Chapter 17: Family Reckoning Over Coffee
The sky was still the color of charcoal when Dom nudged her awake. His hand was firm on her shoulder. “Time.”
No dawn, just a thinning of the dark. Sera sat up, her body stiff from the thin bunk, the deep ache in her back a constant companion. Mateo slept on. In the lantern’s low glow, she saw Dom had already repacked everything. The camper was just a shell again.
They moved in a wordless routine born of exhaustion and necessity. She changed the baby, Dom carried the bags. He stowed them in the truck, then scooped icy water from the jug onto his face, rubbing it through his hair. He looked older in the bleak light, lines carved deep around his eyes.
He helped her into the truck, his hands lingering for a second on her waist, a quick check of her stability. He didn’t ask how she felt. He just assessed.
The engine shattered the desert stillness. He didn’t head back to the dirt road. Instead, he guided the truck along the base of the rock wall, navigating by a geography only he seemed to know. For an hour, they jostled over terrain that seemed impossible, the truck’s suspension groaning. He was erasing their trail.
Finally, they bumped onto a different paved road, empty and arrow-straight. The sun breached the horizon, flooding the scrubland with a harsh, revealing light.
“We need a different car,” he said, his first words in hours. “And we need to know what we’re facing.”
He drove to a scrap yard on the edge of a nameless town, a fortress of crumbling cars behind a chain-link fence. A man in greasy coveralls met them at the gate. Dom spoke to him in low, rapid Spanish. Money changed hands. Twenty minutes later, they were transferring their meager belongings into a forgettable, sand-colored sedan, a decade old, its interior smelling of pine air freshener and old cigarettes. The plates were already swapped.
Back on the road, the sedan humming blandly along, Dom pulled a battered burner phone from the glove box. He stared at it for a long moment, his thumb tracing the edge. This was the call he didn’t want to make.
He punched in a number from memory. Held it to his ear. One ring. Two.
“Yeah.” A woman’s voice. Wary. Tired.
“It’s me.” A pause. “I need to see you.”
A longer pause. He could hear her breathing. “Dom. Jesus. Where are you?”
“Not over the air. You remember the place? The one with the pie.”
Silence. Then, a sigh. “I remember. When?”
“Tonight. Late. Just you.”
“Is it… are you in trouble?”
“Always,” he said, a flicker of dark humor. Then his voice flattened. “I have family with me.”
The line went so quiet he thought it had dropped. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’ll see. Tonight.” He ended the call, snapped the phone in half, and tossed the pieces out the window.
Sera watched the plastic shards vanish in the side mirror. “Who was that?”
“My sister.” He kept his eyes on the road. “The only one I can trust right now.”
The diner sat under a vast, star-strewn sky, a lonely outpost of light on a forgotten service road. The neon sign buzzed, the word “EATS” flickering fitfully. The parking lot was cracked asphalt, empty save for a single, weathered Jeep and their stolen sedan.
Dom parked at the far edge, facing the exit. He cut the engine. For a full minute, he just watched the building, the shadows around it, the empty road stretching in both directions.
“Stay close to me,” he said. His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of an order. “Let me do the talking. She’s family, but this is… complicated.”
The air inside was thick with the smell of old grease, coffee, and industrial cleaner. The floor was checkerboard linoleum, worn to a dull smudge in the walkways. A tired-looking cook watched a small TV behind the counter. Their footsteps echoed.
Dom chose a booth in the back, his back to the wall, sightlines to both the front door and the kitchen swing doors. He slid in first, putting Sera between him and the wall. She understood the choreography—she and Mateo were shielded. He placed the carrier on the table, a silent centerpiece.
A waitress brought water, her eyes skimming over them with polite disinterest. Dom ordered two coffees and a slice of apple pie. He didn’t touch the menu.
The coffee came, bitter and scalding. Sera cradled her mug, the heat leaching into her cold hands. Dom’s posture was deceptively relaxed, but his eyes never stopped moving, reflecting the flickering neon in the window.
Then the headlights swept across the lot. A car door slammed. Dom’s hand, resting on the table, curled into a loose fist.
The bell on the door jingled. Mia Toretto stood there, smaller than Sera expected, but with a presence that seemed to tighten the air in the room. Her hair was tied back, her face sharp with concern and a lingering anger. She scanned the diner, her gaze locking onto Dom. She didn’t smile.
She walked over, her boots soft on the linoleum. She stopped at the edge of the table, her eyes doing a quick, expert inventory: Dom’s weary face, the unknown woman beside him, the baby carrier. Her expression hardened.
“Don,” she said. Not a greeting. A statement.
“Mia.” He gave a single nod toward the bench opposite. “Sit.”
She slid in, her eyes never leaving Sera. “Who’s this?”
“This is Sera.” His voice offered no further explanation.
Mia’s gaze dropped to the carrier, to the sleeping infant. Her breath hitched, just barely. “And this?”
Dom’s hand moved then. It settled on Sera’s thigh under the table, a broad, heavy weight. A claim. A reassurance. Sera felt the tension in his palm.
“His name is Mateo.” Dom’s voice was low, granular.
Mia looked from the baby to Dom’s face, searching for a resemblance. “Yours?”
“Yeah.”
A storm gathered in Mia’s eyes. “Since when? How long have you been… God, Dom. What have you walked into?” Her voice was a sharp whisper, meant not to carry. “We thought you were laying low. Not starting a whole new…”
“It’s not like that.” His fingers pressed into Sera’s leg. “Listen to me.”
“I’m looking at a baby, Dom. I’m looking at a stranger. After everything, you bring this to me?” Her anger was hot, immediate, born of fear for him. She reached a hand across the table, not toward Dom, but toward the carrier, as if to touch the proof of this new complication.
Dom’s free hand snapped out, not grabbing, but blocking. His arm was a bar across the table. Mia flinched back.
“Don’t,” he growled, the sound vibrating in his chest.
Mia stared at his defensive posture, stunned.
Dom leaned forward, his voice dropping to a raw, private register. “He’s got my blood. Yeah. But she’s the one who kept him alive through hell. She carried him when there was nothing. No safety. No help. Just run.” He jabbed a finger toward the carrier, but his eyes burned into Mia’s. “You look at her. You see the strength it took. You respect it.”
The air crackled. Mia’s accusatory gaze shifted, really looked at Sera for the first time. She saw the shadows under her eyes, the defensive set of her shoulders, the way her hand instinctively came to rest on her stomach. The pieces clicked: the exhaustion wasn’t just from the road. The reality was larger, more dangerous than she’d assumed.
Mia leaned back slowly, the fight draining from her shoulders, replaced by a dawning, horrified understanding. “How bad is it?” she asked, her voice now quiet and direct.
“They found us in Borda Seca,” Dom said. “The house was compromised in hours. They called the landline. They knew the alias.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“Don’t know yet. Professionals. Connected. They’re not chasing me for a street race, Mia.” He finally released Sera’s thigh, his hand returning to the tabletop. “I need a real place. Not a bolt-hole. A location off every grid. And I need to know if anyone’s been asking about me in the old circles.”
Mia paled slightly. Borda Seca was a ghost town for their kind; if they’d rooted him out there, the resources were serious. She nodded, thinking fast. “There’s the old Garrisón place. Up in the Gila. It’s off the books. No utilities. You’d have to rough it.”
“We’re roughing it now.”
“I’ll need a day to secure it, make sure it’s clean.” She looked at Sera again, a new appraisal in her eyes. “You’ll need supplies. For… for everything.” Her gaze flicked to Sera’s midsection.
Sera found her voice, it was scratchy from disuse. “We have what we need for now.”
Mia heard the quiet defiance, the echo of Dom’s own stubbornness. She gave a curt nod. “Okay.” She fished a key from her pocket, slid it across the table. “Motel 8, room 14, on the south loop outside Las Lunas. Paid for the week in cash under a clean name. Don’t go in together. Get some real sleep.”
Dom took the key. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” Mia’s eyes glistened, a sheen of frustrated tears she wouldn’t shed. “Just keep them alive. All of them.” She stood up, looked down at her brother. “I’ll call you on this tomorrow.” She placed a new burner phone on the table. “Same time. Be ready to move.”
She turned to leave, then stopped. She looked back at Sera, her expression unreadably complex. “The pie here is terrible,” Mia said, almost gently. “But the eggs at dawn are edible. Order them scrambled.” It was a thread of normalcy, the barest scrap of care, offered awkwardly but with intent.
Then she was gone, the bell jingling behind her.
Dom watched her Jeep’s lights disappear. He sat utterly still for a full minute, listening to the hum of the coolers, the distant fryer. He finally picked up the new phone and pocketed it. He slid out of the booth, his movements slower now, weighed down by the confrontation.
He lifted the carrier. Sera stood, her body stiff.
“Scrambled eggs?” she asked softly, as they walked back into the night.
“At dawn,” he confirmed, opening the car door for her. He didn’t smile, but some of the severe tension had bled from the set of his mouth. The meeting was over. A path, however treacherous, was sketched. For a few hours, in a rented room, they could stop.
He pulled out onto the dark road, the flickering neon shrinking in the rearview, another temporary landmark left behind in the endless, breathing dark.
He drove in silence for twenty miles, the sedan’s engine a muted whisper compared to the truck’s growl. Sera watched the broken yellow lines stream past, hypnotic. Her knuckle rested against the cool window. The pie sat like a lead weight in her stomach.
“She hates me,” Sera said to the glass.
Dom didn’t look over. “She doesn’t know you. She hates the situation. There’s a difference.” He adjusted his grip on the wheel. “She saw a threat to her family. That’s her first language.”
“She looked at me like I was a problem you picked up.”
“You’re not a problem.” The statement was absolute. “You’re a fact. Mia deals in facts. She’ll adjust.”
The motel was a single-story L of beige doors under a buzzing sodium light. Room 14 was at the far end, past a dying ice machine. Dom parked two doors down. “Wait here with him. Lock the doors.”
He vanished into the shadows between buildings. Sera listened to Mateo’s soft sleep-sounds, her eyes scanning the empty lot. A minute later, Dom emerged from the darkness near their room, giving a single, sharp nod. It was clear.
He retrieved them, his body a shield as she fumbled with the key. The room smelled of bleach and mildew. Two double beds, a dark landscape painting bolted to the wall, a humming mini-fridge. It felt like a palace.
Dom was already moving. He checked the bathroom, the closet, the window latches. He pulled the drape shut tight, plunging them into shadow broken only by light seeping under the door. He shoved a chair under the knob.
Sera unhooked Mateo, laying him on the center of the nearest bed. She sank down beside him, her whole body sighing with the relief of stationary, private space. She toed off her shoes. The carpet was gritty under her socks.
Dom sat on the edge of the other bed, the springs complaining. He pulled the burner phone from his pocket, set it on the nightstand like a sentinel. For a long moment, he just stared at his hands, broad and scarred, resting on his knees.
The silence was thick, full of the diner’s unresolved electricity.
“She’s going to ask,” Sera whispered. “The next time. She’s going to ask about…” She gestured vaguely at her own body.
“Yeah.” He didn’t deny it. “She’s my sister. She sees things.”
“What do we tell her?”
“We tell her the truth.” He finally looked at her, his face etched in the room’s gloom. “It changes the math for her. The kind of help we need. She needs to understand the stakes aren’t just you and me running. It’s you, me, him, and…” He didn’t finish, just nodded toward her.
The phone buzzed on the nightstand, rattling against the particleboard. A text. Dom snatched it up. His eyes scanned the screen. “Mia,” he grunted. “She’s at a payphone. Wants to talk. Now.” He stood, the movement swift. “I have to take this. Two minutes. Keep the chain on.”
He slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him. Sera heard his low voice a moment later, a murmur against the motel wall. She lay back on the bed, one hand on Mateo’s back, feeling the rabbit-fast beat of his heart. The ceiling had water stains shaped like continents.
Dom returned quicker than two minutes. He locked the door, reset the chair. His expression was grim.
“The Garrisón place is a no. She got a whisper. Someone’s been asking about remote properties in the Gila, cash purchases, last 48 hours.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “They’re anticipating my moves. That’s not good.”
“So where?”
“She’s working on it. We stay put here, but only tonight. Tomorrow, we switch again.” He sat back down, the fatigue now visible in the slump of his shoulders. “She’s digging. She’ll find a crack.”
The baby stirred, letting out a fussy cry. Sera shifted to gather him, wincing at the pull in her abdomen. Dom watched, his eyes missing nothing.
“You’re in pain.”
“It’s normal,” she said, too quickly, cradling Mateo.
“What’s normal for you isn’t normal,” he stated. He didn’t move to help. He just observed, a strategist assessing a weakening piece in the field. “You need a doctor. A real checkup. Not back-alley vitamins.”
“And walk into what? A paper trail? An ultrasound connected to ‘Elena Reyes’?” Her voice held a desperate edge. “That’s how they find people, Dom. Through hospitals, prescriptions.”
“I know.” He stood, pacing the narrow space between the beds. “I know the traps. But letting you fade because I’m scared of a trap?” He shook his head. “That’s not an option.”
The burner phone rang again, jarringly loud. Dom answered on the second ring, putting it on speaker. Mia’s voice filled the room, tinny and strained.
“I’m back on a clean line. Are you secure?”
“We’re secure,” Dom said, his eyes on Sera. “Talk.”
“The inquiries are professional, Dom. They’re methodical. This isn’t some local crew throwing weight around. They’re burning through layers of intermediaries.” Mia’s voice crackled. “I need to know everything. Who have you crossed? This feels… old.”
“It might be.” He was silent for a beat. “You saw Sera.”
A pause on the line. “Yeah. I saw her.”
“She’s not part of any old business. She’s… separate. But she’s in it now because of me. They connected her to Carlos Reyes. That means they have a line into the document chain. This is a spiderweb. We need to vanish completely, Mia. Not just hide.”
“I’m trying.” Frustration bled through. “But I need parameters. What are her needs? Is she… I mean, is she hurt? The way she was holding herself at the diner…” Mia’s professional tone faltered, just for a second, into something familial and concerned. “Dom. Just give me the facts. Is she pregnant again?”
The question hung in the motel air, sharp as a shard of glass.
Dom’s gaze locked with Sera’s. He didn’t look away from her. “Yeah,” he said into the phone, the word final. “She is.”
There was a heavy silence on the line. Sera stared at the phone, feeling the secret, once held so tightly between them, evaporate into the static-filled air. The burden felt lighter and infinitely more dangerous all at once.
“Okay,” Mia finally said, her voice shifting into a lower, more decisive gear. “That changes the terrain. Completely. I’ll make a call. To a person. Not a place. She’s retired, but she owes me. She’ll see you. Tomorrow. No records.”
“Where?” Dom asked.
“I’ll text coordinates to this phone in the morning. Burn it after. It’s a half-day drive. Can she handle that?”
Dom looked at Sera. Her face was pale in the low light. She gave a small, firm nod. He answered for her. “She’ll handle it.”
“Good.Get some rest. Really rest. Both of you.” The line went dead.
Dom placed the phone back on the nightstand. The only sounds were the hum of the mini-fridge and Mateo’s soft, sleeping breaths. Sera laid the baby down gently on the bed, her movements slow and careful. The dull ache in her back had sharpened into a persistent throb deep in her pelvis.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she said, her voice thin.
Dom just watched as she pushed herself up, a slight wince twisting her features. She padded across the rough carpet and closed the bathroom door. The click of the lock was loud in the quiet room.
Dom remained on the edge of the bed, listening. He heard the faucet run briefly. Then, silence.A beat.
Then a choked, guttural sound. Not a scream, but a raw expulsion of terror.
He was across the room in two strides. He didn’t knock. “Sera?”
No answer. Just a shallow, ragged breathing.
He slammed his shoulder into the door. The flimsy lock splintered, the door flying inward and bouncing off the wall.
She was standing, frozen, backed against the sink, her face a mask of pure, uncomprehending horror. She was staring down at her legs. At the bright, shocking crimson streaking in vivid lines down her thighs, staining the tile floor beneath her feet in a spreading, terrible bloom.
“I go to the toilet and I see blood,” she whispered, the words splintering. “Streaming down my legs.” Her eyes, wide and glassy, finally lifted to his. A raw, animal scream tore from her throat.“Dom! We need a doctor now!Please! I am scared that I will lose the baby!”
Her voice shattered on the last word. She began to shake violently.
Dom’s mind, usually a battlefield map of contingencies and escape routes, went utterly white and silent. For one second, he was just a man staring at the woman he loved, bleeding and breaking in a filthy motel bathroom.
Then the switch flipped.
He moved. He grabbed a clean towel from the rack, folded it quickly. “Put pressure,” he said, his voice unnaturally calm, a flat plane over a churning sea. He guided her hand to it. Her fingers were icy, trembling.
He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t offer false promises. He turned and strode back into the room. He grabbed the burner phone. His thumb flew over the keys, not texting coordinates, but Mia’s personal, encrypted line. It rang once.
“What?” Mia’s voice was alert, expecting trouble.
“The situation is critical.Now. We need extraction to your contact. Not tomorrow. Right now. We are at the motel.” He gave the address, his words clipped. “Sera is hemorrhaging.”
He heard Mia’s sharp intake of breath, then the sound of keys jangling. “Eight minutes. I’m close. Keep her horizontal. Keep her calm.”
Dom dropped the phone. He returned to the bathroom. Sera had sunk to the floor, her back against the bathtub, the white towel pressed between her legs already darkening. Her breaths were short, panicked hitches.
“Mia’s coming. She’s close,” he said, kneeling beside her. He took her free hand. It was like holding a bird with a broken wing. “Look at me.”
Her gaze was distant, terrified. “I can’t feel anything. Just… wet. And cold.”
“You stay with me. You listen to my voice.” He squeezed her hand, a firm, anchoring pressure. “You held on through hell for Mateo. You are stronger than this. You hear me? This is just another stretch of bad road. We drive through it.”
Tears cut tracks through the dust on her cheeks. “I can’t lose them, Dom. Not after everything.”
“You won’t.” He said it with a force that brooked no argument, a vow made of pure will. He stood, pulled another towel from the rack, and bundled it. He slid it under her head. “Just breathe. In and out. Match me.” He took an exaggerated, slow breath.
She tried to mimic it, her chest shuddering.
Outside, an engine roared into the lot, tires screeching on asphalt. Dom was at the shattered door in an instant. Mia’s Jeep skidded to a halt directly outside their room. She leaped out, a bulky duffel bag in hand. Her eyes were wide with urgency, but her movements were precise.
She didn’t speak as she entered, taking in the scene: the broken door, Dom’s rigid posture, Sera on the bathroom floor. She dropped the duffel by the bed and went straight to the bathroom, pushing past Dom.
“Hey,” she said to Sera, her voice dropping into a softer, practiced register. “I’m here. Let me look.” She gently moved Sera’s hand, lifting the towel. Her face remained neutral, but a muscle jumped in her jaw.
“Dom, get the bag. The green case inside. And the blankets.” She didn’t wait to see if he obeyed. “Sera, I need you to tell me where the pain is. Is it cramps, or is it sharp?”
“Deep,” Sera whispered. “A deep… pulling.”
Mia nodded, pulling a blood pressure cuff from the duffel Dom shoved toward her.“Okay. That’s something. We’re going to move you to the bed. Then we’re going.” She wrapped the cuff around Sera’s arm, pumped it. Her eyes were on the gauge, then on Sera’s pallor.
Dom had already scooped Mateo from the bed, wrapping him securely in a blanket. He placed the sleeping baby in his carrier, his movements swift but gentle.
“Help me,” Mia said. Together, Dom and Mia lifted Sera, her arms around their shoulders. Her legs were streaked and shaky. They laid her on the nearest bed, and Mia immediately covered her with a clean blanket, tucking it around her. “The bleeding is significant but not arterial,” Mia said to Dom, her voice low. “The clinic is forty minutes. We need to go. Now.”
Dom gathered their few belongings in one sweep. Mia shouldered the duffel. Dom lifted Sera, blanket and all, into his arms as if she weighed nothing. She buried her face against his neck, a small, pained sound escaping her.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured into her hair. He carried her out into the cold night air, Mia clearing the path, holding doors. They laid Sera across the backseat of the Jeep, Mia climbing in beside her to hold her hand and monitor her.
Dom slid the carrier into the front passenger seat, strapping it in with the seatbelt. He took the driver’s seat. Mia’s keys were in the ignition.
“Go,” Mia said from the back, her hand on Sera’s wrist, checking her pulse. “Fast but smooth. No jolts.”
Dom pulled out of the lot. He didn’t gun it. He pushed the Jeep to a speed just below chaotic, a controlled, urgent flight. The world outside became a blur of darkness and occasional light. His eyes were locked on the road, but every part of him was listening to the fragile sounds from the back: Sera’s ragged breathing, Mia’s low, steady murmurs of reassurance.
“Stay with us, Sera.Look at me. Good. Just keep looking at me.”
Sera’s voice, thin and faint: “Mateo?”
“He’s right here, up front with me,” Dom called back, his voice firm. “Sleeping like a rock. He doesn’t even know we’re moving.”
“Good,” Sera breathed.
Mia kept talking, a stream of calm. “The woman we’re going to see, her name is Arlene. She delivered half the kids in this county for thirty years, no questions asked. She’s seen everything. You’re in good hands.”
Dom drove, the Jeep eating up the midnight miles. The only light came from the dashboard and the moon high above the scrubland. He saw Mia’s reflection in the rearview, her face set in concentration, one hand on Sera’s forehead, the other still on her wrist.
After thirty minutes, Mia’s phone lit up. She read a text. “Next right. It’s a gravel road. Look for the blue mailbox. It’s knocked over.”
Dom spotted it. He swung onto the gravel track, the Jeep bouncing. He heard Sera gasp.
“Almost there,” Mia soothed. “Almost.”
The road wound for a mile before ending at a small, low-slung adobe house. A single porch light burned. As they pulled up, the front door opened. A woman in her late seventies stood silhouetted, wearing a robe over medical scrubs. Her posture was straight, her expression unflappable.
Dom killed the engine. The sudden quiet was immense, broken only by the ticking of cooling metal.
Arlene walked to the Jeep as Dom got out. Her eyes, sharp and clear, assessed him, then looked past him to the backseat.
“Bring her in,” she said, her voice gravelly but quiet. “Straight to the back room. Your sister can carry the infant.”
Dom lifted Sera again. She felt lighter, her body limp with exhaustion and fear. He carried her past Arlene, catching a scent of sage and antiseptic. The back room was part bedroom, part clinic: an exam table with fresh paper, an oxygen tank in the corner, cabinets filled with orderly supplies.
“Lay her here,” Arlene instructed. “Then wait outside.”
Dom hesitated, his arms tightening around Sera. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his. She gave the faintest nod.
“I’ll be right outside that door,” he said, lowering her onto the table. He leaned down, his lips brushing her sweaty temple. “You fight.”
Then he stepped out, pulling the door almost closed. He stood in the small hallway, his back against the wall, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He could hear the low murmur of voices, the rustle of paper, the clink of instruments.
Mia came up beside him, holding a now-awake but quiet Mateo against her shoulder. She didn’t speak. She just stood there, a solid presence.
Minutes stretched. Dom stared at a water stain on the opposite wall, mapping its shape like a continent of despair.The door opened. Arlene emerged, wiping her hands on a towel. Her face was grave but not hopeless.
“The baby has a strong heartbeat,” she said without preamble.
Dom closed his eyes, a wave of relief so violent it weakened his knees. He braced himself against the wall.
“But?” Mia asked, the word sharp.
“But she has a significant placental abruption. It’s stabilizing for now, but it’s fragile. She cannot move. Not for days. Not a car, not a foot. Complete bed rest. Here.” Arlene looked at Dom. “This is not a negotiation. If you move her, you will lose this child. And you will risk her life.”
Dom absorbed the terms. A safe house had become a medical prison. A place to hide was now a fixed target. Every instinct screamed to run, to keep moving. But the doctor’s words carved a deeper truth.
“How long?” His voice was rough.
“A minimum of five days to see if it fully stabilizes. Then reassess. I will monitor her. I have what I need.” Arlene’s gaze was unwavering. “The question is, can you secure a stationary position? I am not set up for a siege.”
Dom looked at Mia. The problem had just geometrically expanded. They had to protect a fixed location, with a critically vulnerable person inside, against a threat that had already proven terrifyingly competent.
He nodded once, a slow, definitive dip of his chin. “We can secure it.”
“Then she stays.” Arlene turned back to the door. “You can see her for a moment. She’s awake. Be calm.”
Dom entered the room. Sera was on the exam table, a clean sheet pulled up to her chest. Her face was drained of color, but her eyes were clear, focused on him. An IV line ran from her arm to a bag of fluids hung on a stand.
“You heard?” she whispered.
“Yeah.” He approached, took her hand. It was warmer now.
“I can’t run, Dom.”
“I know. So we dig in.” He squeezed her hand. “This is the line. We don’t cross it.”
A ghost of her strength flickered in her eyes. “Mateo?”
“With Mia. He’s fine.” He leaned closer. “You did it. You held the line.”
She gave a tiny, exhausted smile. “We held it.”
Arlene cleared her throat from the doorway. “That’s enough for now.She needs sleep. You all do.” She gestured to the living room. “There’s a couch. We’ll rotate watches. You,” she pointed at Dom, “need to tell me everything about the threats. I need to know what listening at my windows might sound like.”
Dom followed her out, casting one last look at Sera.