Page 12 of Reckless Consequences

There’s a pause, then: “Send coordinates. We’ll have a team there in thirty minutes.”

I look to Mona, who nods and recites latitude and longitude with unsettling precision. After confirming the details, I lower my voice.

“Keep her safe, Aria. She’s... she’s not what she seems.”

“I could say the same about you,” Aria responds, a hint of her old warmth breaking through the professional facade. “We’ve got her, Cay. Quinn is already prepping the lab space.”

Before ending the call, Aria adds, “Your pack called in. They’re moving to intercept you. Ryker left the cabin twenty minutes ago.”

Something loosens in my chest at the news. My body temperature rises at once, a flush of warmth spreading outward from my core at the mere mention of Ryker’s approach. My heartbeat accelerates to match the rhythm I associate with his presence—steady, powerful, deliberate. The claiming mark at my neck throbs with renewed urgency, reminding me of connections that transcend distance.

They’re still coming for me.

Despite everything—my betrayal, my secrets, my disappearance—they’re still treating me like I belong, even when I’ve done everything to prove I don’t deserve it. I close my eyes for a second, remembering Theo’s laugh as he taught me to make focaccia, the gentle pressure of Finn’s hand guiding mine on the chess board, the weight of Ryker’s body holding me steady during training. Home, waiting for me to return.

As I disconnect, Mona holds up the syringes again. “Genetic masking first. Then separation.”

This time, I accept without argument. We both roll up our sleeves, administering the compound to each other with clinical efficiency—sisters sharing one last secret before parting ways.

“How long until it takes effect?” I ask, pressing a cotton ball to the injection site, watching a drop of blood bloom against the white—Sterling blood, modified blood, blood that marks me as something other than what I thought I was.

“About fifteen minutes,” she answers. “Enough time to prepare.”

We drive in silence to an abandoned gas station half a mile away—a derelict shell with shattered windows and pumps long since stripped for parts. The rising sun paints the peeling paint in shades of amber and gold, like the building is burning from within. A fitting place for goodbyes.

As we divide our remaining supplies—ammunition, medical kit, communication devices—Mona suddenly switches to teacher mode, her fingers tapping the specialized case containing Finn’s salvation.

“You must understand precisely how this works,” she says, her voice taking on an urgency I’ve rarely heard from her. “The booster isn’t a cure. It’s a blocker. Very specific molecular inhibition.”

I nod, trying to absorb her explanation as she details administration protocols and potential side effects, her words gaining speed as she goes.

“The blocker buys us one week,” she concludes, her eyes fixed on mine with uncharacteristic intensity. “Seven days to destroy everything Sterling built. After that, viral resistance becomes probable. Effectiveness diminishes exponentially.”

“Seven days,” I repeat, the countdown timer now running in my head. “To find a cure? Or a better treatment?”

“To end this,” Mona says simply. “To dismantle Sterling’s entire operation. The virus, the tracking system, everything.”

“That’s... ambitious.”

“Obviously.” Her lips quirk in what might almost be a smile. “But necessary. Also achievable with appropriate resources and tactical implementation.”

I insist she take most of the food, knowing Aria’s team will bring provisions for me. The process feels strangely intimate, like siblings dividing family heirlooms—except our inheritance is weapons and emergency rations instead of photo albums and grandmother’s jewelry.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask suddenly, the question that’s been burning inside me since she first helped me escape. “Why risk everything to help me, to help my pack?”

Mona looks startled, as if the question has never occurred to her. She unwraps a lollipop with methodical precision, using the moment to gather her thoughts.

“I don’t do heats,” she says finally. “Or pack bonds. Or emotions in general. But I understand the concept of chosen family versus biological imperatives.” She twirls the candy thoughtfully. “Father views us as extensions of himself. Experiments to be controlled. I prefer... autonomy.”

Headlights appear on the distant highway—Omega Guardians’ extraction team arriving precisely on schedule.

As they approach, I feel an unexpected tightness in my throat. “Will I see you again?”

Mona tilts her head, that calculating look returning. She pulls a handful of Skittles from her pocket, arranging them in a complex pattern on the dusty hood of our stolen car. After a moment of consideration, she nods decisively.

“78% chance. Acceptable odds.” She gestures to the candy pattern. “Assuming optimal decision-making and minimal self-destructive behavior on your part.”

The extraction team’s vehicle pulls into the cracked concrete lot, Aria herself emerging from the passenger seat. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of Mona, taking in my sister’s unusual combination of lab coat over tactical pants, candy necklace around her throat.

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