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The coastal highway stretches before us, the Atlantic a somber gray-blue to our right. Every mile takes us further from the place we lost Alex, but the distance does nothing to ease the hollow ache in my chest.

“We should have found a way to go with them. Both of us. We could have provided backup, kept them safe.”

“Don't,” I warn, the single word sharp enough to cut. “We can't do this to ourselves.”

In the rearview mirror, I see Talon shift in his seat, wincing as the movement jostles his injured shoulder. Vesper immediately places her hand on his chest, a reflexive gesture of comfort despite her own devastation. Even broken, she's still trying to hold us together. The sight makes something inside me crack.

“What's our next move after the safe house?”

“We regroup. Recover.” I glance back at Talon and Vesper. “Then we find another way to locate Luca.”

“Without Alex's tech…”

“We'll manage,” I interrupt, not wanting to hear the doubt spoken aloud. “We have other resources.”

The miles blur beneath our tires, each one taking us further from Newport and closer to the remote coastal property that will shelter us for the coming days. In the backseat, Vesper hasfinally drifted into an uneasy sleep, her head resting on Talon's good shoulder.

“Do you think he knew?”

“Knew what?”

“Knew what we'd become without him,” Z clarifies. “How fragile this whole thing was.”

I consider my brother’s words, watching the road unfold ahead like a shadowed ribbon. The truth is, Alex had been our foundation in ways none of us fully appreciated—the quiet center around which we all orbited.

“Alex knew everything. That was his curse.”

Z nods once, a sharp downward jerk of his chin. “And now it’s ours.”

The safe house appears ahead—a weathered Cape Cod-style home nestled against a rocky outcropping, hidden from the main road by a thick stand of pines. Z navigates the unmarked gravel drive with ease, killing the headlights as we approach. Security measures have become second nature, paranoia our constant companion.

“We’re here,” I announce softly, turning to find Talon awake despite the pain medication. Vesper remains asleep against him, breathing shallow but steady.

“Should we wake her?” Talon asks, his voice roughened by exhaustion.

“No,” Z and I answer in unison. Let her have these moments of oblivion.

Z parks behind the house, positioning the car for a quick exit if needed. “I’ll clear the perimeter,” he says, already reaching for his weapon. “Stay here.”

I nod, my palm resting on the grip of my own weapon, a constant presence at my side since we left the hospital. The car falls silent, broken only by Vesper’s soft breathing and the distant crash of waves against the shore.

“She hasn’t cried,” Talon remarks. “Not once since they told us.”

“I know.” The weight of that knowledge settles like lead in my stomach. “It’s not healthy.”

“None of this is healthy. She’s shutting down, Oz. I can feel her slipping away.”

I turn in my seat to face him fully. “We won’t let that happen.”

“How?” The single word carries his grief, his guilt. “How do we fix this when we’re all broken?”

Before I can answer, Z materializes beside the car. He gives a curt nod, signaling the all-clear, and opens the rear door.

“I’ll take her,” he says, carefully gathering Vesper into his arms. She barely stirs, her body limp with exhaustion, as Z lifts her against his chest.

Talon struggles to exit the car one-armed, pride holding him back until I move to his side. “Lean on me,” I offer my shoulder. “The stairs are tricky in the dark.”

His jaw tightens, but he accepts my help, his good arm gripping my shoulder as we make our way up the weathered porch steps. The hinges protest as I push open the door, revealing the interior of our temporary refuge.