Chapter 18: Taken
The Horny House had never felt so crowded.
Mike stood in the doorway of the living room, watching the chaos unfold with the detached bemusement of a man who had long ago accepted that his life would never be normal. Amanda was curled on one end of the couch, her bandaged arm propped on a pillow, her blue eyes tracking Cody's every move. Jenny sat cross-legged on the floor, her red hair still tangled from the hospital, her green eyes bright with the kind of nervous energy that came from being nineteen and having just survived a Consortium attack.
Cody stood in the middle of the room, looking lost.
"We don't have to do this," he said. His voice was still hoarse from the mind control. "I can go to a hotel. I don't want to impose."
Casey emerged from the kitchen with a plate of leftover pizza. "Sit down and eat," she said. "You look like death."
"I—"
"Sit."
Cody sat.
Amanda reached over and squeezed his knee. "Told you," she murmured. "They don't bite."
"Actually," Mike said, "we do. But only the bad guys."
Jenny laughed. It was a startled sound, surprised out of her, and it seemed to break something loose in the room. The tension eased. The shadows retreated.
Mike watched Casey move through the room—refilling water glasses, adjusting pillows, touching Amanda's shoulder as she passed. His wife, the woman who had spent the last year worrying about their daughters in Miami, who had opened her home to a half-elf and a time-lost Wand agent, who had stood in front of a press conference and smiled at the woman who had just kidnapped her.
She was magnificent.
She was also, he noticed, looking at him with a particular expression.
The kind of expression that said later.
---
It was nearly midnight when Brigid finally agreed to leave.
She stood in the doorway, her red hair loose around her shoulders, her cardigan buttoned wrong in her exhaustion. Will was behind her, his hand on the small of her back. Sarah was already in the car, her arm in its cast resting against the window.
"He needs rest," Brigid said. "No magic. No stress. If he starts showing signs of—"
"Brigid." Casey took her hands. "We've got this. Go home. Sleep."
"But—"
"Go."
Brigid's eyes flickered to Will, then to the house behind Casey, where Cody was probably still sitting on the couch, probably still looking lost. "You'll call if anything—"
"Yes."
"And if Inez tries—"
"Bethany has people watching the perimeter. Mara is handling the legal side. Aunt Calli is coordinating with the Wands." Casey smiled. "We've done this before, Brigid-Bear. We know how to keep people safe."
Brigid's jaw tightened.
But she nodded.
And then she was gone.
---
The house settled into silence.
Mike found Casey in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, her coffee mug cradled in both hands. She looked tired—the kind of tired that lived in the bones, that no amount of sleep could fix. But she also looked satisfied. Content. Like a woman who had done something important and knew it.
"The kids?" he asked.
"Jenny's helping Amanda get settled in Rick's old room. Cody's in the guest room." She paused. "For now."
"For now?"
Casey's lips curved. "They're nineteen. They've been through hell. They want to be alone together, but they're too polite to say it."
Mike leaned against the counter beside her. "And Amanda's arm?"
"She's stubborn. She'll be fine." Casey set down her mug and turned to face him. "How are you?"
"Me?"
"You. The press conference. Inez. All of it."
Mike considered the question.
He thought about Inez's face when Amanda had stood up. He thought about the way Cody had broken free, the way his voice had come back to him, the way Amanda had kissed him like she was anchoring him to the earth.
He thought about how close they had come to losing everything.
"I'm fine," he said. "I'm always fine."
Casey snorted. "Liar."
"I'm fine now."
"That's better."
She stepped into his space, her hands finding the front of his shirt. She looked up at him, and her eyes—those dark, knowing eyes that had seen him through twenty years of weirdness and chaos—were full of something soft.
"Katrina's upstairs," she said. "She's been waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"For us."
---
They found Katrina in the master bedroom.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her black hair loose, her storm-grey eyes luminous in the dim light. She was wearing one of Casey's old painting shirts—a tattered blue thing covered in dried acrylic—and nothing else.
"I thought you might need this," she said.
Casey laughed. "You read my mind."
"I read your face." Katrina stood. "The way you looked at each other in the kitchen. The way you always look at each other after a day like today."
"Which way is that?"
"Like the world is ending and you don't care anymore."
Mike crossed the room. He took Katrina's face in his hands—gently, carefully—and kissed her. She tasted like mint. Like coffee. Like home.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For staying. For helping. For being here."
Katrina's eyes softened. "Where else would I be?"
Casey moved behind him, her hands sliding up his back. "Stop talking," she murmured. "Start undressing."
Mike obeyed.
---
The bed was a zero-gravity levitation pod—one of Casey's more eccentric purchases, something she'd picked up at a magical estate sale three years ago. The sheets were embroidered with runes that hummed faintly when anyone stepped inside, a subtle vibration that seemed to settle into the bones.
Katrina climbed into the center of the bed, her shirt already discarded, her body pale and lithe in the dim light. Casey joined her, and Mike watched as she pulled Katrina into a kiss—slow, deliberate, the kind of kiss that had nowhere to be and nothing to prove.
He watched as Casey's hands moved over Katrina's body, mapping her like she was memorizing it. He watched as Katrina's fingers tangled in Casey's hair, pulling her closer, deeper.
He watched as Casey broke the kiss and turned to him, her eyes dark with want.
"You first," she said.
The words were the same as they'd been the night before. The same as they'd been a hundred times before. But tonight, they carried a different weight. Tonight, they carried the joy of survival. Of victory. Of knowing that the people they loved were safe.
Mike moved onto the bed.
He positioned himself behind Katrina, his cock already hard, already aching. She was already wet—he could feel it against his thigh—and when he pushed into her, she gasped.
"Fuck," she breathed.
He went slow.
Deliberate.
The way he always did, because rushing was the enemy of pleasure and he wanted to savor every second. Wanted to feel her stretch around him. Wanted to hear every sound she made.
Casey lay beside them, her hand on Katrina's breast, her lips at Katrina's ear. She whispered things—filthy things, things that made Katrina's hips buck harder, things that made Mike's rhythm falter.
"Feel how deep he is?" Casey murmured. "Feel how he fills you up?"
"Yes—"
"He's going to fuck you so good. He's going to make you come so hard you forget your own name."
"Casey—"
"And then I'm going to eat you out. I'm going to lick his come right out of your pussy."
"Fuck—"
"You're going to taste so good."
Mike picked up the pace.
Harder. Faster.
The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, punctuated by Katrina's gasps. She arched beneath him, her back bowing, her hands fisting in the sheets.
"I'm—"
"Come for him," Casey whispered.
"I'm gonna—"
"Come."
Katrina came.
Her body convulsed around him—hot, tight, perfect—and Mike held on as long as he could. He wanted this to last. Wanted to draw out every second.
But then he heard something.
---
At first, he thought it was the cats.
Rembrandt and VanGogh had been acting strange all night—pacing the hallway, meowing at closed doors, generally making nuisances of themselves. But the sound he heard now wasn't feline.
It was human.
A moan—low and breathy, coming from somewhere down the hall.
Mike slowed his thrusts.
"Did you hear that?" he asked.
Casey paused her whispered filth. "Hear what?"
The moan came again. Louder this time. Followed by a giggle—Jenny's giggle, unmistakable, high and bright.
And then Cody's voice, muffled but audible: "Oh God—"
And Amanda's laugh, breathless and delighted: "Shh, they'll hear us—"
Mike looked at Casey.
Casey looked at Katrina.
Katrina looked back at both of them, her storm-grey eyes bright with amusement.
"Your old room," Casey said to Mike. "They're in Rick's old room."
"Jenny and Amanda and Cody."
"Yes."
"In Rick's old room."
"Yes."
Mike let out a breath. "That's... that's fine. That's great. They're young. They've been through a lot. They deserve—"
Another moan. This one louder. Followed by the unmistakable sound of a bed frame creaking.
Casey laughed.
"Okay," she said. "Okay, this is happening."
"What do you mean, this is happening?"
"I mean they're having sex. In your son's old bedroom. While we're having sex in ours."
"Okay—"
"And I think we should invite them to join us."
Mike blinked.
"You want to—"
"I want to." Casey's eyes were bright. "They're adults. They're consenting. They've been through hell today. And honestly, Mike, I've missed this."
"Missed what?"
"The chaos. The spontaneity." She gestured vaguely at the wall separating them from the kids. "This is what we do. This is who we are. We're the Horny House. We're the people who fuck our way through disasters."
Katrina laughed. A real laugh, surprised out of her. "She's not wrong."
Mike looked between them.
Then he pulled out of Katrina, climbed off the bed, and reached for his jeans.
"Where are you going?" Casey asked.
"To get more participants."
---
He found Cody standing in the hallway.
The kid was shirtless, his jeans unbuttoned, his hair a mess. He looked like someone who had just been thoroughly kissed and was still trying to figure out what to do about it.
"Mr. Williamson—"
"Mike."
"Mike." Cody swallowed. "I—we—Jenny and Amanda and I—"
"I know."
"You do?"
"The walls aren't that thick."
Cody's face went red.
Mike leaned against the doorframe. "I'm going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me. Do you want to be here? With them? With us?"
Cody blinked.
"Casey sent Katrina to ask if you three want to join us in the master bedroom. I can see those walls, and I can tell you're overwhelmed. So I'm asking directly."
Cody was quiet.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I want to be here."
"Good." Mike clapped him on the shoulder. "Then come on. Bring the girls."
---
The master bedroom had expanded.
Not magically—well, maybe a little magically, Casey had been known to adjust the dimensions when they had company—but mostly it had just grown warm and full and alive. Katrina was still on the bed, her hair spread across the pillow, watching the door with quiet anticipation. Casey was standing beside the bed, her shirt already off, her breasts full and soft in the dim light.
Jenny and Amanda appeared in the doorway.
Jenny's hair was tangled, her lips red and swollen, her green eyes wide. Amanda was behind her, one arm still bandaged, a flush spreading from her chest to her cheeks, her blonde hair a mess.
They looked nervous.
They looked turned on.
They looked nineteen.
"Come in," Casey said.
They came in.
Mike closed the door behind them.
---
The next hour was a blur.
Not the bad kind—not the confused, frightened kind—but the good kind. The kind that came from losing yourself in sensation, in pleasure, in the bodies of the people you loved. The kind that made you forget the Consortium and Inez and the fact that the world was probably ending.
Cody stood in the center of the room, looking lost. Amanda moved to his side. Jenny flanked him.
"Hey," Casey said, approaching slowly. "It's okay. We're all friends here."
"I know," Cody said. "I just—"
"First time with more than one person?"
"First time with... this many."
Casey smiled. "Then let us help you."
She sank to her knees.
Cody's breath caught.
Mike watched as Casey unbuttoned his jeans, pulled them down, took his cock in her hand. She looked up at him—a question in her eyes—and when he nodded, she took him into her mouth.
"Oh fuck," Cody breathed.
"Shh." Amanda was beside him, her hand on his chest. "Just let it happen."
Katrina moved to Amanda, helping her out of her shirt. The bandages on her arm were a reminder of what they'd been through, but her breasts were full and pale and perfect, her nipples already hard.
"Lie down," Katrina murmured.
Amanda obeyed.
Mike approached Jenny. The redhead looked up at him, her green eyes wide.
"I've never—" she started.
"Then let me."
He sank to his knees.
Jenny's shorts were already unbuttoned. Mike pulled them down, pulled her panties aside, and pressed his mouth to her cunt. She tasted like honey and salt and something he couldn't name. She cried out—a startled, broken sound—and her hands tangled in his hair.
"Oh God, Mr. Williamson—"
"Mike."
"Mike—oh, fuck—"
He licked her slowly. Deliberately. The way he always did, because rushing was the enemy of pleasure. He found her clit with his tongue, felt her shudder, heard her whimper.
Beside him, Katrina was doing the same for Amanda. The blonde girl was already gasping, her hips lifting off the bed, her bandaged arm thrown over her eyes.
"I can't—" Amanda panted. "I can't—"
"You can," Katrina murmured.
"I'm gonna—"
"Then come."
Amanda came.
Jenny came a moment later.
---
Cody was still standing, still watching, his cock slick with Casey's spit. He looked dazed. Overwhelmed. Like someone who had walked into a dream and couldn't figure out how to wake up.
"You okay?" Mike asked.
Cody nodded. Swallowed. "I just... I didn't..."
"Know it could be like this?"
"Yeah."
Mike stood up. "It can."
Casey released Cody's cock and stood as well. She moved to Mike's side, her hand finding his, her eyes on the two girls on the bed. Jenny and Amanda were wrapped around each other now—kissing, touching, their bodies pressed close.
"I think they're okay," Casey said.
"Looks like it."
"Should we join them?"
"I think that's the general idea."
---
They joined them.
The next hour was a blur of limbs and mouths and gasps. Mike fucked Jenny from behind while she ate out Casey. Cody fucked Amanda while she fingered Katrina. Casey rode Cody's face while Mike fucked Katrina. And through it all, the sounds of pleasure—moans and gasps and filthy words—filled the room.
At some point, Mike heard someone say his name.
"Mr. Williamson—"
"Mike."
"Mike—I'm gonna—"
"Then come."
And Cody did.
He came with a shout, his body shuddering, his hands fisting in the sheets. Amanda came beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist, her cries echoing off the walls.
Katrina came on Casey's tongue.
Casey came on Mike's cock.
And Mike came last—deep inside Katrina, his body shaking, his mind blank, his heart full.
---
The next morning came too soon.
Mike woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of nothing.
No sizzling bacon. No Casey humming off-key. No cats yowling for their breakfast. Just silence—heavy and strange and wrong.
He rolled over.
The bed was empty. The sheets were cold.
Katrina was still asleep beside him—or at least, she was still in bed. Her black hair was fanned across the pillow, her face relaxed, her breath slow and even.
But Casey was gone.
Mike lay there for a moment, listening.
Nothing.
He reached for his phone. There was a text from Bethany—sent three hours ago. He'd missed it in the chaos of the night.
Consortium convoy headed toward Miami. ETA 4 hours. Warn Mandy.
Mike read the message twice.
Then he nodded to himself and sat up.
---
He pulled on his jeans and padded downstairs.
The first thing he saw was a shattered coffee mug on the kitchen floor.
The second thing was the overturned chair.
The third thing was the claw marks on the doorframe—deep gouges in the wood, Rembrandt or VanGogh trying to stop whoever had taken her.
The sliding glass door was wide open, the morning air pouring in, and there—in the grass—was a Consortium stun-baton.
Mike stood in the middle of the wreckage.
He didn't panic. He didn't shout. He didn't even swear.
He just felt something cold and patient settle into his chest.
His phone rang.
He answered.
"Mr. Williamson," Inez said. Her voice was smooth. Triumphant. Already savoring her victory. "I believe we have something to discuss."
Mike said nothing.
"I have your wife. She's alive, for now. But if you want her to stay that way, you'll bring me my son. And Rachel. I know she's with your daughter in Miami."
Mike heard Casey laughing in the background.
A real laugh.
The kind she saved for when something was genuinely, deeply funny.
"I'll think about it," Mike said.
And hung up.
---
Katrina rushed downstairs half-dressed.
"What happened?" she demanded. "Where's Casey? What—"
Mike held up a hand. "She's been taken. Inez has her."
"What?"
"Call Aunt Calli. Warn Mandy about the convoy. Tell her to be ready."
"But—"
"Katrina."
She stopped.
"We've got this," Mike said. "We always get this."
He poured himself a cup of coffee. Stepped over the broken mug. Took a long, slow drink.
And waited.
---
Katrina returned twenty minutes later.
"Mandy's on alert," she said. "Aunt Calli is coordinating with the Wands. Fatima and Hank are standing by."
"Good."
"Why aren't you worried?"
Mike shrugged. "It was Casey's turn to be captured by bad guys."
Katrina stared at him.
"I'm serious," he said. "We take turns. It's only fair."
"Mike—"
"She's fine. Trust me."
"How do you know?"
Mike took another sip of coffee.
"Because she was laughing," he said.
And smiled.
The coffee was still warm when Mike's phone buzzed again.
He didn't look at it. Didn't need to. The pattern of the vibration told him everything—three short bursts, a pause, then two more. That was Mandy's code. She was ready. She was moving.
Katrina stood in the kitchen doorway, her hair still tangled from sleep, her storm-grey eyes sharp and alert. She'd thrown on one of Casey's old flannels, the sleeves hanging past her wrists, and she looked like a soldier waiting for orders.
"The convoy?" Mike asked.
"Still four hours out. Beth has people tracking it." She paused. "Mandy's already coordinating with Shiv and Stacy. They're setting up a perimeter around the beach house."
"Good."
"Mike."
He looked up.
"You're not actually going to trade Cody and Rachel for Casey, are you?"
Mike set down his coffee. "No."
"Then what are you going to do?"
He smiled.
The same smile Casey always gave him when the world was ending.
"We're going to make Inez regret ever touching my wife."
---
Inez Murphy's headquarters was a converted warehouse in the industrial district of Bridgeport.
Three stories of reinforced concrete and rusted steel, its windows blacked out with Consortium tech, its doors guarded by hired muscle who didn't ask questions and didn't leave witnesses. The kind of place that existed in the gaps between laws, where money talked louder than morals.
Casey had been here before.
Not this exact building, but places like it. Consortium safe houses. Interrogation rooms. Holding cells. She'd been captured enough times over the years that the smell of stale coffee and cleaning solution had become almost nostalgic.
She sat in a metal chair in the center of a windowless room.
Her wrists were bound behind her back with zip ties. Her ankles were bound to the chair legs. A bruise was blooming on her cheek—one of the guards had gotten rough when she'd laughed at Inez's initial demands.
She was still smiling.
Inez stood across from her, flanked by two guards and a lawyer in a too-tight suit. The lawyer was sweating. The guards were bored. Inez was furious.
"This isn't a joke," Inez said.
"I know."
"You think this is funny?"
Casey tilted her head. "A little."
Inez's jaw tightened. She was a tall woman—taller than Casey—with the kind of severe beauty that came from discipline and cruelty. Her dark hair was pulled back in its signature bun. Her black suit was immaculate. Her eyes were cold.
"I have your husband on speed dial," Inez said. "One word from me, and he brings me my son and my daughter. And then you go home."
"That's the plan?"
"It's a simple trade."
Casey laughed.
Not a forced laugh. Not a nervous laugh. A real one—the kind that came from somewhere deep in her chest, the kind that made her shoulders shake and her eyes water.
"Mrs. Murphy," she said, "do you know how many times I've been kidnapped?"
Inez didn't answer.
"Seventeen. Eighteen, if you count the time in Barcelona, but that was more of a misunderstanding." Casey leaned back in her chair. "And in all that time, I've learned something very important."
"And what's that?"
"Bad guys always think they're the first ones to come up with the hostage swap."
Inez's eye twitched.
"It's always the same," Casey continued. "You take me. You call Mike. You demand something. And then you act surprised when it doesn't work."
"You think your husband won't come for you?"
"I think my husband won't come for you." Casey's smile widened. "There's a difference."
---
The phone rang.
Inez answered it on the first ring, her eyes never leaving Casey's face.
"Mr. Williamson."
Mike's voice was calm. Almost bored.
"I've thought about it."
"And?"
"No."
There was a pause.
"What do you mean, no?"
"I mean no. I'm not trading Cody. I'm not trading Rachel. I'm not trading anyone." Mike's voice was steady. "But I am going to give you one chance."
Inez laughed. "You're giving me a chance?"
"To walk away."
"Excuse me?"
"Walk away, Inez. Release my wife. Disband the Consortium. Turn yourself in to the authorities. And maybe—maybe—you get to see your children again."
Inez's grip on the phone tightened.
"You're in no position to make demands."
"I'm not demanding. I'm offering." Mike paused. "There's a difference."
Casey was still smiling.
---
Something shifted in Inez's expression.
Not fear. Not yet. But something adjacent to it. A crack in the armor. A flicker of uncertainty.
"You think you're so clever," she said. "You and your wife and your little army of freaks."
"I don't think I'm clever," Mike said. "I think I'm patient."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I've been doing this for twenty years. I've been captured, enchanted, tortured, and threatened by the best of them. And I'm still here. Still standing. Still married to the woman you've got tied to a chair."
He paused.
"You're not the first person to threaten my family, Inez. You won't be the last. But you might be the one who regrets it the most."
The line went dead.
Inez stared at the phone.
Then she turned to Casey.
"What did he mean by that?"
Casey's smile didn't waver.
"You'll find out."
---
The first explosion came from the west.
A concussive blast that shook the walls, rattled the windows, sent dust sifting down from the ceiling. The guards drew their weapons. The lawyer dove under a table. Inez spun toward the door.
"What the hell—"
The second explosion came from the east.
This one was closer. Louder. The lights flickered, went out, came back on a moment later—emergency power, the red glow of backup generators.
Casey started humming.
"What are you doing?" Inez demanded.
"Waiting."
"For what?"
"For the show."
---
The door exploded inward.
Not with force—not with fire or magic—but with something more terrifying. Something that made the guards drop their weapons and the lawyer start praying in a language Casey didn't recognize.
The Archimedes Society.
Three members walked into the room—two women and a man, all wearing suits the color of old bone, all expressionless, all exuding the kind of power that made the air feel heavier.
Brigid was not among them.
But Casey recognized one of the women—a tall, dark-skinned woman named Juniper who had visited the Horny House once, years ago, to consult with Mike about something involving contract magic.
"Mrs. Williamson," Juniper said.
"Juniper."
"We're here to retrieve you."
"I noticed."
The guards moved toward the intruders.
They didn't get far.
Juniper raised one hand—a gesture so casual it almost looked dismissive—and the guards froze mid-step. Not paralyzed. Not unconscious. Just... stopped. Like someone had hit pause on a movie.
The lawyer tried to crawl toward the door.
Juniper looked at him.
He stopped crawling.
---
Inez was shaking.
Not with fear—not yet—but with rage. The kind of rage that came from losing control, from watching everything slip through her fingers.
"You can't do this," she said. "This is my operation. My building. My people."
Juniper tilted her head.
"Your people appear to have abandoned you."
Inez looked around.
The guards were gone—not physically, but mentally. Their eyes were blank. Their weapons were on the floor. They weren't Consortium anymore. They were just... furniture.
The lawyer had wet himself.
"You're monsters," Inez whispered.
"We're mathematicians," Juniper said.
---
Casey stood up.
The zip ties snapped as she rose—not from strength, but from Juniper's magic, a quiet flexing of will that made the plastic dissolve like sugar in water. She stretched her arms, worked the stiffness out of her shoulders, and walked toward Inez.
"You wanted to talk?" Casey asked.
Inez backed up.
"About what?"
"About your children."
Inez's face went pale.
"You think you know them," Casey said. "You think you can control them. You think if you push hard enough, threaten enough, punish enough, they'll become what you want them to be."
"I don't—"
"You do." Casey stepped closer. "I've watched you, Inez. For years. Through Mara's reports, through Bethany's intel, through the stories my daughter tells me about your son. And I've figured something out."
"What?"
"You never got it."
Inez blinked. "Got what?"
"You wanted your children to be like you." Casey's voice was soft. Almost gentle. "You wanted them to share your hatred of magic. Your fear of the unknown. Your desperate need to control everything that scares you. You wanted Cody to be your soldier. You wanted Rachel to be your spy. You wanted Edward to be your heir."
Inez's hands were shaking.
"But they aren't you. They never were. They never will be."
"You don't know them."
"I know they're not yours anymore."
Casey stepped closer.
"I wanted my children to be themselves," she said. "I wanted Mandy to be a tech nerd even if she became a CEO and never called me. I wanted Rick to be soft and uncertain and kind, even if it kills me that he's so far away. I wanted Calista to be whoever the hell she decides to be, even if it means she doesn't come home for Christmas."
Inez was crying.
Not the dramatic kind. Just silent tears, streaming down her face, cutting tracks through her carefully applied makeup.
"And you know what?"
Inez didn't answer.
"I'm the one with the happy family." Casey smiled. "I mean, my kids still talk to me."
Inez broke.
She collapsed to the floor, her immaculate suit crumpling, her severe bun coming loose, her hands covering her face. The sounds she made weren't words or sobs or screams. Just raw, animal grief. The kind of thing that made everyone in the room look away.
Casey didn't look away.
She knelt beside the woman—the woman who had kidnapped her, threatened her family, tried to destroy everything she loved—and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Inez."
The crying didn't stop.
"Inez."
It stopped.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"You—"
"I'm not." Casey's voice was firm. "I'm going to walk out of here. Juniper and her people are going to make sure no one follows. And you're going to sit here and think about what I said."
She stood up.
"But Casey—" Inez's voice was small. Broken.
"I know."
"You're just going to leave me?"
"You'll be fine." Casey smiled. The same smile she gave everyone—friends, enemies, strangers on the street. "You've got your children. Well, two of them. The others might come around. Edward's in prison, but there's time. Rachel's living her life, but she still loves you."
"How do you know?"
"Because she told me."
Casey turned and walked toward the door.
"Wait!" Inez called.
Casey stopped.
"What about Casey?"
Casey turned back.
"What about me?"
"What do you want me to do?"
Casey considered the question.
"Honestly?" She shrugged. "Talk to your son. Not Edward—he's too far gone. Talk to Cody. He's scared of you. He thinks you hate him. But he's still your kid."
"He—"
"He still loves you. He's just afraid to say it." Casey turned away. "I know because he told Amanda. And Amanda told me."
She walked out the door.
---
The night air was cool on Casey's face.
She stood on the sidewalk outside the warehouse, watching the Consortium building behind her, listening to the distant wail of sirens. Six miles away. Eight. Far enough that she had time.
Juniper materialized beside her.
"Mrs. Williamson."
"Juniper."
"That was... unexpected."
"What was?"
"I don't think I've ever seen anyone break her before."
Casey shrugged. "You haven't met my family."