Chapter 10: Safehouse Showdown
The only sound in Rowan’s cabin was the crackle of the fire and the soft tap of his fingers on a laptop keyboard. The slip of paper from the locket lay on the rough-hewn coffee table between them, the name ‘Orion’ and the code ‘AXR-73B’ feeling like a live wire in the quiet room.
“It’s a designation,” Rowan said, his voice low and focused. He didn’t look up from the screen. “Not a license plate. Not a serial number. A project code. Axiom Resilience, seventy-third iteration, variant B.”
Silas stood by the fireplace, his broad back to them, staring into the flames as if he could divine the answers in the embers. “Axiom. That’s a defense contractor. Heavy, shadowy stuff. What was your mother doing with that?”
Elle curled her fingers into the worn fabric of the couch. “I don’t know. She was a historian. She researched corporate archives for museums.” Even as she said it, the memory felt thin, a flimsy curtain over a hidden room she’d never known was there.
A sharp, rapid knock at the door shattered the silence.
In one fluid motion, Silas turned, his body tensed for a threat. Rowan’s hand slid to the side of the couch, where a hunting knife rested in a sheath nailed to the wood. He gave a sharp, single nod.
Silas moved to the door, not opening it. “Yeah?”
“It’s Jasper. Let me in. Now.”
The urgency in his voice had Silas yanking the door open. Jasper slipped inside, bringing a rush of cold night air with him. His usual easygoing charm was gone, replaced by a wired, pale intensity. His eyes landed on Elle, then scanned the room.
“He’s here,” Jasper breathed, running a hand through his wind-tousled hair. “Kael. Liam just texted me. He was asking questions down at the lake docks, showing a picture around. Liam said he looked like he meant business. Military-cut, cold eyes. Paid in cash for a bottle of whiskey and didn’t take a sip.”
The air left the room. Elle’s stomach plummeted. He was here. In Havenwood. He wasn’t a ghost from the fire; he was a hunter who had picked up her scent.
Rowan stood, his movements calm and deliberate. He walked to a locked trunk at the foot of his bed, worked the combination, and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in gray foam, were two handguns and boxes of ammunition. The reality of the situation solidified, cold and hard.
“Okay. New plan,” Rowan said, his voice devoid of all warmth. He began loading a magazine, the click of each round a sharp punctuation in the tense quiet. “We can’t just hide her. He’s already canvassing. He’ll find her. This town is small.”
“So what’s the play?” Silas asked, his voice a low growl.
Rowan looked up, his gaze landing on Elle. It was clinical, assessing. “We use the one thing he wants. We use her.”
“No.” The word was out of Silas’s mouth before Elle could even process the horror. He crossed the room in two long strides, planting his hands on the wall on either side of her, caging her in. The move wasn’t aggressive, but profoundly possessive, his body a shield and a cage all at once. The heat from him, the scent of pine and clean sweat, was overwhelming. “We are not using her as bait.”
“You have a better idea?” Rowan’s tone was flat. “He’s a professional. He won’t stop. We can either wait for him to pick the time and place, or we control it. We set the trap.”
“And if your trap springs wrong? What then, Rowan? She’s not one of your lab specimens.” Silas’s head dipped closer to Elle, his voice dropping to a vibration that was for her alone. “I’m not letting him get close to you again.”
Jasper watched the standoff, his gaze flicking between them. “He’s right, Silas. Playing defense got us here. This guy… he’s not messing around. The way he looked at that photo…” He shook his head. “It was like he was looking at a target. Not a person.”
The three of them, their energies colliding in the small space, created a pressure that made it hard to breathe. Rowan’s cold strategy, Silas’s ferocious protection, Jasper’s frantic confirmation of the threat. Elle felt pulled apart by it.
Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs, her bandaged wrist throbbing in time. She looked from Silas’s fiercely protective eyes to Rowan’s calculating gaze, to Jasper’s worried face. They were talking about her, around her, as if she weren't there. The feeling was familiar, a return to the powerlessness of the fire. It was a feeling she was starting to hate.
“Stop.”
The word was quiet, but it cut through the argument. All three men looked at her.
She pushed against Silas’s chest, not hard, but with enough force that he reluctantly straightened up, giving her space. She stood on shaky legs, facing them.
“You don’t get to decide this for me.” Her voice was stronger than she expected. “He burned my life down. He took everything. And you found that locket for a reason.” She looked at Rowan. “What’s your plan?”
A flicker of something—respect, maybe—crossed Rowan’s features. “We leak a location. Somewhere isolated but with sightlines. The old ranger lookout on Black Ridge. Jasper can spread it in town, a casual mention that you’ve gone up there to clear your head. Silas and I will be there, hidden. When he shows up, we get answers. We end this.”
It was insane. It was terrifying. It was the only thing that felt like fighting back.
Silas’s jaw was clenched so tight a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Elle.”
She met his gaze, her own resolve hardening. “I’m not a little rabbit, Silas. Not anymore.” She turned back to Rowan, her chin lifting a fraction. “Do it.”
The decision hung in the air, a silent agreement forged in fear and necessity. Rowan gave a sharp nod and turned back to his weapons. Jasper pulled out his phone, his thumbs already flying across the screen.
Silas didn’t move. He just looked at her, his dark eyes burning with a conflict she could almost feel—the urge to lock her away forever warring with a grudging acknowledgment of her choice. He reached out, his calloused fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch a stark contrast to the violence he was preparing for.
“If he so much as looks at you wrong,” Silas murmured, the promise a low, dark vow in the firelit room, “I’ll tear him apart.”