Kimber beams, holding it up like a trophy before I usher her into the backseat.
We’re rolling again a moment later, the city lights fading behind us. No shadows tailing us, no headlights sticking too close. Bryce hasn’t called, hasn’t sent his dogs barking. Maybe he doesn’t know yet. Maybe chaos elsewhere is keeping him busy. Either way, Kimber’s safe for tonight.
She leans forward between the seats, chewing on a gummy bear, and asks softly, “Are we really okay now?”
I glance at Rowan before answering, my voice steady. “We will be, Bug. I promise. As long as we stick together.”
As the road stretches out in front of us, I swear I’ll make good on that promise—no matter who I have to bury along the way.
Once we’re back at the fallout house, Kimber is bouncing like she’s got springs in her feet, riding the sugar rush from the bag of candy she tore through on the drive. She darts from room to room, laughing, chattering about the gummies and chocolate like we just gave her the keys to Disneyland. I can’t help but smile, even though exhaustion weighs heavily on me. She’s safe. That’s all that matters.
An hour later, though, she crashes hard. She’s sprawled out on the bed in her room, blanket twisted around her legs, snoring like a bear cub hibernating for winter. I stand there for a long moment just watching her chest rise and fall, the peace in her little face undoing me in ways I can’t put into words. Then, I close the door softly and head back into the living room.
Rowan’s already there, stretched out on the couch. He chuckles when he sees me. “Still a handful, I see.” His grin is faint, but there’s relief written all over his face, the same bone-deep relief burning through me. We did it. She’s out of that house. Away from them. Safe—for now.
I slump down into the chair with the stack of paperwork the cops handed me. Might as well make sure the paperwork’s clean before I finally let myself breathe. I start flipping through the pages, scanning the legal jargon, the custody terms, the stamps and seals. It all looks right. Then my eyes land on the signature line, and I freeze.
It’s my name written there, scrawled in ink. My signature. Only…it’s not.
A chill slides down my spine. There are only two people in the world who could forge my signature that perfectly. Reign. And Berkley. Reign’s gone. Which leaves only Berk.
My throat locks up, the words choking me before I can get them out. Rowan notices immediately and sits up, concern flashing in his eyes. “What is it?” he asks, leaning forward.
For a moment, I can’t answer. I just lean back, the papers trembling in my hands, and then a laugh escapes me—half disbelief, half awe. “Do you remember that summer?” I ask him. “The one where the girls spent weeks forging our names? They got them almost perfect.”
Rowan’s brow furrows, then his eyes narrow like he’s trying to follow me.
“Almost perfect,” I repeat, holding up the page so he can see. My finger traces the little flourish at the end of the name. “Except Berk. She used to flip out the N’s at the end of each of our names. Nobody else would notice. But us? We’d know. We teased her about adding her girly curve to each of us.” My chest tightens with something I don’t dare call hope. “This—this was signed by her.” My voice drops to a whisper, reverent. “She’s the one who got Kimber out of that house.”
The silence that follows is heavy, electric. Rowan stares at the page, then at me, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing: Berkley’s not just alive. She’s moving pieces. She’s been here. And she’s watching over us.
Rowan sits in silence for a long while, his eyes fixed on the forged signature like it’s a lifeline. When he finally speaks, it’s barely a whisper, cracked and raw. “We need to find her, Em. We need to help her.” The weight in his tone punches me square in the chest.
I lean back; the words circling in my head, colliding with every unanswered question we’ve been dragging around. The explosions. The dropping bodies and the chaos unraveling piece by piece around our fathers’ empire. My gut twists as the truth stitches together. “All of it,” I mutter. “The deaths, the fires, the total fucking turmoil—it’s been her. This entire time.”
Rowan shifts, his gaze narrowing. “Then who’s she working with? She couldn’t have done all this alone.”
I raise a brow, cutting him a look sharp enough to stop him mid-breath. “You really think she’s working with anyone? You know her as well as I do. Berk doesn’t trust people. Not anymore. The likelihood is she’s on her own. And if that’s true…” A grim smile twists my mouth, pride and worry colliding in equal measure. “She’s out there fucking shit up. More than we ever could’ve imagined.”
Silence hangs between us, weighted by what isn’t said. At last, I rake a hand through my hair and let out a slow, steady breath. “We need to find her. Make sure she’s okay—first. Then…” I swallow, throat tight. “Then we take care of her, however she’ll let us.”
Rowan’s voice softens, but it’s laced with longing. “I just want to hold her,” he admits, the words barely making it past hislips. His voice cracks, and he clears his throat roughly, like he can force the weakness out. The rawness in him is hard to watch, so I don’t push. Instead, he curses under his breath, pulling out his phone, his thumb swiping across the screen with more force than necessary. “Where the hell is my brother?” he growls, frustration darkening his tone.
As if the universe can’t resist twisting the knife, Bryce’s name flashes across my phone screen, glowing like a curse. Rowan’s eyes snap to it the same second mine do, and the air in the room turns to stone. I don’t hesitate—I swipe to answer and hit speaker, needing him to hear every word, needing both of us to share the weight of what’s about to come.
Bryce doesn’t give me the chance to speak. His voice explodes through the line, a scream so raw it distorts, filling the living room with venom. “Bring her back! You hear me, Emerson? Bring Kimber back right now!” His rage is frantic, spittle practically audible even through the phone, and yet underneath it, I hear it—fear. A tremor in his tone that makes me smile.
I lean back in my chair, letting his fury wash over me like static, unbothered. Then I laugh, low and sharp, the sound slicing through his rant. “You’ll never see her again, Bryce. You’ll never see any of us again. Better start preparing for what’s coming, because you’ve got a storm headed your way.”
There’s a beat of silence, then his voice comes back, still loud but quivering, the cracks showing. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. You boys think you can—” He cuts off, as if the words choke him, like he already knows the walls are closing in.
That’s the best part. The warning he tries to spit out doesn’t come with power—it comes with dread. He’s trembling, and he knows it. Rowan catches my eye, and for the first time tonight, we share something sharp and vicious: satisfaction.
But even as my blood sings with it, I keep my mouth shut about the one thing that could tip the scales too far. Berk. Her name doesn’t leave my lips, not even hinted at. She’s ours to protect, no matter what, and the world doesn’t get to know about her unless she decides it’s time. Until then, she’s our secret weapon.
“Go to hell,” I say flatly, and then end the call. The silence that follows is louder than his screaming. “Fucking shit. I can’t believe it’s finally happening.” The words rip out of me, raw and disbelieving, as the weight of it slams into my chest. For so long it felt like we were clawing at shadows, circling the same cage, waiting for something to break. And now—it’s here. The first crack in the armor. The first step toward tearing everything down.
Rowan and I both exhale, the sound shaky, like we’ve been holding our breath for years without knowing it. Then we’re grinning—wide, unguarded grins that ache in my cheeks because it’s been so damn long since either of us has had reason to smile. It feels foreign, dangerous even, like hope is some fragile thing we don’t deserve, but I let it in anyway. Rowan does too. For this moment, we’re not just broken men. We’re brothers again.