Page 6

6

HONOR

“We’ve gotta go!” I shout, grabbing my bag and shoving random essentials inside.

“But we just got here!” Oakley protests, his arms flailing as he gestures around the rental condo—the bare walls, the still-packed boxes, the cheap furniture we’ve barely had time to sit on.

“Here isn’t our place anymore,” I say, continuing packing.

When I left Damon, my due date had felt like a distant mark on the horizon. I’d thought that by now, this close to the big day, I would’ve found somewhere permanent enough to settle, even in the middle of my run.

This place had seemed ideal—a quiet spot not far from the main hospital in Great Falls, with easy access to the city if I needed to disappear. But that was before I spotted a couple of men snooping around. Definitely not locals.

“We’re safe here!” Oakley insists, his tone edging into indignation. “Who’s following us? You think Mr. Pratt’s in on it? Or Mrs. Dawes?” He points toward the shared wall, where our neighbors live, oblivious to the chaos brewing in my head.

He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t feel it. But I do. Maybe I don’t see them—not yet—but I know they’re there. When you’ve been drawn into the Stoneborn Circle, there’s no straight path out. Instinct is the only thing keeping you from being swallowed whole.

“Honor, come on. A few more days?” he insists.

“No arguments!” I snap. Every day he’s with me feels like a mistake, like I’m failing him somehow. This isn’t a life for a thirteen-year-old. I remember the dread of bouncing from one foster family to another—how it always felt like starting over, always my fault for not fitting in, for stirring up trouble. But Oakley? He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s just a kid born to the wrong parents.

“Where are we gonna go?” Oakley asks, his voice dropping to something quieter, almost pleading. “The baby’s going to come any day now.”

“I know, Oak. I know.”

I shove the last of the supplies into the duffel. Funny how time slips away.

A stab of cramp stops me in my tracks. My hands fly to my belly as the pain twists through me.

“Honor? Is it coming? The baby?” His voice shoots up an octave, panic etched across his face as he steps closer, eyeing me like I’m seconds from collapsing.

I grit my teeth, breathing through the wave of pain, forcing it to ebb. “No. Not yet.”

“We should see Dr. Jones again. You’re pale!”

“I’m fine! Let’s go!” I take a determined step toward the door, then freeze. “Wait—where’s my mirror?” My hands fly over my pockets, searching frantically.

“You put it in your bag. What is it with you and that mirror?” Oakley grumbles. “It’s not like we’re heading out for dinner.”

I shoot him a glare. He has no idea. “Just help me find it!”

Oakley mutters something under his breath but starts searching the room. It doesn’t take long, though—I find it exactly where he said it would be, buried in my bag.

“Got it! Let’s go!” I yell, and in an instant, we’re on the move.

I steal glances in the rearview mirror. Every shadow, every parked car feels like a threat. But we’re in the clear.

For now.

Oakley stays quiet as we leave the suburb behind. He looks drained, and I can’t blame him.

“You okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He picks at a cuticle on his finger. “What’s the plan?”

“No plan.”

He scoffs.

“You might think I always know what to do,” I say, recalling the confidence he saw in me when he found me on Wild Horse Island. “But I don’t. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Yeah,” he mutters.

His sigh stings a little, pulling me back to my own regrets. After my parents were buried, I spent too long trying to grow up, clinging to the hope of a normal life. When my resolve to avenge my father finally returned, I wasted years looking in all the wrong places—fixated on a face etched in my memory, but without a name to go on. It would’ve been easier if I’d gone to Damon sooner, fished out Chase Samson sooner. Smarter than letting that filthy Stone fuck me. Smarter than letting him knock me up.

I love my baby—I wouldn’t trade this pregnancy for anything. But damn, things are a hell of a lot more complicated now.

“Seriously, Honor. Where are we going?” Oakley asks, his tone carrying the weight of a question I’ve heard too many times.

I don’t have a real plan—just a vague idea and even less certainty. One thing’s clear, though: I won’t make it far. Disappearing to some place quieter, like Dillon or Jackson, sounds ideal, but it feels like wishful thinking. For now, I’ll just drive and see how far I can get.