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Ford storms away, leaving the rest of us standing in stunned silence. Jensen breaks the quiet first, confusion etched deep into his features. “What the hell happened, Seanna? What does that message even mean?”

I shake my head slowly, exhaustion bleeding through my voice. “Don’t worry about it. Just...go home. All of you. Take the break, don’t do any digging or investigating—nothing about Reyes or Cruz. Everything needs to be legal, squeaky clean right now. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

Jensen steps closer, concern clear in his eyes. “Seanna, talk to us. You’re not okay. We can see that.”

I force a tight smile, my voice carefully even. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I have a family member on holiday—some tropical island. I might just go join them.”

He doesn't look convinced, but he nods anyway. Matteo and Jensen turn away, heading slowly down the alley, their steps heavy and uncertain. Eli hesitates, hanging back, eyes narrowed on mine.

“You were not fine in there,” he says softly, voice laced with worry. “At all. Do we need to have someone shadowing you?”

I meet his gaze, swallowing the lump of frustration lodged in my throat. “No, Eli. I’ll handle this. Just... trust me. Go home.”

He studies me a beat longer, reluctant but finally nodding. “Alright. But call if you need anything. Don’t try to carry this alone.”

I wait until he’s out of sight before letting the brave façade crumble away, sagging against the cold brick wall as the reality settles in—I can't risk them. Not if Rule and Ruin are willing to slaughter an entire club just to send me a message.

Eventually, I push off the wall, forcing myself upright, and walk to my car parked a short distance away. I sink into the driver’s seat and sit there in silence, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Months chasing Reyes, countless hours of work, meticulous planning—all thrown aside because of two fucking stalkers.

Frustration and rage boil over, and I punch the steering wheel hard, feeling the sting radiate up my arm. Hot tears blur my vision, a brief moment of weakness that I attribute to exhaustion and raw, overwhelming anger.

Taking a deep breath, I steel myself, allowing the rage to build again, fierce and consuming like a tornado. Grabbing my phone, I furiously type a scathing message to the last number I received a text from:

You fucking assholes think you're untouchable? You're cowards hiding behind your twisted games. Come at me directly if you're brave enough—otherwise, stay the hell out of my way.

The message immediately comes back as undeliverable. My fingers fly over the screen as I try every other number I’ve received messages from, only to have each attempt bounce back undeliverable.

With a growl of frustration, I throw the phone toward the other side of the car, breathing deeply as I try to regain some semblance of calm. Suddenly, the phone rings, and I scramble to retrieve it from the passenger footwell, pulse hammering with expectation. Maybe it's those bastards.

But then I see it’s Mom.

I force myself to exhale slowly, trying to calm myself as I answer the call.

"Hey, sweetheart," Mom's cheerful voice greets me, and I can hear Dad and Papa talking quietly in the background.

"Hey, Mom," I reply, forcing a smile into my voice. "How’s Chicago?"

"Busy, as usual," she chuckles lightly. "How’s your investigation coming along?"

"Fine," I lie smoothly, projecting ease I don't feel. "Just a few bumps. How about yours?"

"Progressing," she replies casually. "You know how it is, one step forward, two steps sideways."

Dad's voice suddenly joins, warm and steady. "Make sure you're looking after yourself, sweetheart. Are you eating properly?"

"Always," I promise, throat tightening with emotion. "You know I can handle myself."

"We know you can," Papa chimes in affectionately from the background. "But even superheroes need downtime, kid."

"I'll try to remember that," I reply softly, smiling despite the ache in my chest. "You guys stay safe too."

"We love you, sweetheart," Mom says gently. "Don’t forget to take a break now and then."

"Love you too. All of you," I whisper, feeling the sting of tears again.

We end the call with soft "I love you's," and I let my head fall back against the seat, the ache of their absence sharper now than ever. Normally, solitude doesn't bother me—but right now, I miss my family fiercely.

With a heavy sigh, I start the car, heading home to my cabin. Maybe a hot shower can wash away some of this stress and drama, but deep down, I doubt it'll make a damn difference.