Silence settled, heavy and unbroken, until the compound shrank to a shadow in the mirrors. Only then did Brock let his eyes shift.
Harper sat rigid beside him, pressed into the corner of the seat as though distance alone could shield her from the men around her. Her shoulders were cinched high, neck tight, chest working in shallow, uneven pulls he registered in the hush between the engine's hum and the road's low hiss. Her gaze never lifted — fixed unblinking on the seatback ahead, the glassy stare of someone clinging to the smallest anchor within reach. A tremor rippled through her arms, faint but constant, her body caught in the endless loop of aftershock.
Brock's hand twitched once in his lap, instinct pulling it toward her. He stopped short, fingers curling into his thigh until the muscle ached. He knew the signs too well: rigid frame, lungs working too fast, eyes gone distant. Shock. Touching her now wouldn't ground her. It would cage her tighter.
So he held still, jaw locked, the space between them charged with everything he didn't say. Around them, the Suburban carried on like nothing had shifted — engine humming steady, tires whispering over asphalt, suspension creaking with each turn. The ordinary sounds of the city leaked in through the glass: a horn in the distance, brakes squealing, the low rumble of trucks on the main road. All of it felt foreign, too clean, clashing against the stink of blood still clinging to their clothes and the violence hanging thick in the silence.
From the front, Onyx's eyes found Brock in the rearview. His stare lingered, heavy, the muscles in his jaw tight before the words finally broke loose. His voice came low, rough, stripped of its usual command. "I fucked up," he said at last. "I trusted Vex. Didn't question, didn't think. He pointed, I followed."
Brock shook his head once, slow and steady, chin dipping toward his chest. His reply carried no heat, just quiet conviction. "You don't owe me an apology," he said, voice low. "I get it."
Onyx let out a long, ragged breath, the kind that sounded like it scraped his ribs on the way out. His hand twitched against his thigh before he shifted, turning partway around. The movement was small, careful, but Harper still flinched, her shoulders jerking in a reflex learned from too many hits. She kept her head bowed, gaze fixed, trembling harder under the pull of his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Harper," Onyx murmured. The steel in his voice was gone; what came out was quieter, almost raw. "You didn't deserve any of that."
The words settled thick in the space, louder than the muted road noise beyond the glass. Harper's throat worked, a dry swallow. She didn't speak. Her hands stayed locked white together in her lap, gaze never lifting. After a long, brittle moment, she gave the smallest nod — a gesture so slight it could have been another tremor.
Onyx's stare lingered a moment more before he turned forward again. His shoulders sagged as he faced the road, but the weight of his words, of the look he'd given her, seemed to hang in the air even after he was gone.
From beside Brock, Kier shifted, the leather creaking under his frame. The muscles along his throat bunched once, but whatever sat behind his teeth stayed there, locked down tight. When he finally spoke, his voice came even, steady, practical — the soldier in him overriding everything else. "Where are we going? What's the plan?"
The question hit the silence hard, blunt and necessary, dragging all of them toward what came next.
Nolan cleared his throat from the driver's seat, the sound rough from smoke and chemicals and something else that had been lodged in his chest since Henderson. His eyes stayed locked on the road ahead, unblinking, but when he spoke his voice carried the strain of someone forcing steadiness into a moment on the edge.
"I've got a place," he said, low but firm. "Few miles out of town. My aunt keeps a cabin for the summers — big enough to hold us, stocked enough to keep us fed. Nobody in the Syndicate knows it exists."
His fingers shifted on the wheel, tightening until the cover pulled taut under his grip. "We hole up there until we figure out what the fuck comes next. Off the map. Away from Syndicate eyes and ears. Just us."
The words settled heavy in the Suburban, louder than the hum of the engine. For the first time since the office, there was direction. It wasn't resolution or safety, but it was a line to follow through the wreckage they'd carved.
Onyx exhaled slow in the passenger seat, gaze cutting once toward the window. Kier shifted beside Brock, broad shoulders rolling back as he braced for what that meant. Tucked against the door at his side, Harper shifted in her seat, the movement so small it might have gone unnoticed if Brock hadn't been inches away. She folded in on herself, pulling her knees up, wrapping her arms around them until they formed a barricade. Her forehead pressed against denim, eyes open but unfocused, tracking the weave of the fabric, trying to anchor herself there.
Each breath dragged raw through her chest, scraping broken glass through her. The Suburban was thick with heat and bodies, a crush of men filling every inch of space, but none of it reached her. She felt suspended, cut off, a ghost they'd hauled along by mistake. Even Brock — solid, immovable, right beside her — felt unreachable. He was a wall of silence, all command and no comfort, and the distance carved deeper, eclipsing even the memory of Onyx's pistol at her skull. She wanted him to break it. To look at her. To say something, anything — a lie, a curse, a hand on her shoulder. But nothing came.
The thought seeped in, poisonous and cold: this was her fault. All of it. Vale dead, choking on chemical air — because of her. Vex sprawled in his own blood — her trail, her mess. Four men now fractured, running from the Syndicate's teeth — fallout that followed her. Brothers forged by years of loyalty, now breaking apart around someone who shouldn't have survived the night she was taken. Someone who should never have been alive to begin with.
Her arms locked tighter around her legs, crushing herself smaller, her breath muffled and hot against the denim.
Beside her, Brock stayed stone-still, but his eyes cut sidelong, tracking every small collapse in her posture, the way she seemed to shrink from the air itself. Instinct clawed at him to reach across, to drag her in, to swear she wasn't alone. He held still. If he cracked her open now, he'd only drive the fracture deeper, bleed her out faster.
Something crushed down in his chest, merciless. The pistol still burned phantom-hot in his palm, recoil etched into his bones. He blinked, and Vex's head snapped back again, blood spraying the wall. The next blink brought Harper over the top of it—lashes pressed tight, shoulders locked, bracing for the bullet she'd been sure he'd put through her skull. She had been so scared, shaking, and still she obeyed him. She closed her eyes because he told her to. Because she trusted him enough to soften the blow.
He'd killed the man who made them. Who owned them. The foundation of everything they were had split in an instant — by his hand.
And the woman who had given him that trust couldn't bring herself to look at him now.
His teeth ground together. His hand flexed once against his thigh. He fought the urge to reach, fought the spiral tearing inside him, fought demons that left no room for words, until the silence between them felt like a living thing—thick, suffocating, pressing closer with every mile the Suburban carried them away.
The city bled away fast — warehouses thinning to scrub lots, scrub lots surrendering to frost-bitten fields where rusted tractors hunched like carcasses. The Suburban ate the miles in a steady drone, its tires humming over asphalt until Nolan swung them off onto a gravel track. The shift rattled through the cabin, gravel crunching under the truck as the trees rose tall around them.
The forest swallowed the world quick. Branches arched overhead, bare and rattling, muting the sky to slivers of pale light. The hush pressed down, close and dense, broken only by the crack of gravel under the tires and the occasional snap of a limb retreating from the truck's flank. The road bent and bent again, narrower with each turn, long enough that it seemed ready to coil forever.
At last the trees split wide, spilling into a clearing where the cabin stood.
It sat firm in the hollow, built of thick timber darkened by weather, roof pitched neat under shingles the color of slate. A stone chimney climbed the side, cutting a straight line into the air. The porch stretched across the front, broad and sturdy, boards worn but unbowed. A bench sat pressed beneath one of the windows, and a neat stack of firewood filled the space under the eaves. The glass panes threw back the morning light, clean and unclouded, a small defiance against the wilderness pressing on all sides.
It wasn't new, but it held its ground — cared for, lived in, the kind of place meant to outlast storms. Hidden this deep in the forest, it looked less like a refuge found than one that had been waiting.
Nolan swung the Suburban wide into the clearing, gravel crackling until the nose of the truck lined square with the porch. He dropped it into park, the engine rumbling low before he cut it off. Silence pressed in, almost foreign after miles of road noise. His hands stayed tight on the wheel a second longer than needed before he let out a breath that fogged faint against the windshield.
"We're here."
He pushed his door open and stepped down first, gravel crunching under his weight. His gaze swept the treeline as he adjusted the hang of his jacket, shoulders rolling with the ease of a man who knew the ground under his feet.
Onyx followed, the passenger door swinging wide. He climbed out heavy, landing solid, his eyes cutting across the clearing like he expected something to stir in the shadows. He came to stand near the hood, arms folding once across his chest, a restless edge still tight in his frame.
From the back, Kier slipped out next. His movements were measured, deliberate, as he shut the door and moved up beside Onyx. The two of them squared to opposite arcs of the clearing, silent, scanning the trees.
Brock slid out after Kier, shutting the door behind him with a muted click. He moved around the Suburban's flank, gravel shifting beneath his steps as he came to the rear on the driver's side.
He pulled the handle and eased the door open. Cold air spilled into the cabin, stirring Harper where she sat curled tight in the corner. Her knees were drawn to her chest, arms locked around them, her forehead pressed to denim. At the rush of air she flinched, head jerking up, eyes glassy and rimmed red as they fixed on him.
Brock lowered himself into the doorway, blocking the spill of light, making the world smaller. His voice came soft, careful, carrying none of the iron it had held in the office. "Harper. Come with me." The words were quiet, steady, shaped to reach her without crowding.
She stayed folded for a long moment, trembling in the seat, her gaze flicking from his face to the hand he offered. The air caught in her throat, her breath stuttering.
Brock didn't push. He kept his arm extended, palm open, his presence steady as stone but tempered with a patience she hadn't seen from him before.
Her fingers moved at last, trembling as they unlatched from her knees. She reached for him, hesitant, the motion shaky, uncertain even in her own skin. Her hand slipped into his, smaller, clammy against his palm.
Brock closed his grip around hers, steady, anchoring. He guided her out of the seat with care, easing her down until her boots found the gravel. She swayed once, knees weak, and he steadied her without a word, his hand firm at her side.
"You okay?" he asked quietly, his head tilting toward hers.
She nodded fast, eyes fixed low, but the tremor in her shoulders gave her away. He knew better — knew she wasn't okay, not even close. Still, he let her keep the shield of the nod.
In front of them, the others were already moving. Nolan led, steps long and certain as he crossed toward the porch. Onyx and Kier fanned with him, their frames cutting across the clearing, scanning the treeline even now. The shadow of what they'd just left trailed them, but their focus was already on what lay ahead.
Brock stayed a half-step behind with Harper, her hand still clutched in his, guiding her toward the cabin.