Page 59 of Make Them Bleed

Juno: DM Etta; record 10-min pod update to rattle cages (no specifics).

“Pod update?” I echo.

“Noise draws vermin,” Render says gently. “You don’t say ‘Nico.’ You say ‘I’m closer than you think.’ If he’s a narcissist, curiosity will drag him to the Atlas door.”

“And we’ll be there,” Arrow says, voice calm and absolute.

Knight points at Arrow with a grin. “You hear that tone? That’s ‘I’ll personally body-check a yacht’ tone.”

Ozzy elbows him. “He’ll ask the yacht to please stop,politely.”

“Then tie it up with gaffer tape,” Gage adds, deadpan.

Even I laugh, which I didn’t think was on the menu today. Arrow tries not to, fails, and shoots the guys a flat look that only makes them grin wider.

“Alright, Boy Scout,” Ozzy says. “What’s your personal to-do? Apart fromhover respectfully.”

Arrow flips the marker in his fingers. “I’m looping Dean for legal cover. And I’m drafting a handoff packet to Detective Huxley. If we cross a line, I want her to have a clean breadcrumb trail.”

“Look at him, making friends with the law,” Knight says. “Character development.”

Render slaps a sticky note labeledDON’T GET ARRESTEDon the corner of the whiteboard. “Vibes-only goal.”

The teasing shouldn’t work, but it does. The room feels less like a bunker and more like a kitchen table. My chest unclenches enough that I can breathe without tasting iron.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, looking at each of them. “For showing up without masks. For… seeing me.”

Gage inclines his head. Knight gives me a two-finger salute. Ozzy raises his tea like a toast. Render’s smile softens. “We’ve got you, Juno.”

Arrow doesn’t say anything, but his eyes meet mine—steady, wrecked, hopeful. For a second I think I might cry. I blink it into submission.

We split tasks. Phones chirp. Laptops open. For an hour, the loft buzzes with motion and purpose. Render perches at the corner desk, coaxing a valet vendor into a “system refresh.” Ozzy andGage run a feeder from public cam nodes closest to the marina exits. Knight texts a “friend of a friend” at a dock supply shop and promises to buy a forklift with cash if needed (he won’t, but the mental image is soothing).

When we finally call time, the night beyond the windows has deepened to river-black. Render taps my shoulder with his pen. “Text Etta now. Before you talk yourself out of it.”

I type a message I hate—breezy, half-flirt, all calculated:

Hey Etta! Long time. Cheering that you pulled off the Delphine circus. Quick q—who’s the silver-fox friend of the Club that keeps buying Atlas out of smoked honey? We’ve shared a table or two… DM me, I’m curious

I hit send and feel like I need to wash my hands.

“Good,” Render says. “Now, go home. Sleep. We’ll handle the crawling.”

The guys pack up. Knight pulls me into a gentle side hug that feels like leaning on a brick wall warmed by the sun. “Call if you need a moving mountain,” he says. “I do weekends.”

“Thank you,” I say, meaning it more than he knows.

Ozzy points at me with two fingers and then the floor, a goofy we-got-you gesture that somehow doesn’t make me roll my eyes. Gage lifts a hand in a quiet goodbye. Render winks which makes Arrow growl and something flutters low in my belly.

When the last footsteps fade down the stairs, it’s just me and Arrow. The room exhales. I feel all my shields creak into place at once.

He doesn’t move closer. He picks up two empty cups, tosses them, wipes the whiteboard with methodical care. Finally, he turns.