She’s sitting on the porch steps now, one of the babies in her lap, talking with her hands like she’s telling a story that needs gestures to survive. She looks… lighter. And that’s when it hits me. I don’t just want to keep her alive. I want to keep her like that. Smiling. Talking. Breathing without fear in her eyes.
I don’t say it out loud. But it settles in my chest like something permanent.
Gavin claps a hand on my shoulder as we head out. “She’s in good hands, Chase.”
I nod. “I know.” And for the first time in a long time, I mean more than just the mission. Because whatever’s coming for Fiona… It’s going to have to get through all of us.
And me first.
SEVEN
FIONA
The babies are better than therapy. I don’t know who decided that tiny humans with chubby cheeks and absolutely zero respect for personal space are healing, but they were onto something. Emma is asleep against Harper’s chest, a little snuffle of breath puffing out every few seconds like she’s dreaming of milk and world domination. Aidan is on Kayley’s hip, trying to eat the drawstring of her hoodie like it’s the best snack he’s ever seen.
And me?
I’m sitting on the clubhouse steps, warm mug in my hands, pretending my life didn’t go sideways a few days ago.
It’s… nice here. That realization sneaks up on me and sits heavy in my chest.
Haven 7 is quiet in a way that doesn’t feel lonely. There’s movement everywhere—someone carrying gear across the yard, someone else splitting wood, a couple of the guys laughing about something that sounds like it involved a ladder and poor choices. It feels lived-in. Solid.
Safe.
I can see how people stay.
How they build something here.
How they stop running.
The door to the meeting house opens, and a cluster of men spill out like the world’s most intimidating boy band. They’re talking in low voices, serious faces, all business. My shoulders tense automatically, like my body’s bracing for bad news.
Gavin breaks off from the group and heads straight for me.
Big brother mode: engaged.
“How you doing, Fi?” he asks, stopping in front of me like he’s conducting a visual inspection for injuries and emotional damage.
“I’m good,” I say. “Better, actually.”
He studies me like he’s trying to decide if that’s true. “You sleep okay?”
I hesitate for half a second, then nod. “Yeah. The bed was… comfortable.”
Not a lie. Just… not the whole story either.
“Good,” he says, relieved enough that it softens his shoulders a little. “If you need anything, you tell me. Or Harper. Or Kayley. Or Emma.”
“Actually,” I say, then wince, “I do need something.”
He lifts a brow. “What?”
“Toothbrush. Face wash. Deodorant. You know. The glamorous stuff.”
Harper laughs. “I’ve got all of that. You can borrow.”
Kayley nods. “Same. We’ll set you up with a whole starter kit.”