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And then I see her... Sutton.

She's covered in soot, streaked with blood, her eyes wild with adrenaline and something more—pure survival. Backed against the scorched frame of the truck, her arms are locked, gun raised and unwavering. A body lies sprawled at her feet, neck twisted at an unnatural angle, blood darkening the dirt. Her chest jerks in sharp, shallow bursts, every breath a fight. And when her eyes find mine, the chaos disappears. Just for a second, the world holds its breath—and so do I.

I’m moving again, crossing the space in a blink. She doesn’t collapse, doesn’t cry. But the look in her eyes—steely, defiant, raw—punches straight into my chest. There’s no quit in her, no give. It guts me in a way I don’t expect, her resilience sparking a fierce pride and something deeper, more primal. I don’t deserve her strength, but I’ll kill to protect it. She just grips her gun tighter and nods like she’s been waiting for me.

"I’m fine," she says. Voice raw. Shaking. "Not dead. Yet."

I pull her in, just for a second—my arms banding around her like a shield. Her breath shudders against my neck, and her body trembles, taut with adrenaline. She doesn’t resist. For that heartbeat, I feel her pulse pounding against mine, fierce and fast. It grounds me—and wrecks me all at once.

Then I shove her behind me, the heat of her body pressing against my back for a split second—enough to remind me exactlywhat’s at stake. The urge to keep her there, locked behind me and out of danger, is a roar in my blood, primal and absolute. My muscles tighten with it, the need to shield her hardwired into every nerve ending.

"Move," I growl, snapping my gaze back to the creeping shadows. "We’re not clear."

Before I can say another word, Sutton grabs the front of my shirt, yanks me toward her, and kisses me—hard. Her lips crash into mine with a fury born of fear and relief, her fingers curling into my jacket like she’s anchoring herself to the only solid thing left in the chaos. The taste of smoke clings to her mouth, but underneath it is Sutton—alive, defiant, and mine.

I clutch her just as tightly, the heat of her body searing through the grime and sweat coating us both. For that heartbeat, I let myself feel her—strong, alive, here—and everything I’ve been holding back slams into me like a fist to the chest.

She pulls back just as fast, her breath ragged. "Now I’m good. Let’s finish this."

More movement. West gate—shadows slinking through smoke, the glint of a rifle catching dying light.

We're not done. This battle’s far from over. It’s just catching its second wind, and I’m already primed to drag it down into the dirt with me. Let them come—I'll meet them with fire in my fists and death on my heels.

I raise my rifle, adjusting my grip as the tremble in the ground beneath my boots deepens, a low, rumbling vibration that travels up my legs like a warning shot to my spine. The scent of scorched earth and ozone sharpens, and I brace myself for the next hit, pulse thundering in my ears as the firestorm bears down. The next wave’s coming—closer, heavier, like a freight train of death barreling through smoke and fire—and I’m ready to meet it head-on. My team is stretched, wounded. My mateis bleeding. And there’s no fucking way I’m letting them take another step into our home.

Let them try to claw their way in.

They’ll find nothing but teeth and ruin waiting.

CHAPTER 18

SUTTON

As soon as we enter the ranch house, the air turns heavy—stale and tight, threaded with the bite of blood and sting of smoke.

The change hits me like a slap, my skin prickling and the fine hairs on my arms standing on end, as if the house itself recognizes the danger we’ve dragged in. The air is thick, heavy with sweat, adrenaline, and something else—something feral. Deacon’s hand lingers on my back for a beat too long, like he’s reluctant to break contact. Then he’s gone, the front door slamming behind him with finality as the others vanish back into the chaos outside.

“We need to get to the interior room,” Kari says, already in motion. Her voice is tight with urgency and honed instinct. No one argues.

Cassidy grabs my wrist, her grip fierce but reassuring. "Come on, Sutton—we're not staying here to die," she growls, yanking me into motion. My boots skid on the floor as she drags me after the others down the narrow hallway, my heart thundering in my chest.

"Where are we—" I start, but the words choke off as we reach a heavy, steel-reinforced door I hadn’t even noticed before.Cassidy doesn't answer. She shoves it open, muscles straining, and pulls me through.

It slams shut behind us with a metallic boom that echoes through my bones, sealing us in. I whirl to face her.

"You okay?" Cassidy asks, her green eyes sharp, reading my face. She's already stripped down to a sports bra and jeans, sweat glistening on her brow.

I nod, barely. "Yeah. Just—thanks."

Her lips twitch into something fierce and knowing. "Stay close. Don’t think. Just move when I move."

The room is bare bones—concrete walls streaked with soot and smoke residue, a low ceiling pressing down like a physical weight. There are no windows to offer even the smallest glimpse of the chaos outside. It’s a panic room, stripped of comfort, designed for one purpose—survival. The single emergency light sways slightly from its wire, casting a stuttering red glow that turns the room into a hellish cave. Shadows twist and twitch across the walls like wounded animals trying to escape. My pulse hammers so hard it blots out every other sound, a deep, internal drumbeat that drowns out even the echo of distant explosions and rattles my bones.

I don’t realize I’ve started shaking until Maggie puts a hand on my shoulder. My skin is clammy, a cold sweat prickling at the back of my neck. A chill creeps down my spine, even though the room is stifling and my clothes cling damply to my skin. My legs tremble like they’re no longer mine, rubbery and weak, and my breath stutters in my chest like I’ve forgotten how lungs are supposed to work.

The scent of burnt powder clings to the back of my throat, thick and acrid, making it harder to swallow the rising tide of panic. The weight of what just happened slams into me, sudden and suffocating—like a building’s come down and I’m trapped in the rubble, barely able to think past the dust.

“You okay?” she asks, her voice low.