Page 19 of Saved By The King's Gamma

Katrina nods, glancing toward the hallway where the boys are waiting. “I’ll keep the others safe until something is sorted; I’ll just have to rearrange my schedule.”

I nod.

“We’ll speak with the king. Just hold on a little longer,” I assure her before she steps aside, allowing us further inside.

We find Logan and Oliver waiting near the bottom of the staircase, their small frames trembling slightly as they clutch each other’s hands. Oliver, the older of the two, stands protectively in front of his brother, his wary eyes flicking between me and Liam. Logan peeks out from behind Oliver, his thumb in his mouth, clearly terrified.

I crouch down to their level, keeping my voice soft. “Hey, Logan. Oliver. Remember me? I’m Gannon. I was here the other day. We’re going to take you somewhere safe, alright?”

Oliver doesn’t respond right away, his eyes narrowing as he studies me. He’s cautious—smart. After everything they’ve been through, it makes sense.

“Clarice is waiting for you. She’s going to take care of you,” I add gently. “You’ll be safe with her. No one will hurt you anymore.” After a moment’s hesitation, he nods slowly.

“Okay,” he says quietly, his voice barely audible.

Logan still looks uncertain, clinging tightly to Oliver’s hand, but when Liam crouches down beside me, grinning wide like a mischievous uncle, something changes.

“Hey, little dudes,” Liam says cheerfully. “Remember me? I made the pancakes.”

“You’re the one who threw Mrs Daley down the stairs,” Logan murmurs and I press my lips in a line. Shit! Good one, Liam.

“Yep, she went splat. Wicked old witch she was.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly, and he glances at Oliver as if seeking permission. “She’s really not coming back for us?” Oliver asks.

Liam crouches down again, a grin spreading across his face. “Not unless someone sews her back together and gives her a new skin,” he says cheerfully, ruffling Logan’s hair. “But even then, I don’t think she’d get very far since she can’t walk to get up them stairs.”

Both boys freeze, staring at him, clearly confused.

“What do you mean?” Logan asks cautiously.

Liam leans in, his eyes glinting with a playful kind of wickedness. “Let’s just say Mrs. Daley got a little... makeover,” he says, twirling his finger in a circle like he’s painting an invisible picture. “Gannon gave her a brand-new look, but unfortunately, her wrinkly old skin suit is hanging out in the basement now.”

Oliver’s mouth falls open, and Logan blinks rapidly, looking between us like he’s trying to figure out if Liam’s joking or telling the truth.

“She’s… in the basement?” Logan whispers, his voice barely audible.

“Yup,” Liam replies, standing and brushing off his hands like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “He hung her pelt up like a bad fur coat. Don’t worry, though—she won’t be coming after you again.”

Logan gasps quietly, his tiny hand tightening around Oliver’s, but Oliver doesn’t look scared—he looks thoughtful. Processing. Slowly, he glances back at Liam, hesitant but curious.

“You… skinned her?” Logan asks, his voice low but steady.

“Well, technically Gannon did,” Liam says with a shrug, jerking a thumb in my direction. “I handled the whole ‘throw her down the stairs’ part. Team effort, you know?”

I press my lips into a tight line, fighting back a sigh. Good one, Liam. Real subtle. Oliver nods once, and Logan finally lets go of his brother’s hand, taking a tentative step toward me.

“There we go,” Liam says, ruffling Logan’s hair lightly. “Come on, lads. Let’s get you out of here.”

I scoop Logan into my arms while Oliver stays close to Liam’s side. As we head back outside toward the car, Katrina watches from the doorway, a faint smile on her lips despite the worry in her eyes. I give her a nod.

Once we’re back in the car, the tension starts to ease slightly. Liam hops into the passenger seat, turning around to grin at the boys. “Alright, who’s hungry?”

Oliver fidgets in my lap, glancing nervously at Logan, who sits stiffly in the back seat. They’re still wary, still on edge, but at least they’re here—away from that hellhole.

Neither answer and I start the car.

We pull into a gas station a little further down the road, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over the empty lot. I park near the entrance, and Liam hops out first, grabbing his wallet as he heads toward the store.

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