Page 112 of Thunder's Reckoning
Bring no one. Trust no one.
I read it once.
Then again.
Then a third time, lettin’ the words burn into me until they felt carved into the back of my eyes.
“Who brought it?” My voice came out low, nearly a growl.
“Prospect found it sitting in the drop box out front,” Devil said. “Said it was just there when he checked. No one saw who left it.”
Course they didn’t. Ghosts don’t knock. They slip in, leave their mark, and vanish like they never touched the ground.
Chain’s voice came from behind me. “It’s a setup. Gotta be.”
“Or it’s the only goddamn breadcrumb we’ve got,” I snapped, frustration crackin’ through before I could leash it.
Devil leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes hard as stone. “If you go,” he said evenly, “you don’t go alone. We scout it. Shadow it. You wear a wire.”
“No.” I pushed up straight, the air burnin’ in my chest. “If they’re real—if they’re tryin’ to help—one whiff of backup and they’ll vanish before I take two steps through that door. I ain’t riskin’ that.”
Bolt stepped in, voice harsh. “So you’ll risk yourself for the mission?”
I turned, jaw clenched tight enough to crack.
“I’ll risk whatever the hell it takes to bring ’em home.”
The silence that followed was thick, heavy, like even the air was holdin’ its breath.
Then Devil gave one short nod. Final. “You go. We shadow. That’s final.”
That was all it took.
The room shifted.
Gatsby was already movin’, pullin’ wires from the drawer, settin’ up the mic with quick, precise hands. Mystic rolled out maps across the table, mutterin’ about blind spots and angles,markin’ ways in that didn’t involve the front gate. Chain stood silent, strapped up, rifle in hand, eyes already on the door like he could see the fight comin’.
But me?
I couldn’t stop starin’ at that letter. My fingers curled around it so tight the paper crumpled at the edges.
I wasn’t thinkin’ about wires or maps or backup.
I was thinkin’ about Sable.
About the fire she was livin’ through right now. About the cold in her voice when she realized I hadn’t been there to stop it. About Malik tryin’ to be brave for his sister. About Zara cryin’ for me when I never came. About my sweet momma and how helpless she must feel.
I pressed the letter flat against the table, breath draggin’ through my teeth, fury burnin’ hot in my gut.
I’m comin’, darlin’.The words tore through me like a vow.You hold on. Don’t you let him break you. Not again. Just a little longer, Sable. I’ll burn the world down before I let him keep you.
And Momma—rest easy I’m comin’—and don’t try and fight ‘em like I know you want too.
Then Malik. Stubborn and strong.You keep protectin’ your sister. You keep your chin up, no matter how dark it gets. I’m comin’ for you, son. You hear me?
And Zara. Sweet Zara with her big eyes and brave little heart.I know you’ve been cryin’ for me. I know you think I ain’t comin’. But you hold on, sweetie.
My fist curled around the letter, the edges cuttin’ into my palm. Rage roared through me, but beneath it was love. The kind that claws. The kind that bleeds. The kind that don’t quit.
