I swallow, forcing the tremor out of my voice. “I want answers.”
Ozzy reaches out and cups my face gently, thumb brushing under my eye like he’s wiping away a tear I didn’t realize escaped. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs. “Together.”
I blink hard. “Promise?”
Ozzy’s eyes lock on mine, steady as stone. “Promise.”
Promises are dangerous. But Ozzy doesn’t make them lightly.
I lean into his hand, letting myself breathe. Then I nod. “Okay,” I whisper. “Then let’s find him.”
Ozzy’s mouth softens, and he pulls me back into his arms—tight, protective, like he’s holding me together while my entire history rearranges itself. And I let him. Because for the first time in my life, the future doesn’t feel like a closed door.
It feels like a hunt.
And I’m not running anymore.
TWENTY-TWO
OZZY
Morning at Rainmaker tastes like pine and cold metal. The kind of air that wakes you up whether you want it to or not.
I’m in the kitchen with my bare feet on the chilled tile, staring at the coffee maker. Sort of just dazed as I think about a future with Salem. What that would look like. What would it feel like?
The safehouse is quiet in that early way where everything feels suspended. The fridge hums. A branch taps the window once, soft and harmless, but my body still logs it. My brain still catalogs sounds like it’s sorting threats.
Behind me, Salem is moving around in the bedroom. I hear a drawer slide open, and fabric rustle. She didn’t sleep great. I can tell by the way she held me too tight last night. Like if she loosened her grip, the truth would crawl in and bite her.
She’s been through a lot. More than I’d ever wish on anyone.
I set two mugs on the counter and pour coffee like I’m doing something normal. Like I’m not thinking about how to tell a girlthat the people who should have loved her most might be the reason she almost disappeared forever.
My phone buzzes. It’s Arrow. My spine straightens on instinct. I swipe to answer. “Talk.”
Arrow’s voice is low and fast. “We have a lead.”
My stomach tightens. “On what.”
“Goldenbell movement,” he says. “Possible transit point. Warehouse on the outskirts of Magnolia Ridge.”
My eyes flick to the window. Trees. Quiet road. Nothing but frost and the faint haze of morning.
We’re close.
Too close.
“You want me to sit on my hands and wait for you to drive two hours?” I ask.
Arrow doesn’t bite. He just exhales like he expected this response. “I want you to stay put. That’s the order.”
“It’s not an order,” I say.
“It is when Dean says it,” Arrow replies. “And he did.”
I stare at the coffee dripping into the pot, jaw tight. My pulse is already kicking up. “Who’s on it?” I ask.
“BRAVO is mobilizing,” Arrow says. “Dean’s sending a team. Rae’s patching into local feeds. But we need eyes on the warehouse before it goes cold.”