Page 137 of Thunder's Reckoning

Chain leaned back slow, knuckles crackin’ one by one like distant gunfire. “So it’s over.”

I shook my head, flat and cold. “No. Gabrial’s dead. That part’s buried. But cults don’t die easy. They fester. They regrow. Especially when the head don’t rot fast enough.”

Ash who was still a part of this, shifted in the corner, arms crossed tight across his chest. His voice carried the kind of weight that comes from livin’ it, not just hearin’ about it. “They’ve already started rebuilding. Heard it from one of the girls Miriam’s sheltering. The ones who stayed behind are calling it a trial by fire. They think they’re being tested. They’re digging in.”

“Jesus,” Bolt muttered, draggin’ a hand down his face.

“Miriam’s got six of ‘em now,” I said. “Three kids, and three young women. She’s got help, but it ain’t enough. Not for what’s comin’.”

“We’ll rotate prospects,” Devil said, matter-of-fact, no hesitation. “Day and night. Anybody even looks sideways near her house, I want eyes on ‘em. Tails on ‘em. They breathe wrong, I want to know about it.”

Gearhead tapped the table with the edge of his lighter, metal hittin’ wood in a steady rhythm. “You think any of ‘em will have the guts to retaliate?”

“Maybe not yet,” I said. “But loyalty’s poison. Shepherds are still out there, men who’d spill blood for Gabrial just to prove their faith ain’t cracked.”

“Then we stay ready,” Chain growled, his hand curlin’ into a fist on the table. “They wanna come knockin’? We show ‘em what a real fire looks like.”

“Amen,” Bolt muttered..

Devil’s gaze swept the room, heavy as a gavel. “We lock down. No outside runs unless cleared. No solo rides anywhere near Hollow Creek. We keep our ear to the ground, our iron close, and if they move, we move faster.”

The men nodded, the sound of it more solid than any shout.

I didn’t add more. Didn’t need to. Just sat there, starin’ at the grain of the table, feelin’ the ghost of Gabrial’s voice still echo off the stone of that goddamn hall.

He was gone.

But what he built? That rot was in the marrow. We’d carry it now, the ones who lived, the ones who bled, and the ones who’d die makin’ sure it never rose again.

The war room emptied slow, boots dragging, chairs scraping like old bones across the floor. Nobody lingered, but nobody rushed either. We all knew this wasn’t the kind of war you walked away from clean.

I stayed put a moment longer, palms flat on the scarred wood, eyes on the maps and files scattered there like the aftermath of a storm. Gabrial’s face still burned in my head. His voice, the blade against her throat, the fire roarin’ high enough to taste in my lungs.

Finally I stood and left the room. Out back, the night pressed close against the walls, heavy with damp earth and pine. I caught a glimpse of Gearhead by the firepit, smoke curling around him, a few of the boys sittin’ close, their faces lit in orange. Watchin’ each other’s backs, same as always. That part would never change.

But me? My boots carried me toward the stairs. Toward her.

***

THE DOOR CLICKEDshut behind me, the sound too small for the weight sittin’ in my chest. She was there, propped up against the pillows, her skin pale but her eyes alive. Tired, worn, but alive.

Christ Almighty, I’d near lost her.

My boots hit the floor heavy as I crossed the room. My cut slid off my shoulders, landin’ on the chair like a second skin I didn’t need in this moment. My hands shook when I reached for her, and I hated it, but hell if I could stop.

“You oughta be sleepin’,” I rasped, voice rough from smoke and screams I hadn’t had time to let out.

Her lips curled soft, that quiet smile that always cut me open. She lifted her hand, small and fragile lookin’, but strong enough to break me in half. “I can rest when you’re here.”

That undid me.

I took her hand in both of mine, pressin’ it to my mouth, to my chest, to every damn place that hurt just to prove to myselfshe was real. My breath shuddered, and I didn’t care she saw it. Didn’t care she knew how close I’d come to losin’ her.

“Darlin’, you don’t know,” I whispered, low and raw. “You don’t know what it did to me, thinkin’ I was too late.”

Her fingers curled in my shirt, tuggin’ me down. No hesitation. No doubt. Just want.

I kissed her hard. Desperate. All the fear I’d buried pourin’ out in one clash of mouths. She opened for me like she’d been waitin’ too, and the sound she made—soft and broken—ignited somethin’ deep, somethin’ I couldn’t cage anymore.