Page 69 of Reckless Consequences

He’s right. Roman’s legacy crumbles not just in physical infrastructure but in global perception. The data we transmitted ensures his experiments are exposed, his methods condemned, his vision rejected by the world he sought to reshape.

Victory doesn’t need to see the body to be complete.

From a safe distance, we watch Aurora facility collapse—methodical, not dramatic. Steel and concrete fold inward. Fire erupts as chemical stores ignite. The complex implodes precisely, following Sterling’s vision even in death.

The control hub disappears beneath tons of reinforced concrete, taking Roman Sterling with it. No escape. No miraculous survival. Just cold consequence.

Each of us takes in the scene differently. Ryker watches like a commander in war—cataloging damage, running contingencies, cedar-sharp and locked in. Jinx steps closer, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, like watching a canvas burn just right. Finn leans against the nearest support, pale but calculating—already mapping out failure points, mentally running the odds. Not great. But not zero.

Theo doesn’t look at the wreckage at all. He’s on the floor beside the wounded, hands moving fast and steady. His whole focus is care. His scent floods the space—vanilla and jasmine, warm and fierce. He’s not here for the collapse. He’s here for what’s left standing.

And me? I watch with hacker’s satisfaction—system breach complete, security disabled, architecture compromised.

Game over.

The drive to the safe house creates space for reality to settle—adrenaline fading, injuries demanding attention, mission completion bringing unexpected emotions. Our pack functions quietly, each moving within established patterns despite exhaustion.

Medical assessment confirms what the bond already told us—Finn stabilizing but needing careful monitoring, Ryker’s shoulder requiring proper treatment, Jinx’s collection of minor injuries demanding attention. Even Theo shows strain from supporting Quinn’s evacuation efforts, depleted from extended care of rescue subjects.

The safe house provides temporary harbor—secure perimeter, medical supplies, communication blackout. Quinn’s team establishes defensive positions while we collapse into rare vulnerability.

“How long until he’s back to normal?” I ask Theo, watching Finn’s chest rise and fall.

Theo’s expression shows uncertainty. “Without Mona’s expertise... it’s hard to say. The formula wasn’t designed for his system. We’re in uncharted territory.”

“Best estimate?” Ryker presses, needing tactical assessment.

“Weeks. Maybe months.” Theo’s hand rests on Finn’s forehead. “This isn’t like a standard illness. The formula is actively restructuring genetic markers. We need Mona’s research to understand what we’re dealing with.”

Finn’s eyes open, surprisingly lucid despite the fever. “Seventy-three percent chance of partial recovery within two weeks,” he calculates. “Full recovery timeline... indeterminate.”

The word hangs heavy between us. Indeterminate. Not just unknown but possibly unknowable. A variable without defined limits.

“What now?” Theo asks the question we’re all avoiding, fingers moving through Finn’s hair as he rests against Theo’s shoulder.

“Mona transmits global recall codes,” Finn responds, voice stronger after medical treatment. “Sterling’s shipped formula identified and neutralized. Regulatory agencies investigate exposed research data.”

“And if Roman somehow survived?” Ryker asks, voicing the remote possibility we’ve all considered.

I think of the control hub buried beneath tons of concrete and steel, of security doors sealed beyond remote override, of life support systems dependent on power sources now destroyed.

“Then he’s trapped in a prison of his own making,” I answer. “Poetic justice.”

Through our bond, I feel agreement—satisfaction in mission accomplished despite the smallest uncertainty. Some battles end without witnessed surrender. Some victories come without confirmed death.

As night falls around the secure perimeter, our pack gravitates together despite separate rooms and medical recommendations. Bodies align naturally—Theo at center, creating a foundation of safety. Finn positioned for easy monitoring. Ryker and Jinx arranged to maximize defensive positions, maintaining vigilance even in rest. And me, somehow fitting perfectly within a constellation I never designed but somehow helped complete.

The chaos in my mind settles into rare quiet as our five-point connection stabilizes—not designation hierarchy but chosen family, not biology but decision.

“We need a better place,” I murmur, half-asleep against Theo’s shoulder. “Somewhere with decent security I can actually upgrade.”

“You planning to stay awhile?” Jinx asks, voice casual but meaning clear.

The question should trigger my flight response—escape routes calculating, walls going up. Instead, it feels like debugging corrupted code—cleaning my system of outdated protocols that no longer serve me.

“Someone has to keep you idiots alive,” I reply, feeling their responses through our bond before words form—Theo’s soft contentment, Finn’s analytical satisfaction, Jinx’s feral pleasure, Ryker’s quiet certainty.

Chapter17

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