always felt stupid wanting things like that.”
Ozzy writes it down without comment:
Roller skating
Then he looks up, eyes warm. “We’ll do it.”
My chest tightens. “Lowkey,” I remind him, even though a part of me loves that he keeps saying we like he already plans on being in my future.
“Lowkey,” he agrees, smiling.
I take a sip of tea, warmth spreading through me. The safehouse stays quiet around us, a bubble against the world. But the fear is still there, under my ribs. Because somewhere out there, men are realizing their prize is gone. Because somewhere out there, someone is deciding what to do about that. And because I don’t know if my mother even noticed I disappeared. I stare at Ozzy, at his calm focus, his pen moving across paper like he’s building me something. I’m terrified of hoping.
But I can’t help it. Because for the first time in weeks— I feel like I might not be alone. And if Ozzy really does ask the team to check on my mom… If I really do get an answer…
Maybe I can finally stop wondering whether I’m the kind of person the world forgets.
And I can finally start being the kind of person who stays.
TEN
OZZY
If you’d told me last week that I’d be coordinating a covert delivery of skateboards and roller skates to a Maddox safehouse like it’s an Amazon Prime order for joy, I would’ve asked what drugs you were on and whether you were sharing.
But here we are.
Rainmaker is quiet in the late morning—sunlight spilling across the living room floor, the house warm and calm and deceptively normal. Salem is in the kitchen humming under her breath while she rinses berries in a colander, hair pulled up messy, wearing one of the oversized tees from Juno’s duffel.
She looks… lighter. She’s still guarded. Still scanning windows sometimes like her body can’t help it. But lighter. And that matters.
I keep my phone angled away from her, thumb moving fast across the secure channel.
OZZY: Need a favor.
ARROW: You finally confessing you can’t cook?
OZZY: I can cook. This is… recreational.
JUNO: That’s the most suspicious thing you’ve ever typed.
OZZY: Two skateboards. One orange if possible. And roller skates.
ARROW: …
JUNO: I KNEW IT. Safehouse playdate.
OZZY: Don’t call it that.