Page 93 of Reckless: Chaos

“The pack bond goes both ways. And some of us...” He turns those dark eyes on me, seeing too much as always. “Some of us don’t survive losing people we love. Not again.”

His laugh holds more sorrow than mirth. “I would believe you’re exactly who I said you are—someone who protects others no matter the cost to herself.”

His words follow me from the music room, haunting my steps like corrupted code I can’t delete. The mansion feels different tonight—every corner holding memories I’m trying not to collect. Jinx’s laughter echoing from the kitchen where he’s probably destroying dinner. Ryker’s solid presence in his study, scratching away at reports. Finn’s quiet footsteps in the library.

My family. My pack. My greatest vulnerability.

The basement door whispers shut behind me, and I lean against it, letting the silence wrap around me like a buffer zone. Everything I own still sits in boxes and bags, a physical representation of my inability to commit. To belong.

Except that’s not true anymore, is it?

My fingers trace the scabbed mark on my neck—Jinx’s claim that never quite took hold. Another small mercy in a universe that deals mostly in cruelty. At least they won’t feel it when I...

I push off the door before I can finish that thought. Start with the books—they’re easiest. Each one finds its place on shelves that have been waiting for exactly this. Tech manuals arranged by system architecture, because even in goodbye I can’t help imposing order on chaos.

“A place for everything,” I murmur, smoothing the spine of Advanced Encryption Protocols. “And everything in its place.”

Clothes come next. Each piece folded with precision I usually reserve for coding. Drawers that have stood empty for two months slowly fill with color and texture and pieces of myself I’m choosing to leave behind.

No, not leave behind. Store. Like data waiting to be retrieved.

The closet is last. I’ve been avoiding it—something about sliding hangers into empty space feels too permanent. Too much like admitting this room could be home.

But when I pull open the doors to arrange my pitiful collection of socks—all matched perfectly—shock ripples through me.

The clothing. Jackets. Sweaters. It is completely stocked. As I manically look through everything—something catches my eye. A glint of metal where there shouldn’t be anything at all.

My hand shakes as I lift out the USB drive.

Not just any drive—mydrive. The one they stole. The one that started this whole cascade of revelations and betrayals.

A note sits beneath it, Ryker’s precise handwriting stark against cream paper:

Your move.

My knees give out and I sink to the floor, drive clutched to my chest. Because of course. Of course he’d do this—the ultimate strategic play. Letting me think I had a choice while he calculated every possible move, just like Finn taught him.

“You magnificent bastard,” I whisper, but it comes out wet with something that might be a laugh or might be a sob.

He’s trusting me with everything. Giving me back the weapon I could use to destroy them all. Letting me choose.

The emerald beanie watches from my pillow as I carefully place the drive in my go-bag. Not running away anymore. Not exactly.

Just making the next move in a game I didn’t even know we were playing.

In a way, it’s almost poetic. Ryker, who plans for every contingency, giving me exactly what I need to run. Trusting me with the very thing that could bring it all crashing down.

Or maybe he’s learning from Finn—sacrificing a piece to win the game.

I finish arranging the closet with hands that shake only slightly. Each hanger exactly three fingers apart, just like my mother taught me. The OCD might be hereditary, but at least that’s something I got from her instead of him.

When everything is perfect—when every drawer is filled and every shelf holds pieces of a future I’m trying to believe in—I sit on my perfectly made bed and let myself really look at the room. Let myself memorize how it feels to belong somewhere.

The basement apartment doesn’t feel like a prison anymore. Somewhere between Jinx’s chaos and Finn’s strategy sessions, between Theo’s music and Ryker’s... everything, it became something else. Something that whispers of return rather than escape.

I tuck the go-bag under my bed, already packed days ago. The drive sits heavy inside it, Ryker’s note folded carefully alongside. Tomorrow I’ll figure out how to face Sterling, how to end this without dragging them into my mess.

But tonight...

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