Page 84 of Scornful

We find Kraken's family on the surgical floor.

Magnolia's in the waiting room, clinging to Njal like he might disappear.

Her usually perfectly styled hair is disheveled, makeup streaked with tears.

Kraken paces the hallway, phone pressed to his ear, barking orders to someone.

"How is he?" I ask, approaching carefully.

Kraken's jaw tightens. "Still in surgery. Six hours now." He looks exhausted, aged ten years in a single morning. "They won't tell us shit except he's critical."

Fuck. That's not good.

Magnus takes the elevators with Rio, making sure no one comes up without our knowledge. Hakon and Bodul cover the stairwell and parking garage.

I stay with the family, coordinating via text.

Everly's in a nearby room getting stitched up.

Through the open door, I can see her—Kraken's adopted niece, barely twenty-one, with bandages on her arms and a shell-shocked expression.

She's always been tough, working at the fire department with Gwen and Vail as an EMT, but this has shaken her to her core.

"I'll talk to her," I tell Kraken.

He nods absently, still focused on his phone calls.

I knock on the doorframe, and Everly looks up. "Hey, you okay?"

She laughs, but it's brittle, almost hysterical. "Define okay. My house exploded, my little brother might die, and I can't stop shaking."

I enter the room, taking the chair beside her bed.

A nurse finishes applying the last bandage and quietly exits.

"You wanna tell me what happened?"

Her hands shake as she recounts the morning. "I heard something outside. Like scratching at Bjorn's window. When I went to check..." She pauses, swallowing hard. "There was a man there. Placing something under the windowsill."

"Can you describe him?"

"Tall, thin. Dark hair, maybe forty. He had this scar on his neck, like someone tried to cut his throat once." Her eyes are distant, reliving the moment. "When he saw me watching, he smiled. Like he wanted me to see."

I know that description.

Marcus, who we know is one of the Patriot's generals, right-hands, or whatever the fuck you wanna call him.

He’s former military, specializes in explosives.

The kind of man who takes pride in his work.

"I tried to warn Bjorn," she continues, tears starting. "Screamed for him to get out. But the explosion... it happened so fast. I was by the door, got thrown into the hallway. But Bjorn was deeper in the room. He took the full blast."

"Not your fault," I tell her firmly. "You hear me? This is on the Patriot, not you."

She nods, but I can see she doesn't believe it.

Survivor's guilt is a bitch, and she'll be carrying this for a long time.

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