Page 112 of Beyond Protection
For twenty minutes, it almost felt normal.
Then Mac's phone buzzed.
Every head turned.
Mac's hand moved slowly toward his pocket. The color drained from his face.
I crossed to him in three steps. Read the message.
Day 5. Extraction site prepared. Your family is lovely—so many people gathered to protect you. It won't help. December 18th. Come willingly, or I'll make it hurt for everyone who stands between us. —V.K.
"She's watching," Mac whispered.
"She was watching," I said. "I found footprints outside. She's gone now."
"Everyone away from the windows," I said. "Now."
Marcus was already on his phone with Clairmont. Michael pulled the curtains closed. Matthew moved Dorian and Rowan toward the center of the house.
Marcus ended his call. "Clairmont's keeping the raid scheduled two days from now. Team assembles at eighteen hundred. They breach at twenty-one hundred. Planning to catch Vanessa there."
Mac stared at his phone. "She said my family is lovely." His voice dropped to a whisper. "She counted you. She knows who you are. And when it goes wrong—when she comes for me and someone gets hurt—" He looked up, eyes wild. "It'll be because I brought this here."
"Stop." Marcus's voice cut through. "Right there." He sat across from Mac—Firefighter's calm. "You're not the reason she's threatening us. You're the reason we're ready. You're family, Mac.
He leaned forward. "And McCabes don't do math on who's worth protecting. We don't weigh risk against reward. We show up. That's the deal. That's always been the deal."
Ma appeared beside Mac and placed a hand on his forearm. "This is how we protect each other. We show up and stand together."
"I don't know how to let you do this," Mac said quietly.
"You don't let us," Miles said. "We just do. That's non-negotiable."
Claire spoke from the corner. "You don't get to decide you're not worth protecting, Cormac. We already decided you are."
Marcus stood. "Lockdown protocols in effect. No one leaves for any reason. Windows stay covered. Doors stay locked. Werely on each other." He checked his watch. "Twenty-four hours until the breach. Until then, we wait."
Later, I found Mac in the living room. He sat on the couch. Stood. Paced. Stopped.
"Hey," I said quietly. "Come here."
He sat beside me.
"Two days," he said. "Why does it feel like forever?"
"Because waiting is harder than acting."
He closed his eyes. "My mother destroyed a bowl today. Perfect bowl. She destroyed it to prove broken things still have value."
"Did it work?"
"Maybe. She's firing my ridiculous attempt. Evidence of failure getting preserved."
"That's not failure. That's proof you tried."
He looked at me. "You always know what to say."
"I really don't, but I'm trying."
