Rowan turns toward me slowly, his expression crumbling—hope breaking apart into fear so raw it hurts to look at. Emerson’s jaw tightens, eyes going black at the implications.
Because if Berk left willingly…
Fear outweighed staying.
A priority eclipsed us.
A threat targeted someone she loves.
And the only person she would ever break a promise for…
“Kimber,” Emerson whispers, voice hollow.
The realization hits all three of us at once.
A cold, brutal clarity.
Whatever Berk found—whatever threat she uncovered, whatever twisted bait Dean dangled—she walked straight into it. Alone.
And if she went alone…we’re already too far behind.
We have to dig. We have to see what the hell she saw that made her walk out of this house without us.
My hands hit the keyboard before either of my brothers finish their next breath. The war room hums around me, monitors glowing, casting long shadows that feel like accusations. Bryce’s phone is still propped on the desk whereBerk left it, steadily dumping data in a slow drip. That’s my first target. If she left it behind on purpose, it matters.
I pull up the stream of incoming intel, eyes scanning line after line until something red flags at the top.
A ping. A notification from her auto-alert system. The one she set to wake her if Dean reached out.
Timestamp: six hours ago.
A curse rips out of me before I can cage it. “Fuck.”
Six hours. She has six hours on us. That means she must’ve left not long after we fell asleep.
But even as panic grips the edges of my ribs, I see what she did for us. She left Bryce’s phone online to keep the dump going. She left her own phone routing program running with a satellite tether she coded herself. She planned for us to find her trail.
My throat tightens. “Good girl,” I mutter under my breath, fingers already flying over the keys.
Rowan’s pacing cracks against my nerves like gunfire. “Ronan, what the fuck are you muttering about? Tell us what you found.”
I drag in a breath that tastes like metal and dread. “There’s a text. Came through this morning. From Dean.”
The room freezes. Air stops moving.
They don’t ask to see it. They don’t have to. I read it out loud.
“Good morning, Berkley. Bryce is gone—I assume the warehouse fire explains that. You’re much more resourceful than you were in your youth. Hopefully, the boys haven’t loosened you up too much. I’d love to play again. You were such a tight number before. If you want Kimber back, I propose a swap. You for her. You have one hour to respond. My voice breaks on the last line. I swallow hard, but it doesn’t go down. “She responded with, ‘What do I need to do.’”
Emerson collapses into the nearest chair like someone cut the strings holding him up. He whispers like a prayer or a curse. “No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
Rowan stops pacing. Stops breathing. His fists tremble at his sides, knuckles bone-white, jaw clenched so tight I hear it grind.
The silence is suffocating.
Every one of us knows it in our bones, a truth that tastes like blood and ash. Berk didn’t stumble into a trap… she walked straight into it. By choice. And she walked into it alone.
Rowan finally stops pacing and snaps toward the monitors, planting his hands on either side of me as he leans in. His breath is harsh, his voice scraping raw when he demands, “Is there anything else? Any more messages? She asked what she needed to do, but there’s no response?”