Ariel surfaced hard, like breaking through ice.
Reed's voice chased her up out of sleep: They didn't lose you, sunshine. They sold you. And your sweet brother? He watched. The warehouse lights flared behind her eyes, Berry's car folded in on itself, the shock behind her ear blending with the crunch of metal from a crash years ago. Her own voice in the dream had been hoarse, begging Reed to shut up, to stop talking, to stop knowing things she didn't remember.
She jerked awake with a gasp, fingers clawing at the blanket.
For a heartbeat, the safe house ceiling above her warped into concrete. The couch became the chair. The weight at her wrist was the strap, not Chris's earlier hand.
Her breath stuttered, too fast, too shallow.
Across the room, Chris didn't stir; he was half‑folded in the armchair, dead to the world. Mara was a rumpled heap in the other chair, chin on her chest, one arm hanging off the armrest, completely gone.
A shadow lifted off the opposite couch.
"Ariel."
Arlo's voice—rough with sleep, but clear.
He was moving before she could get her lungs under control, swinging his legs off the couch, crossing the small space in quick, uneven strides. The room tilted for him once; he caught himself on the back of a chair and kept going.
He dropped into a crouch by the couch, close but not crowding.
"Hey," he said, softer. "You're here. Safe house, remember?"
Her eyes found his in the dim lamplight.
Safe house. Not the warehouse. Not the hallway in Reed's story.
Her heart didn't get the message right away.
She realized her hands were shaking only when his fingers brushed the back of one, light and questioning, giving her plenty of room to pull away.
She didn't.
He wrapped his hand around hers, firm enough to anchor, not enough to trap.
"Breathe with me," he said quietly. "In."
He drew a slow breath; she tried to match it.
"Out."
It came out ragged, but slower than before.
"In again."
By the third cycle, the tight clamp on her chest eased enough that she could string words together.
"What he said," she blurted, voice raw. "What Reed told me about… about me. About Chris. About my parents. Was it true?"
No preamble. No softening. The question ripped straight out of the place the nightmare had clawed open.
Arlo's jaw tightened.
He could have lied. It would have been the easier kindness in the moment.
He didn't.
"Some of it," he said. "Enough to hurt. Enough to be called truth. With edges he liked to twist."
Her fingers curled tighter around his.
"Did my parents sell me?" she asked, like she was ripping a bandage off a wound that had been festering under the wrong story for years.
"Yes," he said.
Her breath hitched.
He didn't dress it up.
"They were in debt," he said. "Wrong people, worse choices. They decided one child was a currency they could live with."
"And Chris?" she asked, voice shaking. "He said Chris saw. That he stood there and watched and didn't stop it. Is that true?"
"He saw enough to know they were handing you over," Arlo said. "Enough to be traumatized by it. He was a kid. He didn't have power. That's the part Reed leaves out when he tells the story like it was a choice."
Her eyes filled, fury and grief tangling.
"He didn't tell me," she whispered. "All these years, he knew and he let me… think it was just an accident. That they loved me and the world was just cruel."
"He hated himself for not stopping it," Arlo said. "He hated himself for not telling you. Reed turned that self‑loathing into a weapon."
She shut her eyes briefly, Reed's voice overlaying Arlo's: Your brother's the one who stood in the hallway and did nothing, sunshine. Remember that when you look at him.
"And you?" she asked, looking at Arlo again. "You knew too. At some point. Your people dig; that's what they do. You walked into my shop, bought my building, watched me smile at you without a clue… and you knew."
"Yes," he said. "I knew."
"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded. "Why did I have to hear it from him? In a chair. With a needle at my neck."
"Because I'm a coward where feelings are concerned," he said bluntly. "Because I told myself it was Chris's truth to give you. Because I thought I had more time before Reed got his hands on you. All of which turned out to be very pretty excuses for a very ugly omission."
She let out a broken, humorless breath.
"At least you're self‑aware," she muttered.
Her hand tightened on his again.
"And the chip," she said. "The spike. He said that wasn't his trick. That it was Mara's. Yours. That you and Chris told her to hurt me on purpose. Was that true?"
"Yes," Arlo said, no hesitation. "We told her to hit the chip when he opened the line. To wake it up long enough to get a signal and turn you from 'lost' into 'findable.'"
Her free hand rose instinctively to the spot behind her ear, fingers hovering over the skin without touching.
"You knew it would feel like that," she said quietly. "Like… like lightning under bone."
"I knew it would hurt," he said. "I didn't know exactly how. I knew pain was on the table either way—his, ours, or the kind we might bend into something useful. We picked the last one. It's not a choice I'm proud of."
"He said you're just like him," she whispered. "Same math. Pain as currency. You just tell yourself prettier reasons."
"That's the part he needs you to believe," Arlo said. "Because if there's a difference, even a small one, then he's not the inevitable endgame of this world. He's just a man who decided other people's suffering was entertainment."
She searched his face, eyes red‑rimmed.
"Is there a difference?" she asked. "From where I was? Strapped to that chair, feeling that spike, hearing him talk about my parents and Chris and you? It all felt the same."
"Yes," Arlo said. "From the chair, everything is pain. From out here, the difference is what we do with the fact that it hurt. Reed made it the point. We made it a cost. One we used to get to you, and one I'm going to be repaying for as long as you let me stand in the same room."
She let that sit, chest rising and falling a little more evenly now.
"So my parents sold me," she said. "Chris saw. You knew. You all decided what version of my life I got to live in my own head."
"Your parents decided the worst of it," he said. "Chris froze. I stayed silent. None of that is your fault. Reed wants you to carry all of it like you caused it just by existing."
Her throat worked.
"In the dream," she said softly, "he kept saying I was always a product. Parents. Berry's wedding. The kids. Me. Always someone getting traded while the men made speeches."
"Then we change the story," Arlo said. "You're not a product now. You're not leverage. Not for him. Not for me."
"That's not what tonight felt like," she said. "It felt like you looked at a map and thought, 'her pain gets us closer to Reed,' and said yes."
"I did think that," he said. "And I said yes. I won't lie about it. It doesn't get cleaner if I do. But now that you're out of that chair, my job is to make sure you never end up in one again because of me. Or him. Or anyone in between."
Her eyes shone, but she blinked the tears away, jaw tight.
"You're changing," she said quietly, unexpected. "The man who smiled after I fell asleep on my couch—that version of you wouldn't be sitting here answering this straight."
He almost smiled, tired.
"Or maybe I just hit my head hard enough that honesty seems like a good idea," he said.
"Don't make jokes," she murmured. "You're ruining my dramatic trauma moment."
He huffed a breath that was almost a laugh.
"Are you going to hate me now?" he asked, not quite teasing.
"I don't know," she said. "I hate what you did. I hate that you knew. I hate that he got to be the one to tell me. But when I woke up, the first thing my body did was reach for… not him." Her gaze flicked toward the door. "You."
He swallowed.
"I'll take that," he said. "Even if it comes with you wanting to punch me half the time."
"Half?" she muttered. "Optimistic."
Her breathing had smoothed out. The wild look had faded from her eyes, leaving something raw but steadier.
"Can you…" She hesitated, then sighed at herself. "Just stay? Between me and the door. For tonight."
He stood slowly, concussion making the room sway for a second, then eased into the chair nearest the couch, angling it so he was a barrier between her and the hallway.
"If the door opens," he said, "it's not going to be him."
She watched him for a moment.
"You know he used your silence as much as my parents' lies," she said. "He turned all of it into one big story about how I was always going to be the girl on the auction block."
"Then the next chapters are under new management," Arlo said. "Yours. Not his."
Her eyes drifted half‑closed, exhaustion dragging at her again now that the sharp edge of panic had dulled.
"Don't go anywhere," she mumbled.
"I'm not," he said.
She let herself sink back into the pillow, nightmare edges blurring.
This time, when sleep came, Reed's words were still there—but they had to share space with Arlo's:
You're not a product now. Not for him. Not for me.
It wasn't forgiveness.
But it was a crack in the story Reed had tried to carve into her.
And for tonight, with Arlo Johnson sitting guard between her and the door, that was enough.
Morning came in cautious shades of grey and gold.
The safe house was quiet in that fragile way that follows chaos, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Ariel woke slowly this time—not ripped out of sleep, but nudged, blinking against the low light seeping around the curtains.
For a few disoriented seconds she had to catalogue: ceiling, couch, blanket, the steady ache in her shoulder instead of a sharp scream, the faint murmur of voices somewhere else.
Safe house.
Not the warehouse. Not the car. Not Reed's chair.
Her body felt heavy, sedative still lingering at the edges, but the bone‑deep exhaustion from the night before had softened into something she could move through instead of drown in.
The couch beside her was empty now. Chris's imprint remained in the cushion near her hip, the blanket slightly rumpled where he'd been. The armchairs held only the ghosts of Mara and Arlo's shapes; both were gone.
The smell reached her next.
Coffee. Toast. Something sizzling, something warm.
Her stomach, which hadn't been consulted in hours, made a quiet, surprised protest.
She pushed herself up carefully, wincing as her shoulder and ribs registered a formal complaint. The room tilted for a moment; she waited it out, breathing slow.
Bare feet on cool floor, blanket shrugged around her shoulders like a cape, she padded toward the kitchen, following the smell and the low hum of movement.
The safe house's kitchen was bright with morning light now, the nightlight over the stove outclassed by a soft wash of sun through the small window.
Chris stood at the stove in borrowed sweatpants and a T‑shirt, hair a disaster, flipping something in a pan with far more enthusiasm than skill. The radio on the counter murmured a barely audible song. A mug of coffee steamed within reach; another waited empty on the table.
He was humming, off‑key but cheerful, in a way that made something deep in her chest loosen.
For the first time since Reed's words in the warehouse, he looked like himself.
"Hey," he said, catching the movement at the doorway.
He turned, spatula in hand, eyes brightening when he saw her.
"Sleeping Beauty lives," he said. "Ten out of ten form on the dramatic faint yesterday, by the way. Very committed."
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
This guy, she thought, with sudden, sharp clarity. This is my brother.
Not the terrified boy frozen in a hallway Reed wanted to carve into her memory. Not the sum of one awful moment.
The man in front of her, burning breakfast and trying to make the kitchen feel like normal.
Family.
"You should be lying down," he added, suddenly anxious, taking a step toward her. "I was going to bring you food in bed—or couch, whatever, we're improvising—Mara said small portions, lots of fluids, and no yelling at anyone until your blood pressure—"
She didn't let him finish.
Ariel crossed the remaining distance in three quick, unsteady steps and crashed into him, arms going around his middle.
The momentum nearly took them both out; Chris stumbled back a half step, catching himself against the counter with an oof. The spatula clattered harmlessly into the sink.
"Ari—" he started, startled.
She pressed her face into his chest, blanket half falling off one shoulder, fingers clutching at the soft cotton of his T‑shirt like she needed to anchor herself there.
For a heartbeat, he went rigid with surprise.
Then his arms came up, wrapping around her, one over her shoulders, the other curved protectively around her back, careful of her bandaged side.
He pulled her in firmly, his chin resting lightly on top of her head.
"Hey," he murmured, voice suddenly rough. "Careful, you're going to make me cry on the eggs. Mara will never let me live it down."
She laughed once, the sound half‑sobbing.
"You're my brother," she said into his shirt, the words muffled but fierce. "My real brother."
His arms tightened.
"Yeah," he said softly. "I am."
Not the boy Reed had tried to trap her in the image of. Not the silent witness frozen in the worst night of her life.
The man who'd sat on a warehouse floor with a gun in his hand and terror in his eyes and said, Again, hit it again, because it might get them to her.
The man who'd held her wrist all night just to feel her pulse.
"I'm so sorry," he blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "For… everything. For not telling you. For—"
She pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes still bright.
"Later," she said. "We'll yell about all of it later. Right now I just… needed to do that."
His mouth twisted into a watery, lopsided smile.
"Anytime," he said. "Hugs are complimentary with breakfast."
Something behind her moved; Ariel glanced over her shoulder.
Arlo stood in the doorway from the hall, shoulder leaning lightly against the frame, coffee mug in hand. His hair was a mess, the bandage at his temple stark white against his skin, but his eyes were clearer than last night.
He'd stopped just short of the threshold, as if he'd come to check on the noise and then decided not to intrude.
For a second, his expression was unguarded.
Something like relief. Something like ache.
Then he caught her looking and schooled it into something wryer.
"Good to see you vertical, sunshine," he said. "If Chris overcooks those eggs, I have plausible deniability. I was only cleared for 'supervising from a safe distance.'"
Chris snorted, wiping at his eyes quickly with the back of his wrist before turning back to the stove.
"Sit," he said to Ariel, clearing his throat. "Doctor's orders and brother's orders, double weight."
He pulled a chair out for her with his foot, still one arm slung around her shoulders for a second longer than necessary before he let go.
Ariel sat, the blanket wrapped around her like armor, watching her brother bustle clumsily between pan and plates, humming under his breath again.
In her head, Reed's voice still whispered versions of her past.
But right here, right now, in a sunlit kitchen that smelled like burnt toast and badly scrambled eggs, Ariel chose a different line:
This guy is my brother. My real brother. My family.
And no story Reed told would overwrite the way it felt to run across the floor and have Chris Smith catch her like she'd always belonged there.
Arlo didn't let the fragile peace last long.
By late morning the safe house felt less like a refuge and more like a glass box. The air was too still. The quiet pressed on his nerves. Every creak of the building sounded like a footstep that didn't belong.
He watched Ariel and Chris finish the last of the scorched eggs and forced himself to wait until her hands had stopped shaking around the mug.
Then he set his own coffee down.
"We can't stay here," he said.
Chris looked up, fork halfway to his mouth.
"What?" he said. "We just got back."
"Exactly," Arlo replied. "Which means Reed knows where 'back' is. We hit one of his stages last night and walked away with you, Ariel, and half his men on the floor. He's not going to leave that unanswered."
Mara, who had shuffled in at some point in a hoodie, hair scraped into a lopsided bun, paused mid‑sip.
"He'll regroup," she said slowly. "Lick his wounds, chase his leaks."
"And test the perimeter," Arlo said. "This safe house has been burned by proximity. We used it as a command center for a rescue he didn't consent to. It's only a matter of time before he takes a swing at it just on principle."
Chris set his fork down, appetite fading.
"So we move," he said. "Fine. But not blind. We need a plan, not just… running."
"We do both," Arlo said. "Move and plan. Sitting still is the only thing we can't afford."
He leaned back slightly, wincing as his ribs complained.
"First priority: the buyer," he went on. "The one Harry was dealing with. The one Reed keeps circling but hasn't named. Reed is a problem. Whoever's behind the money is an infection. We cut that off, his playground gets smaller."
Chris's jaw tightened.
"Yeah," he said. "We still don't know who decided Harry was worth killing for. Or who thought buying kids was a valid line item."
He glanced at Arlo, eyes narrowing slightly.
"And speaking of unknowns," he added, "what did Jenifer and Reed say to you up there? On the catwalk. Before everything went sideways."
Ariel's fork stilled over her plate.
Arlo's fingers tightened around his coffee mug.
"Nothing worth remembering," he said.
"Try me," Chris said.
He held Arlo's gaze, not aggressive, but not backing off either.
Arlo looked away first, out toward the window.
"She told me I started this war," he said. "That she was just picking sides in a game I set up. He enjoyed the view. That's all."
It was a lie by omission and they both knew it, but he wasn't ready—couldn't, yet—to unpack the full tangle of Jen's words with them.
Chris studied him for a long beat, then let it go—for now.
"Okay," he said slowly. "So what's the actual plan?"
Arlo set the mug down with a small, decisive click.
"Chris, you go with Mara," he said. "You two take one of the secondary locations and start pulling the thread on this buyer. Financials, contacts, whatever Reed left behind that we can pry open. Mara has the equipment; you have the history."
Chris frowned.
"And you?" he asked. "You're not coming?"
"I have unfinished business," Arlo said.
There was a weight to it that made both of them still.
"Reed?" Ariel asked quietly.
"Reed," Arlo confirmed. "And Jen. He'll be moving her like a piece on the board now, closer or further depending on what he thinks gets to me. I need to know which way he's leaning."
Chris opened his mouth, then shut it, jaw knotting.
"That still leaves the small question of Reed coming back here and finishing what he started," Mara said. "We move, sure. But we don't scatter without thinking about who's painted with the biggest target."
"That's the other part," Arlo said.
He looked at Chris.
"Right now, Reed thinks in patterns," he said. "He's seen you and Ariel together every time he's pulled a string. In his head, you're a matched set. He'll assume if we move you, she goes with you. You're the obvious target."
Chris's hands curled on the table.
"So what, we put a neon sign on me?" he asked. "Use me as bait while you—"
"No," Arlo cut in. "We let him think you're bait. There's a difference. You leave with Mara. Routes I know, people I trust. You make noise in the places he expects you to go—ask questions, tug at the buyer thread, be visible enough that his watchers report back: 'Chris left with the doctor, Ariel's not in play.'"
Ariel stiffened.
"Wait," she said. "If he thinks I'm with Chris and I'm not, then where am I supposed to be?"
Arlo met her eyes.
"With me," he said.
The room went very still.
Chris stared at him.
"Absolutely not," he said. "If Reed comes after anyone, it's you. You just put a bullet in half his crew and almost took his head off. You're the last person she should be standing next to."
"Which is exactly why he'll assume I'm not dumb enough to keep her beside me," Arlo said. "He thinks I'm too strategic to make that mistake. Reed underestimates sentiment. We use that."
"And if he doesn't underestimate it?" Chris shot back. "If he decides the one thing he wants more than killing you is making you watch him take her again?"
Arlo's jaw clenched.
"He doesn't get that chance," he said. "Not twice. I know his angles now. I know how he stages his theatres. I'm better at closing doors than he is at opening them."
Ariel looked between them, blanket tugged tighter around her shoulders.
"You're talking like I'm luggage," she said, voice calm but edged. "Something to ship with a label. 'Fragile, handle with care.'"
Both men turned toward her, mid‑argument.
"You're not luggage," Chris said immediately.
"You're leverage," Arlo said at the same time, then grimaced at his own word choice. "Leverage we're not giving him again," he added quickly.
"That's better," she said dryly.
She looked at Chris.
"You want me with you," she said. "Because you just got me back. Because you're my brother. Because if something happens to you now, I… don't know what I'll do."
He swallowed.
"Yeah," he said honestly. "That's pretty much the list."
Then she looked at Arlo.
"And you want me with you," she said. "Because you think keeping the target loud and the actual prize quiet gives us better odds. And because you're not as detached as you pretend to be."
His mouth twitched.
"Allegedly," he said.
She exhaled slowly, thinking.
"Reed knows I matter to both of you," she said. "That's the only reason this works at all. If I go with Chris, we paint the same bullseye in a new location. If I stay here alone, I'm a sitting duck. If I go with you…" She grimaced. "I'm in the blast radius when you poke the hornet's nest."
"Reassuring," Chris muttered.
"But," she went on, "if Reed assumes Chris and I are together and they make noise out there, he'll focus his people that way. He'll be listening to that channel. Which means you"—she nodded at Arlo—"have room to move quieter. With me where you can see me."
She hated that the logic made sense.
Chris could see it land in her eyes and hated it too.
"I don't like this," he said. "At all."
"You're not supposed to like it," Arlo said. "You're supposed to survive it."
"Wow, inspirational," Mara muttered under her breath.
Ariel reached across the table and caught Chris's hand again.
"Hey," she said softly. "Look at me."
He did.
"If you're out there chasing this buyer," she said, "I need you looking in the right direction, not over your shoulder every five minutes to check if I'm still breathing. You won't be able to focus if I'm with you. You know that."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"You won't be able to focus if you're with him either," he said. "Not after what he admitted. What Reed said. What he did."
She glanced at Arlo, then back.
"I'll be angry," she said. "Confused. Probably yelling a lot. But I'll be… safer than I was in that warehouse. And if Reed narrows in on you, Mara's with you. She'll drag you out by your ear if she has to."
"Accurate," Mara said.
Chris looked between them, torn.
"This feels backward," he said. "We spent all night getting you away from him—" he jerked his chin toward Arlo "—and now we're suggesting you voluntarily stand in his blast radius."
Arlo spoke before Ariel could.
"It's not backward," he said. "It's controlled. Last night, Reed picked the theatre. Tonight, we do. I know how to make myself hard to hit when I have to keep me alive. I just have to adjust the math for keeping her alive too."
"Just," Ariel echoed, faintly exasperated.
He gave her a look that said, You know what I mean.
Chris scrubbed a hand over his face.
"If anything happens to her—" he started.
"It won't," Arlo said.
"You can't promise that," Chris snapped.
"No," Arlo said. "I can't. But I can promise this: if Reed finds you because you're busy watching her, we lose both sides of the board. If he focuses on you and finds nothing but false trails and your very annoyed doctor, we buy time. For all of us."
Mara sighed.
"I can crank up annoyed to eleven," she said. "Make their lives miserable while we dig. Wouldn't be the first time."
Ariel squeezed Chris's hand.
"We'll call," she said. "Often enough that you get sick of hearing my voice. If anything shifts, we move again. This isn't permanent. It's just… the next step."
He searched her face.
"You trust him?" he asked, blunt.
She didn't look away.
"I don't know if that's the right word yet," she said. "But I trust that he wants Reed dead and me not dead. That's enough overlap for now."
Arlo's mouth quirked at the phrasing, but his eyes were serious.
"It's all right," Ariel added, softer. "You don't have to agree. Just… don't make me a reason you get hurt."
Chris let out a long, shaky breath.
"Fine," he said. "But if you so much as bruise while you're with him, I reserve the right to stage a dramatic, petty intervention."
"Noted," Arlo said.
He pushed his chair back carefully, head still tender.
"We move in forty‑five minutes," he said. "Mara, prep a go‑bag and whatever you need to chase financial ghosts. Chris, grab what you need for a few days and any notes you have on Harry's deals. Ariel…" He hesitated, then shook his head. "Don't pack heavy. You're not going off the grid. You're just changing rooms."
She arched a brow.
"You always this bossy at breakfast?" she asked.
"Only when someone's tried to kill my people in the last twelve hours," he said.
The word my slipped out before he could catch it.
Ariel heard it.
So did Chris.
"Nobody asked to be part of your collection, Johnson," she said lightly. "But… noted."
As the kitchen broke into motion—Mara muttering about med supplies, Chris grumbling about "unfinished business" sounding like code for "terrible decisions," Ariel gathering her strength to stand again—the shape of the next move settled over them.
Messy. Risky.
But theirs.
Arlo didn't let the fragile peace last long.
By late morning the safe house felt less like a refuge and more like a glass box. The air was too still. The quiet pressed on his nerves. Every creak of the building sounded like a footstep that didn't belong.
He watched Ariel and Chris finish the last of the scorched eggs and forced himself to wait until her hands had stopped shaking around the mug.
Then he set his own coffee down.
"We can't stay here," he said.
Chris looked up, fork halfway to his mouth.
"What?" he said. "We just got back."
"Exactly," Arlo replied. "Which means Reed knows where 'back' is. We hit one of his stages last night and walked away with you, Ariel, and half his men on the floor. He's not going to leave that unanswered."
Mara, who had shuffled in at some point in a hoodie, hair scraped into a lopsided bun, paused mid‑sip.
"He'll regroup," she said slowly. "Lick his wounds, chase his leaks."
"And test the perimeter," Arlo said. "This safe house has been burned by proximity. We used it as a command center for a rescue he didn't consent to. It's only a matter of time before he takes a swing at it just on principle."
Chris set his fork down, appetite fading.
"So we move," he said. "Fine. But not blind. We need a plan, not just… running."
"We do both," Arlo said. "Move and plan. Sitting still is the only thing we can't afford."
He leaned back slightly, wincing as his ribs complained.
"First priority: the buyer," he went on. "The one Harry was dealing with. The one Reed keeps circling but hasn't named. Reed is a problem. Whoever's behind the money is an infection. We cut that off, his playground gets smaller."
Chris's jaw tightened.
"Yeah," he said. "We still don't know who decided Harry was worth killing for. Or who thought buying kids was a valid line item."
He glanced at Arlo, eyes narrowing slightly.
"And speaking of unknowns," he added, "what did Jenifer and Reed say to you up there? On the catwalk. Before everything went sideways."
Ariel's fork stilled over her plate.
Arlo's fingers tightened around his coffee mug.
"Nothing worth remembering," he said.
"Try me," Chris said.
He held Arlo's gaze, not aggressive, but not backing off either.
Arlo looked away first, out toward the window.
"She told me I started this war," he said. "That she was just picking sides in a game I set up. He enjoyed the view. That's all."
It was a lie by omission and they both knew it, but he wasn't ready—couldn't, yet—to unpack the full tangle of Jen's words with them.
Chris studied him for a long beat, then let it go—for now.
"Okay," he said slowly. "So what's the actual plan?"
Arlo set the mug down with a small, decisive click.
"Chris, you go with Mara," he said. "You two take one of the secondary locations and start pulling the thread on this buyer. Financials, contacts, whatever Reed left behind that we can pry open. Mara has the equipment; you have the history."
Chris frowned.
"And you?" he asked. "You're not coming?"
"I have unfinished business," Arlo said.
There was a weight to it that made both of them still.
"Reed?" Ariel asked quietly.
"Reed," Arlo confirmed. "And Jen. He'll be moving her like a piece on the board now, closer or further depending on what he thinks gets to me. I need to know which way he's leaning."
Chris opened his mouth, then shut it, jaw knotting.
"That still leaves the small question of Reed coming back here and finishing what he started," Mara said. "We move, sure. But we don't scatter without thinking about who's painted with the biggest target."
"That's the other part," Arlo said.
He looked at Chris.
"Right now, Reed thinks in patterns," he said. "He's seen you and Ariel together every time he's pulled a string. In his head, you're a matched set. He'll assume if we move you, she goes with you. You're the obvious target."
Chris's hands curled on the table.
"So what, we put a neon sign on me?" he asked. "Use me as bait while you—"
"No," Arlo cut in. "We let him think you're bait. There's a difference. You leave with Mara. Routes I know, people I trust. You make noise in the places he expects you to go—ask questions, tug at the buyer thread, be visible enough that his watchers report back: 'Chris left with the doctor, Ariel's not in play.'"
Ariel stiffened.
"Wait," she said. "If he thinks I'm with Chris and I'm not, then where am I supposed to be?"
Arlo met her eyes.
"With me," he said.
The room went very still.
Chris stared at him.
"Absolutely not," he said. "If Reed comes after anyone, it's you. You just put a bullet in half his crew and almost took his head off. You're the last person she should be standing next to."
"Which is exactly why he'll assume I'm not dumb enough to keep her beside me," Arlo said. "He thinks I'm too strategic to make that mistake. Reed underestimates sentiment. We use that."
"And if he doesn't underestimate it?" Chris shot back. "If he decides the one thing he wants more than killing you is making you watch him take her again?"
Arlo's jaw clenched.
"He doesn't get that chance," he said. "Not twice. I know his angles now. I know how he stages his theatres. I'm better at closing doors than he is at opening them."
Ariel looked between them, blanket tugged tighter around her shoulders.
"You're talking like I'm luggage," she said, voice calm but edged. "Something to ship with a label. 'Fragile, handle with care.'"
Both men turned toward her, mid‑argument.
"You're not luggage," Chris said immediately.
"You're leverage," Arlo said at the same time, then grimaced at his own word choice. "Leverage we're not giving him again," he added quickly.
"That's better," she said dryly.
She looked at Chris.
"You want me with you," she said. "Because you just got me back. Because you're my brother. Because if something happens to you now, I… don't know what I'll do."
He swallowed.
"Yeah," he said honestly. "That's pretty much the list."
Then she looked at Arlo.
"And you want me with you," she said. "Because you think keeping the target loud and the actual prize quiet gives us better odds. And because you're not as detached as you pretend to be."
His mouth twitched.
"Allegedly," he said.
She exhaled slowly, thinking.
"Reed knows I matter to both of you," she said. "That's the only reason this works at all. If I go with Chris, we paint the same bullseye in a new location. If I stay here alone, I'm a sitting duck. If I go with you…" She grimaced. "I'm in the blast radius when you poke the hornet's nest."
"Reassuring," Chris muttered.
"But," she went on, "if Reed assumes Chris and I are together and they make noise out there, he'll focus his people that way. He'll be listening to that channel. Which means you"—she nodded at Arlo—"have room to move quieter. With me where you can see me."
She hated that the logic made sense.
Chris could see it land in her eyes and hated it too.
"I don't like this," he said. "At all."
"You're not supposed to like it," Arlo said. "You're supposed to survive it."
"Wow, inspirational," Mara muttered under her breath.
Ariel reached across the table and caught Chris's hand again.
"Hey," she said softly. "Look at me."
He did.
"If you're out there chasing this buyer," she said, "I need you looking in the right direction, not over your shoulder every five minutes to check if I'm still breathing. You won't be able to focus if I'm with you. You know that."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"You won't be able to focus if you're with him either," he said. "Not after what he admitted. What Reed said. What he did."
She glanced at Arlo, then back.
"I'll be angry," she said. "Confused. Probably yelling a lot. But I'll be… safer than I was in that warehouse. And if Reed narrows in on you, Mara's with you. She'll drag you out by your ear if she has to."
"Accurate," Mara said.
Chris looked between them, torn.
"This feels backward," he said. "We spent all night getting you away from him—" he jerked his chin toward Arlo "—and now we're suggesting you voluntarily stand in his blast radius."
Arlo spoke before Ariel could.
"It's not backward," he said. "It's controlled. Last night, Reed picked the theatre. Tonight, we do. I know how to make myself hard to hit when I have to keep me alive. I just have to adjust the math for keeping her alive too."
"Just," Ariel echoed, faintly exasperated.
He gave her a look that said, You know what I mean.
Chris scrubbed a hand over his face.
"If anything happens to her—" he started.
"It won't," Arlo said.
"You can't promise that," Chris snapped.
"No," Arlo said. "I can't. But I can promise this: if Reed finds you because you're busy watching her, we lose both sides of the board. If he focuses on you and finds nothing but false trails and your very annoyed doctor, we buy time. For all of us."
Mara sighed.
"I can crank up annoyed to eleven," she said. "Make their lives miserable while we dig. Wouldn't be the first time."
Ariel squeezed Chris's hand.
"We'll call," she said. "Often enough that you get sick of hearing my voice. If anything shifts, we move again. This isn't permanent. It's just… the next step."
He searched her face.
"You trust him?" he asked, blunt.
She didn't look away.
"I don't know if that's the right word yet," she said. "But I trust that he wants Reed dead and me not dead. That's enough overlap for now."
Arlo's mouth quirked at the phrasing, but his eyes were serious.
"It's all right," Ariel added, softer. "You don't have to agree. Just… don't make me a reason you get hurt."
Chris let out a long, shaky breath.
"Fine," he said. "But if you so much as bruise while you're with him, I reserve the right to stage a dramatic, petty intervention."
"Noted," Arlo said.
He pushed his chair back carefully, head still tender.
"We move in forty‑five minutes," he said. "Mara, prep a go‑bag and whatever you need to chase financial ghosts. Chris, grab what you need for a few days and any notes you have on Harry's deals. Ariel…" He hesitated, then shook his head. "Don't pack heavy. You're not going off the grid. You're just changing rooms."
She arched a brow.
"You always this bossy at breakfast?" she asked.
"Only when someone's tried to kill my people in the last twelve hours," he said.
The word my slipped out before he could catch it.
Ariel heard it.
So did Chris.
"Nobody asked to be part of your collection, Johnson," she said lightly. "But… noted."
As the kitchen broke into motion—Mara muttering about med supplies, Chris grumbling about "unfinished business" sounding like code for "terrible decisions," Ariel gathering her strength to stand again—the shape of the next move settled over them.
Messy. Risky.
But theirs.
The safe house door had never looked more ordinary.
Just a slab of reinforced wood, scuffed at the bottom where boots had kicked it over the years. A coat hook hanging crooked beside it. Mara's battered med bag by the frame, zipped and ready.
It felt, suddenly, like a line they were about to step over and not come back from in quite the same way.
Mara slung her bag over her shoulder and faced Ariel first.
"Okay," she said, brisk to hide the softness in her eyes. "Ground rules. You listen to your body. If you feel dizzy, sit. If you feel like passing out, say something before you do it this time. Hydrate. Eat. No heroics, no martyrdom, that's my department."
Ariel huffed a quiet breath.
"Yes, ma'am," she said.
Mara stepped closer and, surprisingly gentle, brushed a loose strand of hair away from Ariel's bandage.
"You were… obnoxiously brave," she murmured. "That's not a compliment, that's a medical complaint. Don't make me file another one this week."
Ariel's throat tightened.
"Thank you," she said. "For… everything. For getting me out. For not letting them—"
Mara cut her off with a quick, fierce hug.
"Don't thank me yet," she said, pulling back. "Wait until this is over and you're back in your bookstore complaining about Gen Z's taste in romance."
Ariel smiled, small but real.
"I'll hold you to that," she said.
Mara turned to Arlo, eyes narrowing.
"You," she said. "Concussion boy. Remember what we talked about: no pushing yourself past the point of coherent sentences. If your vision doubles, if you vomit, if you suddenly think Reed is a friendly neighborhood mailman, you call me. Immediately."
"If I see Reed as a friendly neighborhood mailman, I'll assume I'm dead," Arlo said dryly. "But noted."
She looked between him and Ariel, jaw working.
"Try not to do anything that will give me more grey hair than I already have," she said. "And don't let him turn your recovery into a strategy session if your head starts to hurt."
"That was oddly specific," Ariel said.
"Because I know him," Mara replied.
Then it was Chris's turn.
He'd been hovering, circling Ariel like a restless satellite, making sure her bag was light enough, that she had water, that her phone was charged, that she knew exactly which number to hit if anything felt off.
Now, with time boiled down to minutes, he had run out of tasks.
He stepped in and wrapped her up again, arms strong and careful.
She folded into him, fingers curling into his shirt.
"Hey," he murmured into her hair. "Remember the deal. You don't get kidnapped again; I learn how to cook something that doesn't set off the smoke alarm."
"Ambitious," she said, voice muffled. "We aim high in this family."
He pulled back just enough to see her face, eyes shining.
"I'm serious, Ari," he said quietly. "If anything feels wrong, if he pushes you too hard, if you start seeing that room in every shadow… call me. I don't care what time it is. I don't care where I am. Just call."
"I will," she said. "But you have to promise me something too."
"Name it."
"Don't spiral," she said. "Out there. Don't let Reed's story eat you alive while I'm not around to smack you out of it."
His mouth twisted.
"I'll… try," he said.
"Try harder," she replied. "You're my brother. I need you whole when I get back."
The when, not if, landed like an anchor in both of them.
He nodded once, sharp.
"Same goes for you," he said. "Come back in one piece, okay? Preferably fewer bruises than yesterday."
She lifted a hand and touched the side of his face, thumb brushing the faint stubble there.
"See you soon," she said.
"See you soon," he echoed.
He stepped back, reluctantly, and turned to Arlo.
The air between them crackled with unspoken arguments and reluctant truces.
"If you let anything happen to her," Chris said, voice low and steady, "I will make whatever Reed has planned for you look like a spa weekend."
"Get in line," Arlo said. "I'm first on that list."
They stared at each other for a heartbeat.
Then Chris stuck his hand out.
It hung there between them for a moment, truce made visible.
Arlo looked at it, then took it, grip firm.
"I'll bring her back," he said. No theatrics. Just a simple statement.
"You'd better," Chris said.
He let go and stepped back to Mara's side, shoulders tight but held high.
Mara opened the door.
Cold air slipped in, tasting of exhaust and distant city noise.
"Time to go," she said.
Ariel took one last look at the safe house—the mismatched mugs in the sink, the blanket on the back of the couch, the dent in the coffee table from some old, forgotten incident.
Home‑for‑now.
Then she stepped out into the hallway, Arlo falling into stride beside her.
Behind them, Chris's voice followed, a little rough.
"Call me when you get wherever you're going!" he said. "And if he drives like a maniac, hang up and dial emergency services!"
"I heard that," Arlo called back.
"Good!" Chris replied.
The door closed, muffling his next words.
Downstairs, the parking lot was a patchwork of oil stains and worn lines. Arlo's car—a dark, nondescript sedan that could disappear in any lot—waited where he'd left it.
He clicked the remote; the lights blinked.
"Passenger," he said to Ariel. "Doctor's orders about concussions and heavy machinery."
She raised a brow.
"You, follow doctor's orders?" she asked. "Is it Christmas?"
He opened her door.
"Don't get used it," he said. "This is a limited‑time health‑hazard promotion."
She eased into the seat carefully, her shoulder protesting the movement. The interior smelled faintly of leather, coffee, and something that was just… him.
He closed her door gently, walked around, and slid into the driver's seat, moving with deliberate care.
For a moment, they just sat there.
The engine off, the quiet between them loud with everything unspoken.
Ariel looked out the windshield.
From here, she could see the corner of the building where the safe house window was, the faint shadow that might have been Chris at the glass, watching to make sure the car actually left.
Her chest squeezed.
Arlo watched her, hands loose on the steering wheel.
"You can still change your mind," he said quietly. "Walk back upstairs, tell me to go to hell, take your chances with his patterns instead of mine."
She turned her head, meeting his eyes.
"I already did the chair," she said. "I'm not doing indecision too."
A corner of his mouth lifted.
"Fair enough," he said.
He started the engine.
It coughed to life, a low, steady hum.
He adjusted the mirrors with automatic precision, checked the rearview, scanned the street.
Even here, even now, he was in motion mode—always assessing, always ready to pivot.
As he pulled out of the space, Ariel watched the safe house building slide past her window. The door. The stairwell. The window she thought Chris might be at.
She lifted her hand and pressed her fingers lightly to the glass, as if she could touch him through it.
"You're thinking very loud," Arlo said after a minute, eyes on the road.
"Just making sure my heart got the memo that we're leaving," she said. "It keeps trying to jump out and run back upstairs."
"Reasonable," he said. "Mine wants to make a U‑turn and drive at Reed's latest toy warehouse."
She studied his profile—the set of his jaw, the bruising along his cheekbone, the white edge of the bandage under his hair.
"Unfinished business," she said. "You still haven't told me what that actually means."
He tightened his grip on the wheel, just for a second.
"It means," he said, "that for the first time in a very long time, I'm not the only one writing the script. He brought my sister onto that stage. He put his hands on you. He thinks that makes us his audience." He shook his head once. "I'm going to correct his misunderstanding."
"That's not very specific," she said.
"It's safer for you if it isn't," he replied. "For now."
She leaned her head back against the seat, eyes flicking between him and the road ahead.
"Chris is going to worry himself sick," she said.
"Yes," Arlo said. "So are you."
"Are you?" she asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
"Yes," he said finally. "But I've gotten good at worrying and moving at the same time."
She watched the city start to unfold around them—streets waking up, people who had no idea there was a war being fought in safe houses and warehouses and quiet cars like this one.
"You know what the worst part is?" she said softly. "For a minute back there, at the table… it felt almost normal. Breakfast. Bickering. Bad coffee."
"That wasn't the worst part," he said. "That was the best part. That's why we're in this car."
She tilted her head.
"Explain," she said.
"If you didn't have something that felt like normal to go back to," he said, "this would just be another job. Another extraction. Another body. But you do. A brother who burns eggs. A bookstore. A best friend's empty place at a wedding you're still trying to make sense of. That's what Reed is trying to corrupt. That's what I'm not letting him have."
The words hung between them.
"You keep saying things that sound a lot like care," she said. "You're going to ruin your reputation."
"Technically, my reputation is already ruined," he said. "You're just seeing a different footnote."
She let out a breath that wasn't quite a laugh, wasn't quite a sigh.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"For now?" he said. "A place where he's not looking yet."
"And after that?"
He glanced over at her, just for a second, eyes steady.
"After that," he said, "we go hunting."