"No one is getting kicked out of the Jeep."
Ethan didn't raise his voice.
He didn't have to.
The words landed heavy in the cramped space, cutting straight through the leftover echo of shouting and accusation like a blade sliding into bone. His hands stayed tight on the wheel, knuckles pale, eyes locked forward on the blackened road ahead—but the statement wasn't meant for the windshield.
It was meant for Renee.
Renee sat rigid in the back, jaw clenched, arms crossed so tightly it looked like she was trying to hold herself together by force alone. Her face was still flushed with anger, grief, and adrenaline that hadn't burned off yet. She looked like someone who had said too much and wasn't done being furious about it.
Ethan glanced at her in the rearview mirror, just once.
"I don't care how angry you are," he said evenly. "I don't care who you think is to blame. We don't leave people behind. Not like that. Not ever."
Renee opened her mouth.
Ethan cut her off without looking back. "Conversation's over."
Silence followed.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that rang.
The Jeep rattled slightly as they rolled over uneven pavement—dodging debris, burned-out cars, the occasional shape slumped too close to the road. Everyone felt the absence in the vehicle like a missing limb. Marcus should've been there. Justin should've been there. The empty spaces weren't just physical—they pressed into their chests, their throats, the places where breath should have come easier.
Mari sat in the front passenger seat, hands folded tightly in her lap, staring straight ahead.
She hadn't spoken yet.
But her mind was anything but quiet.
Dot's words whispered back to her, uninvited.
This isn't healthy for the baby.
Mari swallowed hard.
Her stomach rolled—not with nausea this time, but with shock. Cold, slow shock that slid through her veins and settled somewhere deep.
How did she know?
Dot hadn't said it out loud. Not really. Not for everyone to hear. She'd whispered it, close and deliberate, like a truth placed carefully into Mari's hands.
Mari's gaze flicked to Dot.
Dot sat a little sideways in her seat, one arm braced against the door, the other resting casually on her lap like nothing monumental had just been revealed. Her face was tired. Soft. Eyes sharp in that way only people who had lived a long time learned to be—reading bodies instead of words, listening to pauses instead of speech.
Mari looked away quickly.
Her mind raced.
Had she thrown up too much? Had she been pale? Had she flinched at the wrong moment? Pressed a hand to her stomach without realizing? Or was it something else—something instinctive, something older than medicine and logic?
She didn't know.
And right now, she couldn't afford to ask.
The Jeep rolled on.
Minutes passed.
Then Dot shifted, leaned forward just enough to tap Mari lightly on the shoulder.
Mari startled.
Dot held out a small bag of chips and a bottle of water.
"Put something on your stomach," Dot said quietly, voice low enough not to invite commentary. "You're running on fumes."
Mari hesitated.
She wasn't hungry.
But she took them anyway.
The crinkle of the bag sounded too loud in the enclosed space. She opened it carefully, pinched a chip between her fingers, and forced herself to take a bite.
Salt hit her tongue.
She chewed.
Swallowed.
Took a sip of water.
Then another bite.
Something in her body eased.
Not fully. But enough.
Her hands stopped shaking.
Her breathing evened out.
Dot watched her for a moment, nodded once, then leaned back into her seat like her job was done.
Mari stared at the dashboard.
Justin's face flashed behind her eyes—his crooked smile, the way he'd looked at her like the world hadn't ended yet, like promises still mattered.
If anything happens to me…
Her throat tightened.
The words came out before she could stop them.
"I made Justin a promise."
Everyone went still.
Ethan's foot eased off the accelerator just a fraction. Renee's head snapped up. Tally—who had been quiet in a way that was almost frightening—lifted her gaze slowly.
Mari took a breath.
"If anything happened to him," she continued, voice steady despite the tremor in her hands, "I promised him I would get Tally to the base. And that I would find Ella Belle."
Tally's breath hitched.
Mari turned toward her then, really looked at her.
"And I intend to keep my word."
The reaction was immediate.
"That's insane," Renee snapped. "Mari, listen to yourself—"
"No," Ethan said sharply, cutting in. "She gets to finish."
Mari nodded once, grateful.
"You all keep talking like this is a discussion," she said quietly. "Like this is a vote."
She shifted in her seat, squaring her shoulders.
"It's not."
Renee stared at her. "Mari—"
Mari raised her voice. Not yelling. Just enough to make the words land.
"Let's get something very clear."
She gestured around the Jeep.
"This is Justin's vehicle. My vehicle. Tally's vehicle."
Her eyes flicked to each face in turn.
"Every single one of you—except her—is a guest."
The word hit like a slap.
Renee's mouth fell open.
Dot inhaled slowly.
Ethan's jaw tightened—but he didn't interrupt.
Mari pressed on.
"I am not asking permission," she said. "I am informing you."
Her voice strengthened with every word.
"I will take you where you need to go. Renee—to your sister's. Dot—wherever you say you need to be. Ethan—you get us through alive. That was the deal Justin made, and I will honor it."
She leaned forward slightly.
"But I will continue to search for Ella Belle."
"No," Renee said. "Absolutely not—"
"There isn't a damn thing you can do to stop me," Mari said calmly.
Silence crashed down again.
Tally stared at Mari like she was seeing her for the first time.
"You don't get to tell me what I do with my life," Mari continued. "Not after what I've lost. Not after what we've lost."
Her voice cracked then—but she didn't stop.
"Justin didn't die so we could argue about fear in this car. He didn't draw that horde away so we could sit here and decide what's convenient."
Renee's eyes filled with tears she refused to let fall.
"You're going to get us killed," Renee whispered.
Mari turned fully toward her.
"Maybe," she said honestly. "But I won't be the one who gave up."
The Jeep rolled on through the ruined street.
No one spoke.
Tally finally broke the silence.
"You'll really look for her?" she asked, voice small, wrecked.
Mari reached out without thinking and took Tally's hand.
"Yes," she said. "I swear it."
Tally nodded, tears spilling freely now.
Ethan cleared his throat.
"Then we do this smart," he said. "We don't rush. We don't scream. And we don't tear each other apart."
He met Mari's eyes.
"If we're doing this, we do it together."
Mari nodded once.
"Together," she agreed.
The Jeep disappeared down the road—six souls carrying grief, promises, and a future none of them had chosen, but all of them were now responsible for.
And somewhere, far ahead, a little girl waited.
Whether she knew it or not.