Page 4 of The Last Morgan

That first night with the Oxleys — her new family — was the second most terrifying night of Lucy’s life. The worst had already been burned into her memory, and this one came close behind. But as the days passed, something began to shift.

Her past started to blur around the edges, retreating into the background as the present began to take up more space in her mind.

That morning, she walked into the kitchen with a quiet mix of fear and curiosity. Mary — Carter’s mum and the head of the house — was already moving around with practiced grace. She had taken care of many children over the years, and it showed. There was a calmness in the way she moved, an unspoken wisdom in how she handled those around her. She seemed to know exactly how to settle an unsettled soul.

The smell of food pulled Lucy forward. She sat at the large table, her eyes drawn to the steaming plates just being served. Mary placed the plate in front of her — bacon, eggs, sausages, toast, mushrooms, and a tall glass of apple juice. Lucy’s stomach growled in response. She hadn’t eaten properly in days, and the sight of that plate felt like a lifeline.

“Eat as much as you can, girly. You’ve got a long day ahead of you,” Mary said with a warm smile, then surprised Lucy by pulling out the chair beside her and sitting down.

She didn’t rush, just poured herself a cup of tea and took a sip before speaking again.

“I know this is all a lot,” she said gently, her eyes fixed on the steam rising from her mug. “But I want you to understand something before the day starts.”

Lucy glanced at her, unsure what to say.

“You’ll be spending time with each of them,” Mary continued. “Sam, Nick, Corey… even Barnaby, in his own way. They’re not just here to keep you company — they’re here to teach you.”

“Teach me what?” Lucy asked quietly.

Mary gave a small nod, pleased by the question. “Sam will show you how to handle a blade. She’s calm and focused. Nick will teach you how to blend in — how to disappear when you need to. Corey will toughen you up. Not just your body, but your mind. And Barnaby… well, he’s sharp as a tack. That boy sees everything.”

Lucy looked down at her plate, appetite momentarily forgotten.

Mary’s voice softened. “I know you’ve been through something no child should ever face. But the world doesn’t care about fair. It’ll come for you again — and next time, you need to be ready.”

Lucy met her eyes then, and Mary held her gaze with quiet strength.

“You’re not here to forget what happened. You’re here to make sure it never happens again.”

She stood, giving Lucy’s shoulder a light squeeze.

“Now eat. Sam’s waiting. And trust me — you don’t want to keep her waiting.”

The days always began with Sam. She was sharp, direct, and confident — a knife specialist who had joined the Oxleys early on, alongside Carter. That morning, she handed Lucy a whetstone and pointed to a drawer full of blades.

“Sharpen every single one before lunch.”

It felt pointless at first — repetitive, mechanical, and dull. But Lucy soon realised that nothing in this house was without purpose. Every task had a lesson buried in it. She just needed to learn how to see it.

After lunch came design with Nick. His world was one of colour and precision, and though he was quiet and calm, his passion was clear. He showed her how to blend tones, layer shadows, and use colour as camouflage. The scent of paint and paper grounded her more than she expected. It didn’t erase the weight she carried, but it softened it just enough for her to keep moving.

Out of all the daily sessions, Lucy found she enjoyed Nick’s the most.

But the final session of each day belonged to Corey — and it was nothing like the others.

On her first day, he handed her a pair of gloves that felt far too big for her hands.

“Punch me,” he said.

She stared at him, unsure.

“Go on. Hit me.”

She threw a soft punch, barely a tap.

“Harder,” he barked.

She tried again. Still weak.

Without warning, Corey grabbed her fist and yanked her forward. His eyes locked onto hers, and his voice dropped into a sharper accent, rough and cutting.

“Listen here, girl. I didn’t kill your mother, your father, or your brothers. And you… you didn’t save them. You were weak. Hiding like the scared little girl you are. If you stay that way, you’ll join them soon. If that’s what you want, fine. But if you want to kill the bastards that murdered your family — then you’d better fucking punch me.”

The words hit harder than any strike. Her hands trembled. Her breath came shallow and fast.

And then something inside her broke open.

She punched him. Then again. And again.

“I hate you!” she shouted as the pain poured out of her in waves.

Corey didn’t move.

“You don’t hate me,” he said. “You hate the ones who did this to you.”

Her fists dropped. Her knees gave way. The sobs took over — raw and uncontrollable. She screamed until there was nothing left.

Corey didn’t speak. He simply knelt down, picked her up without resistance, and carried her through the halls. As they passed Mary, he gave a single nod.

“She’s ready.”

He laid Lucy gently on the bed and spoke in a low voice.

“Use that fire. Take all that pain, and turn it into rage. Become something they fear.”

Then he left, and she drifted into sleep.

The days that followed blurred together. Breakfast. Knives. Colours. Sparring. Over and over again. The rhythm of the routine started to settle into her bones — exhausting, yes, but grounding.

Then one morning, Sam broke the pattern.

“What’s your favourite knife?” she asked, watching her closely.

Lucy picked up two sleek daggers and held them up.

“These,” she said.

“Why those?”

“They make me feel balanced.”

Sam smiled. “Good choice. They’re yours now. Take care of them.”

Lucy ran her fingers along the handles. For the first time in a long time, something stirred in her — a sense of ownership. Of belonging.

As she strode into the dining room with the blades at her hips, she dropped them onto the table without thinking.

“No weapons at the table!” Mary called, feigning horror — but her eyes sparkled with amusement.

Lucy grinned and swept the daggers onto her lap.

Just then, Corey walked in and clocked the blades immediately.

“So,” he asked, “what are you calling them?”

Lucy didn’t hesitate.

“Mum and Dad. They’re going to be with me everywhere — taking their revenge.”

The room went still.

For a moment, she wondered if she’d gone too far.

Then Corey burst out laughing.

“Yeah, she’s Tapped!” He said, shaking his head.

The tension broke. Laughter filled the room.

Even Mary smiled as she shook her head.

It wasn’t the most traditional kind of family…

But as Lucy looked around at the strange, deadly, protective group that had taken her in, she realised something. She was beginning to belong.