#taylor!reader

Since Doomcoming night, everyone’s been acting weird, unlike their usual attitude. Waking up alongside Natalie on the cabin porch, cuddled up together as the other girls stumbled upon you two. It was a rude and effective awakening, slowly sobering off the mushrooms mixed stew. Now your dress was ruined by specks of dirt, and body littered in dark hickeys as you tiredly stood up.

Doomcoming night was unpredictable, wild, and chaotic. Travis was almost sacrificed with Shauna’s knife pressed against his throat and Lottie being the ringleader. Meanwhile, the other girls were doing whatever and you were looking for Natalie after she vanished from your drunken sexcapade.

It was only a matter of time before that aloofness broke and confrontations began. Surprisingly, the first ones to break were Jackie and Shauna, for another different reason.

Questions were exchanged, suspicions raised, and hesitant glances made. The sudden tension in the cabin paled in contrast to the burning fireplace keeping everyone warm.

Most of the girls had taken a side, indirectly choosing Shauna over your sister Jackie. You had spoken up, defending Jackie but it was no use, your sister made up her mind, entirely determined to keep her pride.

The door slam echoed through your head, the creepy cabin warning something more dangerous was afoot. Perhaps that worry seeped into Natalie’s absence from dinner tonight, despite being aware of her whereabouts.

Despite your protests and many attempts to lure her back inside the cabin– to safety and warmth. She blatantly refused, telling you to stay inside the cabin. Her mutterings were quiet enough to decipher being directed towards Shauna– the cold disappointment being a dead giveaway.

As Jackie got settled outside, given up on creating a small fire, her pruny figure was covered with a thin blanket. Her ears perked up from the door opening and immediately noticed you walking over.

Quicker than she realizes, an exasperated sigh passes her lips, recognizing the bunched-up blanket in your arms, “Stop worrying, Y/N, I’ll be fine,” Her reassuring tone fell on deaf ears, watching you sit beside her, increasing your concern.

You sighed, handing over the blanket, “Take this,”

“What are you doing?” She blinks with a puzzled expression, letting the blanket drop on her.

Jackie awkwardly shuffles, readjusting the blanket over her shoulders, “Keep it, me and Natalie can share,”

“Speaking of Natalie, where is she?” The honey-brown-haired girl quickly scoured the cabin site.

“She should be here by now,” You frowned, copying Jackie’s curious glances around the cabinsite. Her absence was also noted during the confrontation, “Mari told me she was helping Travis look for Javi,”

“Don’t you think that’s weird, Y/N?”

“No, stop making me doubt Nat’s loyalty.” You stood up, dissolving any negative thoughts conjuring up.

To say Jackie wasn’t pleased with you dating Natalie was a huge understatement. Every chance she had, whether it was a judging look or snide comment, criticizing your beloved girlfriend. Natalie was certain if Jackie wasn’t related to you, she wouldn’t have cared at all. But she did, you two were sisters, giving Jackie false entitlement to being critical towards Natalie.

“I’m just saying…she’s not your ideal girlfriend. She avoids you Doomcoming night, to do what? Get high or drunk? Did she even explain her sudden disappearance?”

Truth be told, Natalie did mysteriously vanish after your private time, claiming to overhear howling in the distance.

Yet, not feeding into Jackie’s biased assumptions against Natalie wasn’t tempting enough. Right now, Jackie can barely bite off more than she chews, trying to handle not being wilderness material, unlike everyone else’s quick adaptability.

“But she was there when we saved you,” You rebutted, grateful for your quick thinking. Sure, Natalie had her little moments, but you didn’t mind it.

“Remind me, who’s rescue did she go to after that?”

“Travis…?” You sighed, getting quite exhausted from her constant meddling. That little interaction meant nothing compared to yours, Natalie assured you after noticing that familiar sight of insecurity in your drunken expression. Safe to say, she actively engaged in physical aspects, further clarifying her devotion to you. And only you. “You’re absurd, the other girls were ready to kill him.”

Scoffing in offense with an irritated eye roll, you crossed your arms, “I believe and I love Nat,”

“I’m not questioning your love for her.”

Sure feels like it.

“You could do better is all I’m saying,” She shrugged.

“I’m dating Natalie, deal with it.”

“Fine, fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Don’t act like I didn’t warn you about Jeff and his sleazy behavior.”

“Leave Jeff out of this!”

“That’s because you don’t like Jeff. I love Natalie with my whole heart,”

“You’re so in love it makes me sick,” She fake wretches, eliciting giggles from you.

You leaned down, crouching slightly to hug her tightly from behind.

“I love you, Jackie,” You breathed in her scent, face covered in the array of her messy hair. Pressing your nose against her hair, you continued, muffling slightly, “Just please try to understand that Natalie’s my girlfriend, and this is my relationship, not yours.”

“Love you too, sis,” She mumbled with a small smile, patting the arm across her chest. “Now go, your burnout needs her cuddle buddy,”

“Stop calling Nat, a burnout,” You scoffed, standing up again.

“Tell her to stop smoking and drinking then I will,” She retorts, exchanging a skeptical glance before briefly nodding, “Seriously, if you truly love Natalie, I guess I could lessen the crude remarks and stop my sisterly meddling.”

A pleased smile curls onto your face, “Great. Night Jaxs.”

“Night, Y/N.”

Emerging from the night darkness, Natalie and Travis made their presence known, slowly trudging forward.

Both Taylor girls noticed the dejected expression plastered on Travis’ face. Still returned empty-handed and one less Martinez sibling down. Javi was out there, possibly lost and scared. All alone without the comfort of the cabin and company.

Travis barely acknowledged the sisters, disappearing into the cabin as Natalie looked on.

“I was just looking for you,” Your girlfriend exhales in relief, closing the distance between you two.

“You’re safe, right?”

“Oh, yeah. No luck with Javi though.”

“Sure that’s all you two were doing out there?” Jackie’s accusatory tone cut sharp through the chilly air. “Looking for Javi?”

You nudged her, glaring at the ulterior motive behind her words.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Natalie scowled, irritation flashing through her eyes.

“Let’s just talk, in private.” Before Natalie could disagree and start a potential fight, you grabbed her wrist, tugging her closer to the cabin porch.

“I can’t stand Jackie sometimes, why does she have this uptight vendetta against me?”

“Maybe because you’re sleeping with her sister,” You countered, resting your arms on her shoulders.

“Oh, I know that I just love to piss her off,” She smirked, entrapping you by the waist, pulling you closer.

“Anyways…you two need to learn to get along. It’s quite tiring playing peacemaker all the time.”

“For you, I can try. Besides, why is Jackie sleeping outside?”

An eye roll never goes old, “Turns out Shauna was fucking Jeff behind Jackie’s back,”

“Makes sense,”

“So…what took you and Travis so long?” You hesitantly asked, crossing your arms. The sudden curiosity piqued your honesty, even though it felt ridiculous to question.

“Umm,” She blew a breath, “We started talking, I guess, about the chance of being rescued and other shit,”

“You wouldn’t cheat on me, right?”

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “What?”

“It’s just that you and Travis were gone a really long time and Jackie implied that–“ A meek explanation is drawn and immediately ruins Natalie’s admirable gaze set on you.

“Wait– Jackie put those words in your head and you immediately believe her?!”

For a moment, you’re taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanor. Yet, your tone remained the same, gentle and understanding. Then again, your fading trust made her feel worse like she wasn’t loyal enough to be a good girlfriend to you.

Even when Travis publicly humiliated her or Jackie’s snide slut-shaming remarks irked her beyond measure, your defenses were loud and shutting those insults down. Nobody else defended her like you before. So proudly and openly, not regretting anything.

“No, I don’t, Nat.” You swallowed nervously, your tone sounding guilty but your mind thinks otherwise.

“Yes, you fucking do! All this time, I thought you were nothing like Jackie. Sure she had her reasons for not liking me but she didn’t sugarcoat it.” Natalie breathes out, disbelief and hurt mixing in her tone as you wince in guilt. “But you, I didn’t think I’d have to convince my fucking girlfriend to trust I didn’t cheat on her.”

“Nat, I’m sorry. I think tensions are a bit high,” Your hand stretched out to grab onto her hand.

“No, no,” She backed away, completely dismissing your touch altogether. You flinched at her hurt expression, the guilt lurching in your stomach, “If you obviously believe Jackie’s words over mine without any hesitation, then what kind of girlfriend are you?”

“…What are you saying, Nat?” Another voice crack followed, as you weakly swallowed the lump in your throat.

This isn’t happening right now?! Is she breaking up with–?!

“Are you breaking up with me, Nat?” Your mouth moved faster than your mind, clinging to the desperate thought of this being an exaggeration. But it wasn’t, not a twitch of a smile gave her away. The seriousness of this conversation matched her stoic expression.

She exhales softly, shifting her posture, “No, but I need some time by myself,” Her words were empty and cold, returning to her common demeanor. Just like everyone else, you received the monotone and sarcastic responses, no longer being the only exception to her endearing tone.

You cleared your throat, heartbeat erratically speeding up as the dread settled in your bones, “For how long?”

She blatantly shrugged, completely avoiding your gaze. “I’m not sure,”

Oh…her statement hurt even worse.

Even with a simple glance, she’d crack from the complexity, and be profusely devoted to you. For once, she fought against your compelling gaze, sticking true to her own.

This specific hurtful accusation wasn’t easily bypassed, probably ignored by someone else, but not you. Coming from you was even worse.

With a heavy heart weighing your judgment, hopelessly watching Natalie enter the cabin first.

Finding sleep that night was hard as you trekked inside the cabin, moving to your sleeping bag.

She didn’t cuddle you, bid you a goodbye kiss, or even hug you. Not exactly like you couldn’t blame her, your accusation stung.

Out of spite, she moved her sleeping bag across the room, next to Van and Tai. The other couple gave Natalie curious glances, who only ignored and turned away from them.

You huffed in annoyance, slightly hurt, and quickly settled down next to the other girl beside you, Mari.

“Don’t tell me Nat got the last word?” Mari whispered, facing you.

Rolling your eyes with a head shake, you frowned, “Yes, but it was my fault,”

“How so?” Her eyebrows furrowed, tilting her head. You fluffed the pillow, gaze dropping to the silver ring nestled perfectly on your ring finger.

The Taylor girl avoided Mari’s curious gaze, awkwardly fiddling with Natalie’s ring. It was a gift from Natalie, a ‘just because you’re still here despite all my flaws’. For gift-giving, Natalie’s insecurity is shown, lacking the money you grew up on. Yet your reassurance dwindled her insecurities about her gifts never meeting your standards. The small trinkets and handmade playlists were very unique and meaningful, her assortments neatly decorate your vanity desk.

The familiar ring kept you grounded, reminding you of the loving bond.

Would it matter if that loving bond is breakable because of your doubt in Nat?

“Jackie implied Nat was cheating with Travis, and I let her get in my head. As a girlfriend, I’m supposed to trust her, and I didn’t, now I feel so shitty.”

“Damn, maybe you are,” Mari chuckled, no bitterness evident in her tone. Yet, it stung harder hearing it from another’s mouth.

Did you truly screw up a good relationship with Natalie over your sister’s words?

“Mari, that’s not helpful in the slightest,” You whined, placing the pillow over your head. “Do you think she’ll forgive me?”

“Not so easily, but yes. She’s totally whipped for you, it’s almost adorable. Apart from the fact, you two eat each other’s faces all the time.”

“Thanks, Mari,”

“No problem. So first thing in the morning, go win over your girlfriend.”

“That’s if she talks to me,”

Mari nudges your shoulder, “C’mon, you’ll get through it,”

Across the cabin, Natalie remained awake, overhearing you and Mari’s hushed voices. Unable to fall asleep without you, her fingers absentmindedly fiddling with her star necklace, your sentimental value held tightly to her heart. Her heart swelled at the thought of your resilience, not wanting that argument to affect your steady relationship. She loved your determined mindset, always managing to win her over again.

Maybe tomorrow can be a new refresher for you two, possibly accompanying her on the morning hunt.

Or not, death can overrule a genuine apology to your girlfriend. The next morning was a dreadful one. One you’d never expected. One nobody else expected to happen. Jackie’s death. Her easy death, gone in a quick painless death.

At first, you didn’t believe the sight, hoping it was a cruel nightmare continuing to further torment your mind. Taking in your surroundings and noticing everyone’s reactions almost made you stumble over your own feet.

This winter is brutal, cold, and unwelcoming. It’s clear resentment and harsh intentions to the animals and humans alike. Winter’s first victim was your beloved sister, Jackie.

Jackie Taylor, your beloved sister, once reigning queen bee of Wisayok and Yellowjackets soccer captain, now laid motionless, already succumbed to such a trivial fate.

Jackie died outside. She died peacefully in her sleep. Yet she was alone and betrayed by her closest friend, Shauna. Shunned away from her other teammates. Not you though, you stayed faithful by her side, and grasping onto that sisterly bond gave Jackie some comfort in her last moments.

Finally breaking away from your jumbled thoughts, Shauna’s loud wailing successfully caused the bitter reality to sink. From the corner of your eyes, Natalie’s gaze never wavered, intently focused on you. She longed to reach out, holding you in your arms but her body stayed in place, refusing to smother the overwhelming emotions.

The first step of grieving was to recognize the loss. The second one was allowing you to accept your sister’s unfortunate death was an emotional turmoil meant to be endured alone. As much as it pained Natalie to stand by, being so close yet remaining so far to comfort you, she knew this way

Jackie’s unmoving body, lying in a sleeping position with closed eyes. Something about her peaceful sleeping position soothed your initial denial.

After witnessing such a tragic loss, slowly distance yourself from the other girls, returning to the warm cabin. You ignored all the pitiful looks everyone else sent, and dismissed their comforting arms.

For the rest of the day, you sat idle in the corner of the room, knees pressed up against your chest with your head buried between them. Within record time, tears pricked your eyes, instantly falling down your cheeks, never letting up after the first tears.

Instead of going hunting, at least catching some game, Natalie persisted, staying with you. Somehow the other girls convinced the bleach-blonde girl to go hunting, knowing the remorse in their stomachs wouldn’t overshadow the gnawing hunger. Mari and Van reassured her to look after you. Everyone else was doing the same, those who had indoor chores. Despite the truth, Natalie hesitantly left with Travis, attempting to find some food.

Nobody else managed to cautiously approach you, defeated by your subtle gestures of ignoring them. Not even Mari, your bestfriend, or Van, your closest friend. You didn’t allow anyone to do so, not even Shauna, whose guilty glances burned holes in the side of your head.

Deep down, you blamed Shauna for Jackie’s death. You made that well known, starting a shouting match anytime Shauna lingered too close.

Then again, that unsettling thought was unfair. How was anyone supposed to know it’d start snowing in the middle of the night? Much less, how was Shauna supposed to know?

Whatever it didn’t matter, Shauna should’ve never kicked Jackie out. Jackie should’ve never left. You should’ve brought her inside when the opportunity came.

Returning to the cabin with a few dead rabbits, Natalie discarded the shotgun and rushed to your side.

Tensions were still high between the couple from last night as the wild accusation of Nat’s loyalty lingered in the air. You felt horrible; whether it’s your sister’s frozen corpse or your harsh accusations towards your loving girlfriend.

However, Natalie couldn’t hold a grudge against you right now, especially during this time. Jackie, your sister just died and petty avoidances weren’t helping anyone.

As soon as she kneeled beside you, sitting on the floor, Natalie remained silent. Lifting your head from your knees, you stared at your sympathetic girlfriend with a saddened expression. Before reacting to her sudden presence, your stuffy nose, and tear-riddled face, Natalie observed your weak movements.

You sniffled, opening your mouth to speak but whimpered as nothing came out. Acting on pure instinct, Natalie caught your weakened body in her arms, your arms clinging to her neck, basically climbing onto her lap.

“I know, I know…” Gentle tone alongside the common reassurance of rubbing your back, coaxing more hidden emotions.

Anger. Pity. Guilt. Remorse.

Hearing her reassuring words elicited the harsh cries buried down in the back of your throat, sobs racking throughout your body. So she just held you that tragic night, staying silent and listening to your cries.

Nobody ate that same night, already consumed with the semi-guilt of Jackie’s death. With the fire crackling and slight body movements along the creaky floorboards, the cabin wrapped in eerie silence.

The second night after Jackie’s death was the hardest, you felt numb and empty. Angry at the world for giving your sister this cruel fate. Angry at Shauna for kicking Jackie out of the cabin. Generally speaking, you were furious at everything and everyone.

Refusing to talk to anyone, especially your girlfriend Natalie, had deeply hurt her. She knew your constant shutting out wasn’t intentional.

So Natalie’s been there for you, physically and emotionally, doing her best to sympathize. In the morning, she wakes up beside you, anxiously enough to check your breathing rate. Until the nightfall, tangled up in each other’s embrace with murmured kisses and tears of nostalgia. Sometimes in your sleep, memories of you and Jackie would often appear, bringing a sense of relief.

Natalie, herself, had never experienced grief. Well, she did with her abusive asshole of a father, but luckily she was an only child in her messed-up family. She couldn’t sympathize with your sister’s death.

Sure, Jackie and Natalie hardly got along, but this plane crash made them a little more comfortable. But for you, they made it work. Until an argument is made and the two girls spit vicious insults at each other. You always had to break up, preferring to stay neutral most of the time.

Best way to show her respect is by listening to your heartbroken thoughts.

“I just can’t believe she’s gone,” You cried, tightly clutching onto Natalie’s arm, terrified she’d fade away from your life. Just like Jackie, just like everyone else here.

It was a bitter reminder to acknowledge your sister’s death and change your perspectives about different possibilities. Natalie’s life is more at risk, considering she’s the main hunter and the wilderness provides many methods of dying.

In plain hindsight, the continuous nightmare of Natalie dying out in the wilderness plagued your thoughts.

“Me neither, she’s in a better place,” Natalie had to bite her tongue, keeping her real thoughts inside. She is, isn’t she? For your peace, you didn’t think otherwise.

After all, Jackie did pose a threat to your relationship, assuming Natalie wasn’t good enough for you. However, her assumptions didn’t stop, questioning Natalie about her tardiness to soccer practice, and demanding to know about her whereabouts.

Even in her final moments, she had you doubting if Natalie lacked sexual self-control.

“Why did she have to go outside? I told her to stop being ridiculous and come back inside.” You sobbed, looking at your girlfriend, “Why didn’t she listen to me, Nat?”

“Maybe because she’s stubborn, a genetic trait,” She gave a half-lipped smile, trying to ease the solemn silence. Clearly, her intended joke worked, a small smile twitching on your lips. “I know, I know…it’s going be hard grieving her, but you have to. For Jackie’s sake, yeah?” She wiped away the tears as you nodded in agreement, sniffling slightly.

“You’re right,”

“That’s my girl,” Natalie whispered encouragingly, pecking your lips.

“It’ll just be hard, how am I gonna tell our parents?” You stammered, frantic eyes barely meeting hers, panicking as tears welled up again, “They expect us to be perfect all the time, and now all that pressure is gonna be directed at me. I can’t handle that– it’s too much.”

“Hey, hey,” She gently caressed your face, momentarily halting your frantic gaze, effectively silencing any more burning questions, “Right now, just focus on your well-being. Forget about your parents, we have to survive first.”

“Will you just stay with me, I need you right now,” You whimpered, nuzzling your head into Natalie’s chest. As the tears stain her outfit, your girlfriend couldn’t care less right now. She notices the slight body tremors and nose sniffling, being more than enough to convince her. She’s never seen you this upset, so broken and crumbled into a shell from your regular outgoing personality.

“Of course,”

Approaching the two grieving girls, Shauna hesitated, glancing at Natalie before shifting over to your figure.

“Y/N...” Her voice trembled, barely mistaken as a hoarse whisper.

Natalie felt you freeze in her embrace, feeling your bated breath, “Shauna,” Natalie warns eyes snapping to the Shipman girl, “Please leave, you’re the last person she wants to see,”

Your grip tightens, hearing the subtle creak in the floorboard as Shauna shyly stalks closer. Meeting Lottie’s gaze, Natalie shook her head, “Lottie, take Shauna away,”

“They’re both grieving,”

“No shit, we all are.”

Lottie insisted, beckoning Shauna closer, “She means no harm, you know it.”

“Doesn’t mean Y/N won’t resent her.” Mari retorts, tone full of malicious intent.

“Shauna was Jackie’s bestfriend,” Lottie sternly claims.

“Y/N was Jackie’s sister, Lottie! Can you let that sink in your head?!” Natalie protested, trying to maintain her cool. At least for your sake, you needed her right now.

“She’s gonna lash out at Shauna at any moment and I’m not gonna stop her! She needs to properly grieve, the healthy way and I’m doing whatever to help my girlfriend.”

“It’s not a competition of who’s grieving Jackie the longest,”

“Nobody ever said this was a fucking competition, it’s a grieving process.” Natalie hated cursing, becoming instilled in her vocabulary.

“Y/N and Shauna need to talk alone,” Her tone firm, leaving no room for argument.

Around the cabin, the Yellowjackets stood quietly, speculating the interaction.

Luckily, Natalie was always prepared to counter several remarks, “Fuck no, that’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

Lottie ignored Natalie’s fair advice, turning to Shauna and patting her shoulder, encouraging her to talk. To talk to you. To you. As if Shauna’s presence wasn’t making your entire body rage in anger.

Oh, Lottie encouraged stupid ideas, but Natalie never recognized the full extent of it.

The same girl being comforted by her girlfriend. You, the currently emotionally unstable, handling a close sister’s death. You, who had already screamed at Shauna, blamed her for Jackie’s death. The same girl resisted the urge to snap and fight Shauna. Only because Natalie’s reassurance was working and nothing else.

Her presence made your resolve quickly diminish, all of Natalie’s gentle words becoming futile.

“Shauna, don’t you have something to say to Y/N?” Lottie’s kind suggestion seemed to calm Shauna’s nerves.

“Yeah…umm, Y/N. I think Jackie would like you to wear her necklace…”

Natalie exhaled, closing her eyes and pressing her head against the wall. Her grip remained the same, only growing tighter as she waited for your impending outburst to Shauna.

Should you be grateful that she’s giving you your sister’s necklace back because of her guilt? Bullshit, you’d land a punch if she wasn’t pregnant.

She waited. A beat of silence passed, and she waited again. Slowly opening one eye, Natalie lifted her head and stared down at your crumpled unmoving body in her arms. Quickly snatching the heart necklace from Shauna’s hand, Natalie scoffs. “Leave! Go! Scram! Fuck off Shauna, haven’t you done enough?”

“Jackie’s death isn’t my fault!” Shauna weakly defends.

“Keep telling yourself that,”

“But it could have been avoided!” You yelled, instantly breaking from Natalie and standing up. “You two could have slept in separate rooms that night, but no! Out of all the places, you just had to kick her outside in the middle of fucking nowhere! In the goddamn wilderness!”

“I already apologized, what more do you want from me?”

Wasn’t that much obvious?!

“How about you grieve like a fucking normal person?! Lottie has no jurisdiction over your conversations with Jackie’s corpse.” You argued, finding the whole ordeal ridiculous and sickening. Mostly, it was cruel and sickening.

Finding out from Taissa about Shauna’s unhealthy coping habits pestered you like none other. Now Shauna’s readjusting her limbs like some fucked up doll, talking to her and applying makeup. It was sick and unhealthy. Stuck in extreme denial, Shauna’s mind is trapped in a twisted version of dealing with Jackie’s death.

“I’ve put up with your bullshit for too long, Shauna. We’re cremating Jackie’s body tomorrow evening!”

The brunette’s eyes widened in betrayal, sending Tai an incredulous look, “You told her?”

“I had to, it’s not healthy,” Tai protests with an unreadable expression.

You scoff, “You didn’t think she’d tell me? Wow, you’re really great, Shipman,” The sarcasm flew over Shauna’s head, completely dismissing the jab.

“Stop calling me Shipman. I fucking hate it!”

“Make me! Otherwise, I’ll be another Taylor sister you unintentionally killed!”

Yikes, that kinda was uncalled for! Considering everyone’s shocked reactions, and realizing the meaning behind your bitter comment, you winced, backtracking on those words.

“Calm down guys, let’s not argue about this. Everyone has their different coping mechanisms,” Van, the group’s peacemaker, interjects.

“In a sense, nothing about this is morally right!” You yelled, the mixture of emotions wrecking your frustrated

“No, w-we can’t do that! Jackie wouldn’t want that–“

“Bullshit, and I’m not asking you! Jackie’s body is getting cremated tomorrow evening, be there or don’t!”

Lottie exchanged glances with Natalie huffing and rolling her eyes.

“Fuck off, Lottie, seriously. I’m not justifying Shauna’s twisted behavior.”

“Please…Y/N,” Shauna walked forward, attempting to salvage your strained relationship, “We can grieve together,”

“Fuck you, Shauna! Every time you interact or look at me, I’ll always remind you that my sister’s death is all your fault.”

Lottie shook her head, a comforting hand as she beckoned Shauna away from you two. Natalie stood up, realizing your outburst simmering down, and beckoned you away from the other girls. Mari handed your girlfriend two steaming bowls of food, the aroma wafting through the cabin.

“Keep it, I’m not hungry,” You stormed off into the attic, feeling overwhelmed, in the desperate need of calming your nerves down.

Hot on your trail, Natalaie followed behind, shutting the door behind her, seeing you sit on the creaky bed.

She joined you, nudging your shoulder, “Doll, you gotta eat something. This little hunger strike of yours is stressing me out,”

You groaned, coming out in a small whine and dramatically throwing your head back. She wasn’t one to be swayed by your little antics, becoming quite predictable overtime.

Natalie gave you a pointed look, passing the wooden bowl in your hands. You contemplated, sending a skeptical glance at the hot steaming bowl of food. Mari was an exceptional cook, so your hesitancy rested in actually stomaching it completely.

“I know it’s tough, but you can’t grieve if you starve yourself, I won’t allow you to,”

For a while, both girls ate their meal in silence, Natalie’s concerned gaze never strayed away until the last content of rabbit meat was gone. Afterward, she grabbed your bowl, resting it down on the nearby bedside table.

“Feeling better now you’re fed?”

Obviously, Natalie’s authoritative tone is hardly concealed, matching her cautious gaze.

“Yeah, thanks,” You drank some water, reveling in the cool liquid.

She cleared her throat, analyzing your facial features, waiting until the empty cup was discarded, “Do you want to wear Jackie’s necklace?” Your girlfriend hesitantly asked, picking up the subtle hints of lip trembles and shaky hand movements.

Nodding in silent agreement, moving aside your hair for better access Natalie places the jewelry around your neck, dangling over your chest and tightening the clasp. You clutched the necklace, bringing up it for a brief kiss as the final tears streamed down your face.

She kissed your cheek, acknowledging the semi-grievances being triggered by Jackie’s belongings. Her heart ached at the sight of her brokenhearted girlfriend, knowing her efforts were so limited.

“C’mon on doll, turn around for me. I wanna see your beautiful face,” She gently urged.

Obliging almost instantly, maneuvering yourself to face her, sitting crisscrossed.

“I don’t know what came over me,” You sniffled, averting your gaze, consumed with remorse and embarrassment, “Gosh, I feel so stupid for blaming her. My friendship with Shauna is steady enough, and she must feel so guilty. I should’ve gone easier on her and grieved together.”

The guilt weighed heavier in your heart once your realization hit. And it definitely stung harder than necessary.

Your girlfriend frowned, placing a finger underneath your chin, tilting your head to meet her gaze again.

None of this was your fault, why couldn’t you see that?

“Don’t apologize, Shauna needed to hear that. Her grieving process wasn’t healthy and Lottie only encouraged it. We’re gonna honor Jackie the right way, your way,” She corrects, nodding along to your hesitant expression. Natalie wasn’t much friends with Shauna, only in association with the soccer team. Besides that, neither girl showed any interest in being friends. It was a no-brainer that Natalie took your side in almost everything. Yet, this topic especially, Natalie witnessed your outbursts being unleashed on Shauna; it’s not like she didn’t warn the solemn brunette girl, “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”

“You promise?” As your fingers fidget with the worn-out material of her hoodie, tugging on some sort of loose fabric.

“I promise, doll,” In response, Natalie squeezes your hands, briefly kissing the knuckles. Melting at the simple touch, a warm smile appeared, rubbing your fingers over her knuckles.

Listening to her words, you hummed, getting comfortable in the old squeaky bed. A low door knock followed by Mari and Akilah dragged your sleeping bags towards the bed.

They both hummed, sending affirmative head nods to the couple. Once the two girls leave, closing the door behind them, Natalie’s gaze returns to you. Gently gesturing you to lay onto her chest, you easily complied, desperately reaching for physical contact after last night.

She kisses your forehead, scratching the back of your head, whispering a little reassurance. As your head nuzzles further into her chest, drifting asleep in her embrace.

“Just get some rest for now,” Wiping away your dried tears, you agreed. Sleep was required after that chaotic night, maybe reserving an apology for Shauna tomorrow.

Natalie heavily sighed, wishing you wouldn’t go back on your honest words because of your sympathy.

Comfortable laying on her chest, your breathing slowed as Natalie’s fingers moved to softly wrap her arms around your waist. Between the constant switch of rubbing your back and running her fingers through your hair, Natalie revels in you. Everything about you. Just you.

Natalie’s slow and steady heartbeat, the rhythmic pace, lulling you to sleep. It was music to your ears, a constant reminder of her presence. Her very presence was a complete reassurance that your insecurities haven’t negatively impacted your relationship.

Out of all her bad habits, she never prioritized them for your relationship. Smoking, she cracked open a window so the smell wouldn’t affect you. Drinking, she properly threw the bottles away.

Your girlfriend could’ve been cruel, broken up with you on the spot, and entertained another person at your expense. Luckily, she didn’t. You’d hate to even wonder about such a possibility because living apart in the wilderness is gonna be much tougher.

Natalie’s heart raced in dedication, beating for the both of you, giving the tiniest bit of hope from recent events.

Even following these unfortunate circumstances, there’s nobody else than Natalie who prefers to be comforting. That she adored holding in her arms at night. Nobody else but you.

She is your hope, her adaptation to the wilderness sparked chances of the Yellowjackets being rescued. You represented her hope as well, more medically inclined; patching up her internal fears and wounds.

No matter what circumstance Natalie got into, your presence wouldn’t stray too far away. After her father accidentally committed suicide, she instantly drove over to your house, seeking your support. To tell her father’s death wasn’t her fault, instead meant a struggling means to an end. Your comforting voice and gentle touch made her nightmares vanish, still bearing the guilt of her father’s final moments. The last moment he spent, berating his family and dying because of his arrogance.

She asked you to dye her hair, aware of how hair holds memories, particularly bad ones. Natalie didn’t want to remember those bad lingering memories, only adding more emotional baggage than she was willing to handle.

Even when her mother had outright blamed Natalie for her father’s reckless actions– the accidental gunfire costing his life. You suggested she spend a few nights at your house, rambling about the lack of people living in a big mansion. Once again, she agreed, comfort in your warm embrace and peaceful home environment, she slept soundly in the cozy bedsheets.

Now you need her to be a supportive girlfriend, and she’d be at your side. Throughout your bad days, going silent and difficult or just crying into her. She’d be with you, doing her best to enlighten your hopes with each passing day.

Natalie proved herself wrong, slowly becoming your leaning shoulder and carefully attentive to your emotional needs. During this crucial moment, you clung to her side and her constant presence numbed down your overthinking.

Grieving was hard to properly overcome but with Natalie, the small possibility seemed clearer.

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Don’s P.O.V

The shots rang out and everything in me broke loose.

“Y/N!”

I was moving before the echo even faded, gun forgotten as I sprinted forward. She was already falling—her body going slack in Michael’s arms—and I caught her just before she hit the concrete.

“Hey—hey—stay with me,” I begged, dropping to my knees with her cradled against my chest. There was blood. Too much blood. My hands shook as I pressed them to her, trying to find the source, trying to stop it, trying not to think.

Her head lolled, eyes fluttering once before rolling back.

“No, no, no—don’t you do this,” I whispered, panic clawing up my throat. “You don’t get to leave me, okay? You hear me?”

Someone shouted that the suspect was down. Another voice yelled for a medic. I didn’t look. I couldn’t. All I could see was her—blood on her face, her breathing shallow and uneven, the way she felt too light in my arms.

I pressed my forehead to hers. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” I said over and over, like if I said it enough it would make it true.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Michael on the ground a few yards away, sprawled and unmoving, a dark pool spreading beneath him. An officer was already kicking the gun away, another checking for a pulse.

“Suspect’s down!” someone confirmed. “He’s not moving!”

Good.

I didn’t care.

“Don!” Mac’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and terrified all at once.

“She’s hit,” I shouted back, my voice breaking. “She’s hit!”

I tore my jacket off and pressed it hard against her, my hands slick with blood. “Stay with me, Y/N,” I begged again, louder now. “Please. Stay.”

Her chest hitched once.

Then again.

It was enough to keep me breathing.

Sirens wailed closer now. Red and blue lights flashed through the open bay, painting her face in frantic color. Hands finally touched my shoulders, trying to pull me back.

“No,” I snapped. “Don’t move her—she’s mine, I’ve got her—”

“Don,” Mac said again, closer now, his voice low but shaking. “Let them help her.”

I looked up at him, and for the first time, I saw the fear he wasn’t hiding.

Carefully—reluctantly—I let the medics take over, my hands hovering uselessly as they worked. Oxygen. Pressure. Orders barked fast and urgent.

I stayed right there, kneeling in her blood, watching every breath, every movement, every second tick by.

Because Michael might have been down.

But if she didn’t wake up—

I didn’t know how I’d survive that.

The medics were still working on her when it hit me.

Maya.

I spun around, heart slamming so hard it hurt. “Maya!” I shouted, already on my feet.

She was still where Michael had left her—curled tight against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes wide and glassy with terror. She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t made a sound.

“Hey, hey, kiddo,” I said, dropping down in front of her, lowering my voice even though everything in me was screaming. “It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Her eyes flicked past me—to the medics, to the blood, to Y/N on the stretcher.

“Is she…?” Her voice cracked. “Is she dead?”

“No.” I shook my head hard, forcing certainty into my voice. “No. She’s breathing. She’s fighting. She’s tough—just like you.”

That was all it took.

She launched herself at me, sobbing into my chest, fists clutching my jacket like it was the only thing holding her together. I wrapped my arms around her and held on tight, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressed firm against her spine so she could feel I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I heard the bangs,” she cried. “I thought— I thought—”

“I know,” I murmured, rocking her gently. “I know. But it’s over now. I promise.”

Mac came up behind us, his hand settling on Maya’s shoulder with surprising gentleness. She looked up at him, eyes red and swollen.

“You’re safe,” he said, voice rough but steady. “We’re not letting anything happen to you.”

She nodded, trusting him without question. That nearly broke me.

Across the warehouse, the stretcher started moving. The medics were loading Y/N up, one of them calling out vitals, another climbing in beside her.

My chest tightened.

“I’m going with her,” I said immediately, starting to stand.

Maya tightened her grip on me. “Don’t leave.”

I crouched back down, meeting her eyes. “I won’t. I swear. I’ll make sure she’s okay—and I’ll be right back. Mac’s going to stay with you the whole time.”

She hesitated, then looked up at Mac, who nodded once. Solid. Certain.

“Okay,” she whispered.

I hugged her one more time, pressing my forehead to hers. “You did so good, kid. So brave.”

As I stood and ran after the stretcher, I glanced back once.

Maya was holding onto Mac now, small fingers curled into his coat, watching me with the same fear I felt clawing at my own chest.

I didn’t look away from Y/N again.

Not for a second.

The ride to the hospital was a blur of sirens, shouted vitals, and my own pulse pounding so loud I could barely hear anything else.

I rode in the ambulance with her, one hand gripping the rail, the other hovering uselessly near her shoulder because I didn’t know where it was safe to touch her anymore. Blood soaked through the jacket they’d packed against her side. The medic kept calling numbers—heart rate, pressure, oxygen—and every time one dipped, my stomach dropped with it.

“Stay with us,” the medic said, loud and firm, leaning close to her face. “Y/N, you hear me? Open your eyes.”

She didn’t.

“Don,” the medic snapped, glancing at me. “Talk to her. Keep her with us.”

I leaned in, my voice shaking despite everything I did to steady it. “Hey. Hey, sweetheart. You’re not done yet, okay? Maya needs you. I need you. You don’t get to clock out early.”

Nothing.

Her skin felt too cold when my fingers brushed her hand.

“No, no, no,” I whispered. “Come on. You’re stubborn as hell—you don’t just let go.”

The ambulance screeched to a stop, doors flying open as we hit the bay. Suddenly we were moving fast—too fast—her stretcher rolling, people shouting, lights blinding.

“Gunshot wound, blunt force trauma, loss of consciousness—”

“BP dropping—”

“OR on standby—”

I jogged alongside until a nurse put a hand on my chest and stopped me cold.

“You can’t come past here.”

“She’s my—” My voice broke. I swallowed hard. “She’s my girlfriend.”

The nurse hesitated, just for a second, then softened. “We’ll take care of her.”

They pushed through the doors and she was gone.

Just like that.

I stood there staring at the swinging doors, my hands still sticky with her blood, my ears ringing with the echo of her body hitting the stretcher. I didn’t remember sitting down, but suddenly I was in a chair, elbows on my knees, head in my hands, trying not to fall apart in the middle of a hospital hallway.

Mac arrived not long after, coat still half-buttoned, eyes wild. He took one look at my face and didn’t ask. Just sat beside me.

“They’re operating,” I said hoarsely. “They said internal bleeding. Head injury. Broken nose. I don’t know—I don’t know how bad—”

Mac closed his eyes briefly, jaw tight, then nodded. “She’s strong.”

“She didn’t wake up,” I said. “She didn’t even squeeze my hand.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and unbearable.

A doctor finally came out, mask hanging loose around his neck, scrubs stained. My heart slammed so hard I thought it might stop.

“Family?” he asked.

Mac stood immediately. “I’m her father.”

I was on my feet too, every muscle locked. “I’m with her.”

The doctor looked between us. “She’s alive. But she lost a lot of blood. We’ve stabilized her for now, but the next few hours are critical. She took a hard blow to the head before the gunshot—she’s going to be unconscious for a while.”

For now.

The words echoed in my head.

“When can we see her?” I asked.

“Soon,” he said. “One at a time.”

As he walked away, my legs nearly gave out. I pressed my hands together, forcing myself to breathe.

She was alive.

But this wasn’t over.

Not yet.

…

Mac’s P.O.V

Mac didn’t sit.

The second the doctor turned away, Mac was already moving after him, long strides eating up the hallway like he could physically outrun the fear clawing at his chest.

“Doctor,” he snapped, voice sharp enough to cut through the noise of the ER. “I need specifics. Now.”

The doctor stopped, turned back, clearly used to this kind of confrontation. “Mr. Taylor—”

“Mac,” he corrected immediately. “And she’s my daughter. Don’t soften it. Don’t generalize it. Tell me exactly what you’re dealing with.”

The doctor studied him for a beat, then nodded once. Professional. Direct.

“She has a deep laceration above her right eye,” he began. “It looks dramatic, but there’s no skull fracture. We’ve scanned—there’s no penetrating head trauma.”

Mac exhaled slightly, just a fraction.

“The gunshot wound,” the doctor continued, “entered through her side. Clean through-and-through. The bullet missed all major organs and vessels by a matter of centimeters. She was incredibly lucky.”

Lucky.

Mac clenched his fists at his sides.

“So why is she still unconscious?” he demanded.

“Because of brain swelling,” the doctor said plainly. “The blunt force trauma she sustained before the gunshot caused a concussion, possibly more severe. The swelling isn’t life-threatening at the moment, but it’s unpredictable. That’s what we’re watching closely.”

“What does that mean?” Mac pressed. “Worst-case scenario.”

“If the swelling increases, it could put pressure on the brain,” the doctor said. “That’s why she’s being kept sedated and monitored. If it stabilizes over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, her prognosis improves significantly.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

The doctor didn’t dodge it. “Then we intervene. Medically. Surgically, if necessary.”

Mac nodded once, jaw tight, eyes burning. “She wakes up?”

“We expect her to,” the doctor said. “But it will take time. When she does, she’ll be disoriented. In pain. But she should recover.”

Should.

Mac turned away before the word could break him. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then squared his shoulders, the weight of command settling back into place even as the father in him shook.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly.

As he walked back toward the waiting area, he already knew one thing with absolute certainty:

He was not leaving that hospital.

Not until his daughter opened her eyes.

They didn’t bring Maya in right away.

Mac had to argue for it—quietly, fiercely—outside the ICU doors while Don stood a few feet back with Maya tucked against his side, her small fingers twisted into the fabric of his jacket like an anchor. She hadn’t asked any questions since the ambulance. Not really. She’d gone eerily still, like she was afraid that if she spoke, she’d hear an answer she couldn’t survive.

Finally, a nurse sighed, nodded once. “Five minutes. She stays calm. She doesn’t touch anything.”

Mac didn’t thank her. He just turned and held out his hand to Maya.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, voice softer than anyone in that hospital had ever heard it. “I’m going to show you something.”

She hesitated, eyes flicking to Don.

He crouched in front of her, meeting her gaze. “She’s still here,” he said gently. “You’re gonna see that for yourself. Okay?”

Maya swallowed, then nodded.

The room was dim, lights low, machines humming in a steady, relentless rhythm. The smell hit first—antiseptic, sterile, wrong. Don felt Maya tense instantly as they stepped inside.

Y/N lay in the bed, impossibly still.

Her face was bruised, swollen, a stark purple-black blooming beneath one eye. A thick bandage wrapped around her head, stark white against her dark hair. Tubes and wires trailed from her like she was part of the machinery now—IV lines, monitors, oxygen.

But her chest rose.

And fell.

Maya saw it.

She sucked in a sharp breath and bolted forward before anyone could stop her, climbing onto the chair beside the bed and gripping the blanket with both hands.

“She’s breathing,” Maya whispered, like saying it too loud might break it. “She’s really breathing.”

Don’s throat closed. He nodded, unable to speak.

Mac stood at the foot of the bed, hands braced on the rail, staring down at his daughter like he could burn the image into himself. Strong. Broken. Still here.

“She’s sleeping,” he told Maya quietly. “The doctors are helping her rest so her body can heal.”

Maya leaned closer, careful, so careful. She didn’t touch Y/N—just hovered her hand over hers.

“Hi,” she whispered. “I’m here. I didn’t go anywhere. And I was brave.”

The monitor beeped steadily, indifferent but reassuring.

Don watched the moment like it might be the only thing keeping him upright. Maya’s small shoulders slowly relaxed. Her breathing evened out. Some piece of her—fractured, terrified—finally settled.

After a minute, she leaned back against Don’s chest, eyes still locked on Y/N.

“I can stay, right?” she asked softly.

“For a bit,” the nurse said from the doorway.

Mac nodded. “As long as you want.”

They stood there together—father, partner, child—held suspended in the quiet weight of machines and waiting.

No one spoke.

Because for now, breathing was enough.

…

Y/N’s P.O.V

The first thing I noticed was the sound.

A steady, rhythmic beeping—too close, too loud. It took a second to realize it was synced with the heavy thud in my head. My head. God, my head.

I tried to swallow and immediately regretted it. Pain flared sharp and deep, radiating behind my eyes and down my face. I let out a small sound before I could stop myself.

The room swam into focus slowly. White ceiling. Soft lights. The faint smell of antiseptic.

Hospital.

Panic surged—fast and wild—but before it could take hold, a familiar voice cut through it.

“Hey.”

Mac.

I turned my head—or tried to. The movement was minimal, but enough. He was sitting in the chair by my bed, coffee cradled in both hands like it was the only thing keeping him upright. He looked exhausted. Older. His eyes were locked on me like he was afraid I might disappear again if he blinked.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice rough. “Easy. Don’t move.”

“I—” My throat felt raw. “Maya?”

The word came out broken, barely a whisper.

Mac didn’t hesitate. “She’s here.”

I followed his gaze.

The chair beside my bed was pulled close, crowded. Don was slumped in it, asleep in that uncomfortable, all-angles way that said he’d been there a long time. Maya was curled into his side, her head tucked under his chin, one small hand fisted in the front of his shirt like she needed to make sure he didn’t go anywhere.

They were both out cold.

Something in my chest cracked open.

“She didn’t leave,” I murmured.

“No,” Mac said softly. “Neither of them did.”

My eyes burned. I blinked hard, fighting the sting. “Am I…?”

“Alive?” Mac huffed quietly. “Yeah. You scared the hell out of us, but yeah.”

I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “You look like crap.”

That earned the ghost of a smile. “Right back at you, kid.”

I shifted slightly, pain flaring again, and hissed. Mac was on his feet instantly, one hand hovering like he didn’t know where it was safe to touch.

“Easy,” he repeated. “You took a hit to the head. Gunshot wound through the side. Bullet missed everything important. Swelling’s the concern. Doctors are happy you woke up when you did.”

I swallowed again, slower this time. “Don?”

Mac glanced at him, then back at me. “Hasn’t slept properly since it happened. Refused to leave.”

As if he felt his name spoken, Don stirred. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first—then they landed on me.

And everything in his face changed.

“Y/N?” He was on his feet in a second, careful but urgent, crowding the side of the bed. “Hey—hey, don’t move. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

I smiled weakly. “You look worse than Dad.”

He laughed, breathless and shaky, and dropped back into the chair, one hand gripping the edge of the bed like he needed the contact.

Maya stirred then, rubbing her eyes. She froze the moment she saw me looking at her.

“You’re awake,” she whispered.

“Hey, kid,” I said softly.

She scrambled out of the chair and climbed onto the bed as carefully as the tubes allowed, pressing herself into my side, her forehead against my shoulder.

“I thought you went away,” she said, voice small.

“I didn’t,” I promised, even as my throat tightened. “I’m still here.”

Don’s hand settled over Maya’s back. Mac stood at the foot of the bed, coffee forgotten, watching the three of us like he was committing it to memory.

For the first time since the warehouse, the weight eased—just a little.

I was alive.

They were here.

And for now… that was enough.

The doctor came in not long after, clipboard tucked under one arm, expression calm in that practiced way that meant competent rather than detached. Don straightened immediately. Maya slipped her hand back into his. Mac stayed where he was, quiet but alert, watching every movement.

“Alright,” the doctor said gently, eyes on me. “Let’s see how you’re doing.”

The exam was slow and methodical.

“Can you tell me your name?”

I did.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital,” I answered, then added, “New Jersey. Unfortunately.”

That got a faint smile.

He checked my pupils, asked me to track his finger. Pressed carefully around the swelling above my eye, the bridge of my nose. I hissed when he got too close to the laceration.

“That’s expected,” he said. “You’ve got a deep cut above your eyebrow—we stitched it cleanly. No skull fractures. Nose is broken but uncomplicated. It’ll heal.”

“And the gunshot?” Don asked, unable to keep it in.

The doctor nodded. “Through-and-through to the side. Missed all vital structures. No vascular damage. No brain penetration. The biggest concern was swelling, which is why we kept her under close observation. That’s stabilised.”

Mac exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath for days.

The doctor turned back to me. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”

“Just a headache from hell.”

“Expected,” he said. “That may stick around for a bit.”

He straightened, pen tapping once against the clipboard. “Given that you’ve been awake, alert, stable, and showing no neurological deficits, we’re comfortable discharging you—with conditions.”

Don bristled. “Home?”

“Yes,” the doctor said firmly. “But not alone.”

He listed them off like bullet points.

“No driving. No strenuous activity. No work. Limited screen time. Someone stays with you at all times for the next forty-eight hours. If there’s vomiting, confusion, worsening headache, you come straight back.”

“I can do bossy,” Mac muttered.

I looked at Don. “He’s worse than you.”

Don snorted despite himself.

The doctor smiled again. “I’ll have the nurse bring discharge paperwork and pain management instructions. We’ll also schedule follow-ups for the head injury and the gunshot wound.”

He paused at the door, glancing back. “You were very lucky.”

I met his eyes. “I know.”

…

Getting dressed was slow. Everything pulled. Everything hurt. Don hovered like I might tip over at any second. Maya refused to let go of my hand.

“Home?” she asked, hopeful.

“Home,” I confirmed.

Mac handled the paperwork, jaw tight, asking sharp questions, memorising every instruction. Don signed where needed, steadying my elbow as we moved.

When we finally stepped outside, the cool air hit my face and I sucked in a breath, grounding myself in it.

Alive. Breathing. Free.

Don opened the car door for me, careful as glass. Maya climbed in beside me, tucking herself close.

Mac paused before shutting the door, meeting my eyes.

“You scared us,” he said quietly.

“I know,” I replied.

His voice softened. “Don’t do that again.”

I managed a small, tired smile. “I’ll try.”

The door closed. The engine started.

And for the first time since it all began, we were going home.

The drive didn’t go where I expected.

I noticed it halfway through, when familiar streets failed to appear and Don didn’t turn where he should have. I shifted in the seat, wincing slightly, and frowned.

“Don?” My voice was still rough. “You missed it.”

“I know,” he said gently, eyes on the road.

Mac noticed too. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched Don from the passenger seat, then glanced back at me in the rearview mirror. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “Just… confused.”

Don took the next turn, pulling into a quieter part of the neighbourhood. Tree-lined. Residential. Calm in a way my old block never really was.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a low-rise apartment building—modern, secure, clean. Big windows. Soft light spilling out of the lobby.

Maya pressed her face to the glass. “This is pretty.”

My heart gave a strange, painful thud.

Don turned off the engine but didn’t move right away. His hands stayed on the steering wheel longer than necessary, knuckles pale.

“Don,” I said softly. “What’s going on?”

He finally looked at me. Really looked. Like he was bracing himself.

“This is home,” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

Mac’s head snapped toward him. “Don—”

“I know,” Don said quickly, holding up a hand. “I know. But hear me out.”

He got out first, came around, opened my door himself. Offered his hand like I might shatter if he didn’t do it just right. I took it, legs unsteady as I stood.

“You didn’t think I’d take you back there,” he said quietly, voice low so Maya wouldn’t hear. “Not after everything.”

My throat tightened. “Don…”

“I saw the way you froze in that hallway,” he continued. “The way you couldn’t breathe. That place isn’t safe for you anymore. Not in your head. And I won’t ask you to live like that.”

Mac crossed his arms, conflicted but listening.

Don glanced at Maya, who was spinning slowly on the sidewalk with her bear, then back to me.

“So I found this place,” he said. “Big enough. Two bedrooms. Quiet. Secure. Good locks. Cameras. Somewhere she can have her own room. Somewhere you can sleep without listening for footsteps.”

My chest ached.

“I didn’t do this to rush you,” he added quickly. “Or trap you. I did it because… because I want to make a home for us. For you. For Maya. And—” his voice caught “—because I can’t stand the thought of you being afraid in your own space.”

I stared at him, tears burning behind my eyes, my body still sore, still bruised, still stitched together—but my heart cracking wide open.

“You planned all this?” I whispered.

He nodded. “After the hospital. While you were asleep. Mac helped with the logistics,” he shot a look at him. “Didn’t you?”

Mac sighed. “I didn’t stop him.”

Maya trotted back over, clutching her bear. “Are we going inside?”

Don crouched in front of her, that softness he never tried to hide with her settling into his features. “Yeah, kiddo. Want to see your room?”

Her eyes went wide. “I get my own room?”

“You do.”

She squealed and ran for the door, her footsteps echoing down the short path to the entrance.

I watched her go, heart swelling painfully, then looked back at Don. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said quietly. “I love you. And I love her. And after everything we’ve been through… I want us safe. Together.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

Mac shifted beside us, hands on his hips, surveying the building like he was committing it to memory. Then he huffed out a breath, shaking his head.

“Well,” he said dryly, “this is definitely not how you’re supposed to start a relationship.”

I let out a shaky laugh, emotion spilling over despite myself. “Guess we skipped a few steps.”

Don smiled at Mac, tired but sincere. “Yeah. We did.”

Mac’s expression softened, just a fraction. “Still,” he added gruffly, “you kept her alive. Both of them. And this”—he gestured toward the building—“this was the right call.”

Don turned to me then, pulling me carefully into his chest, holding me like I was something precious and fragile and his. I rested my forehead against his shoulder, breathing him in.

For the first time since the gunshots. Since the warehouse. Since the fear—

I wasn’t scared of what came next.

I was stepping into it.

The warehouse smelled like rust and old oil — metallic and damp, like the building itself was rotting from the inside out.

I was slumped against a concrete pillar, wrists bound behind me, the world tilted slightly no matter how hard I tried to steady it. Blood had dried stiff along my eyebrow, pulling uncomfortably every time I blinked. My nose throbbed with a deep, sick pain that told me it was broken. One eye was already swelling shut, my vision on that side reduced to dark smudges and light.

I tasted iron.

Maya was curled into my side, her small body tucked against me the way she’d learned to do when she was scared. There was a faint bump just above her hairline, already bruising, but she was awake. Quiet. Watching everything with those too-old eyes.

I angled my body instinctively, shielding her without thinking. It hurt — God, it hurt — but pain was manageable. Losing her wasn’t.

“You’re okay,” I murmured, keeping my voice low, steady. “I’ve got you.”

She nodded once, pressing her face into my shoulder.

The door slammed somewhere deeper in the warehouse, metal shrieking against metal. Footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate. He wanted us to hear him moving. Wanted us to know he was still in control.

My head pounded in time with my pulse, but my mind worked anyway — cataloguing, mapping, surviving.

Concrete floor. High ceilings. Industrial beams. Somewhere nearby, machinery hummed — generators maybe, or neighboring warehouses still in use. We weren’t alone out here, not really. That mattered.

Mac would see it.

He’d already be standing over a map, jaw tight, eyes sharp. He wouldn’t waste time on panic — not now. Not when it was me.

Maya shifted beside me, her fingers curling into my sleeve.

“Is Don coming?” she whispered.

My chest tightened painfully.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “He’s coming. And my dad too.”

She nodded, trusting me completely.

The footsteps stopped.

The silence stretched — heavy, deliberate.

I lifted my head despite the pain, forcing my swollen eye open just enough to see the outline of him in the dim light. He was watching us like we were possessions. Like this was always how it was supposed to end.

I pulled Maya closer.

He had taken us.

But he hadn’t broken us.

And somewhere beyond these walls, the people who loved us were tearing the city apart to find us.

He’d made one fatal mistake.

He’d underestimated how far they would go.

…

Mac didn’t bother sitting.

He paced the length of the operations floor, phone pressed hard to his ear, free hand braced on the edge of a table as if the building itself might move out from under him if he stopped.

“Detective Mac Taylor, NYPD,” he said again, slower this time, each word clipped. Controlled. Dangerous. “I am not requesting assistance. I am informing you that we have two kidnapped victims currently being held in northern New Jersey.”

There was a pause on the line.

A pause he did not have time for.

“Yes,” Mac continued, already pushing through it, “one adult female, one minor. The adult is injured. The minor is seven years old.”

Another pause. Longer.

“We need probable location confirmation before—” the voice on the other end began.

Mac stopped pacing.

“Listen to me very carefully,” he said, his voice dropping so low it went cold. The entire lab seemed to quiet around him, officers instinctively stepping out of his path. “The adult victim is my daughter. The child is the witness whose mother your suspect murdered. This man has already killed once, and he has nothing left to lose.”

Silence.

Then, carefully, “Sir, we still need jurisdictional—”

“No,” Mac snapped. “You need to move.”

He turned, eyes locking with Don across the room. Don was standing rigid, hands clenched at his sides, like a coiled spring barely holding together. Mac didn’t look away as he spoke.

“You have industrial zones along the Turnpike, the Meadowlands, Port Newark,” Mac said. “Old warehouses. Rail spurs. Chemical runoff sites. My team is already narrowing it down.”

“That area covers miles,” the voice protested.

“Then you’d better start covering miles,” Mac shot back. “Because every minute you stall is another minute he has alone with them.”

The line went quiet again.

Mac closed his eyes for half a second — just long enough to leash the fury clawing up his spine — then opened them.

“I am sending you everything we have,” he said. “Vehicle description. Suspect profile. Chemical particulate match. You will treat this as an active hostage situation.”

“And if we can’t confirm—”

Mac cut him off.

“If you delay,” he said, voice razor-sharp, “and either of them doesn’t come home, I will personally make sure your name is the first one attached to the failure.”

Don flinched — not at the threat, but at how calm it sounded.

Another voice cut in on the line, lower, more authoritative. “Detective Taylor. This is Captain Ruiz, New Jersey State Police.”

Mac didn’t soften. Didn’t thank him.

“Captain.”

“We’re mobilizing units now,” Ruiz said. “I want your intel immediately. We’ll run joint command.”

“Good,” Mac replied. “Because we are coming whether you approve it or not.”

A beat.

“…Understood.”

The call ended.

Mac lowered the phone slowly, jaw tight, eyes already tracking the map spread across the table. Red circles. Industrial grids. Dead ends and hiding places.

He pointed without hesitation.

“Don,” he said. “Grab a car. We’re heading west.”

Don didn’t ask questions. Didn’t wait for orders twice.

As Mac shrugged into his jacket, one thought burned through everything else — sharper than fear, heavier than rage.

Hold on, sweetheart.

We’re coming.

…

The city fell away behind them in a blur of red lights and concrete as Mac pushed the unmarked car harder than he ever had before.

The Lincoln Tunnel spat them out into New Jersey like a bad decision made too fast, the skyline shrinking in the rearview mirror while the world ahead turned darker, wider, less familiar. Industrial sprawl replaced streets with names — warehouses stacked like concrete tombs, rusted rail lines cutting through marshland, sodium lights buzzing overhead.

Don rode shotgun, phone pressed to his ear, barking into it as units rolled out across the state.

“Negative on visual… copy that… widen the grid… yeah, check abandoned freight sites—no, older than that. He knows the area.”

Mac didn’t speak. His hands were locked tight on the wheel, knuckles white, jaw set so hard it ached. Every red light felt like a personal insult. Every second stretched thin and useless.

She’s hurt, his mind kept circling back to it, refusing to let go. And she’s still protecting Maya.

He cut across lanes without signaling, engine growling as they merged onto the Turnpike. To the right: refineries. To the left: marshland and skeletal buildings that looked like they’d been forgotten on purpose.

“Chemical particulate puts him somewhere industrial,” Don said, forcing himself to stay sharp. “Older buildings. Less traffic. Places no one hears screaming.”

Mac’s grip tightened.

“Send that to Jersey units,” he said. “Tell them to start with anything condemned or pending demolition.”

Don relayed it instantly.

A patrol unit crackled over the radio. “We’ve got a white panel van flagged near Secaucus about an hour ago. Plates obscured. No confirmation it’s our guy.”

Mac swerved toward the exit before the transmission even finished.

“Send coordinates,” he snapped.

The car fishtailed slightly as he took the ramp too fast. Don braced a hand against the dash, heart pounding, but didn’t tell him to slow down. There was no point.

They tore through a stretch of road lined with chain-link fences and warning signs, headlights slicing through the dark. Everything out here looked the same — endless opportunities to disappear.

“This is what he wanted,” Don muttered. “Distance. Time.”

Mac shook his head once. “No. He wanted leverage.”

He slammed the brakes as they reached a dead end near an abandoned loading dock, tires screaming in protest. The air smelled like oil and rot and salt from the marsh.

Mac was out of the car before it fully stopped.

He scanned the area — broken windows, rusted doors, graffiti layered over years of neglect. His chest felt too tight, every breath shallow and sharp.

Don joined him, flashlight already sweeping the shadows.

“They’re here,” Don said quietly. Not certainty — instinct. The same instinct that had never failed him before.

Mac closed his eyes for half a second, forcing himself to breathe.

Hold on, he thought again. Not a plea. A promise.

They moved fast, splitting up just enough to cover ground, radios clipped close, weapons ready. Every open door, every tire track in the dirt sent adrenaline spiking.

Somewhere in this maze of concrete and steel, his daughter was bleeding. Somewhere close, a little girl was holding it together because she thought she had to.

Mac swallowed hard, rage and fear burning together until they were indistinguishable.

“Don,” he said into the radio, voice steady despite everything. “We’re not leaving this place without them.”

Don’s reply came instantly. “Never planned to.”

And with that, they pushed deeper into the dark — every second a gamble, every step closer to either salvation… or the worst moment of Mac’s life.

…

*Y/N’s P.O.V *

“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Michael paced near the loading bay doors, phone in his hand, muttering to himself. He looked worse up close—sweat-soaked, eyes darting, the kind of frantic energy that made men unpredictable. Dangerous.

He stopped suddenly.

I felt it before I heard it—the shift. The stillness.

He moved toward a cracked window high on the wall, peering out through the grime. I followed his gaze as best I could without lifting my head too much.

Flashlights. Shadows moving wrong. Too purposeful.

My heart slammed so hard it hurt.

Don.

Michael laughed under his breath, a sharp, ugly sound. “Well I’ll be damned.”

He turned back toward me, grin wide and unhinged. “Your cop boyfriend’s persistent. I’ll give him that.”

I swallowed, pulling Maya closer without thinking. “Leave him out of this.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, stepping closer. He crouched in front of me, too close, his breath hot and sour. “You brought him into this the second you took my kid.”

“She’s not your property,” I snapped, pain flaring as I shifted. “She’s a child.”

His eyes flicked down to Maya, then back to me. “And you,” he said softly, dangerously, “are a problem.”

He stood, glancing back toward the window. “Guess I gotta deal with the cop boyfriend before he gets any bright ideas.”

Panic surged, sharp and dizzying.

“Don’t,” I said, the word coming out raw. “Michael, don’t do this.”

He smiled again, all teeth and no warmth. “Too late.”

He reached down, grabbing my arm hard enough to make stars burst behind my eyes. I bit back a cry, forcing myself to stay upright, to stay conscious.

Maya whimpered, clutching my sleeve. “Y/N—”

“I’m here,” I said quickly, bending as far as I could toward her. “Eyes on me, okay? Just me.”

Michael yanked me upright, dragging me toward the shadows, his voice drifting back over his shoulder.

“Stay put, kid,” he said to Maya. “This’ll just take a minute.”

But I knew better.

And as the warehouse door creaked open and closed somewhere behind him, all I could think was that Don was close enough to smell the rust in the air—and that meant whatever happened next was going to happen fast.

The shouting was closer now—boots on concrete, voices sharp and overlapping, bouncing off the warehouse walls. Too close. Way too close.

Michael swore under his breath and yanked me upright, his grip bruising as he dragged me away from Maya.

“No—!” I clawed at him, panic tearing loose as Maya screamed my name behind us. “Don’t you touch her—Maya, stay where you are!”

Her sobs echoed after us, raw and terrified.

“Keep moving,” Michael hissed in my ear. “You’re the shield. You’re the reason he stops.”

My feet barely kept up as he hauled me through the maze of machinery toward the open loading bay. Every step sent pain lancing through my skull, blood blurring my vision. I could taste iron, could feel my pulse pounding through the cut above my eye.

Then I saw him.

Don stood just beyond the bay doors, gun raised but not aimed—not at Michael.

At me.

His face went white the second he saw the blood, the way I was barely upright, the way Michael’s arm was locked around my throat.

“Don’t,” Michael called out, loud and sharp. “Not another step.”

Don froze instantly.

“Y/N…” His voice broke on my name. He took a half-step forward without even realizing it.

Michael tightened his grip, pressing the gun harder against my temple. “You come any closer and she dies.”

Don’s jaw clenched, every muscle in his body screaming to move and nowhere to put it. His eyes never left mine.

“Let her go,” he said, steady but desperate. “This is between you and me.”

Michael laughed, breath hot against my ear. “No, detective. This is between me and her. You’re just the audience.”

I forced myself to meet Don’s gaze, even as my knees threatened to give out. I shook my head just slightly.

Don caught it.

His grip on his gun tightened, then loosened—calculating, thinking, buying time.

“Michael,” Don said slowly, “it’s over. There’s nowhere left to run.”

Michael dragged me another step forward, putting me fully in the open now. “I’m not running. I’m making sure I leave with something.”

My heart slammed against my ribs as I realized what he meant.

I sucked in a breath, pain flaring, and spoke anyway. “Don… don’t listen to him.”

Michael shoved the gun harder into my skull. “I said shut up.”

Don’s eyes went dark. Furious. Terrified. Locked on me like he could will me safe.

“Easy,” he said, hands lifting just slightly. “We can talk. Just let her breathe.”

For a split second, everything held still.

The air. The noise. Time itself.

And somewhere behind us, out of sight but not out of my mind, Maya was crying my name.

Michael’s finger twitched on the trigger.

And I knew—whatever happened next would change everything.

No one moved.

Not Don. Not Michael. Not me.

The world narrowed to the space between Don’s eyes and mine, to the way his hands hovered half-raised, useless and desperate, to the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears.

“Y/N,” Don said again, softer this time. “Stay with me.”

Michael’s breathing was uneven now. I could feel it against my neck, smell the panic underneath the bravado. His grip slipped for half a second—just long enough for hope to flare.

Too long.

A shout echoed from somewhere to our left. A shadow moved.

Michael spun—

Two gunshots shattered the air.

The sound was deafening, explosive, tearing through the warehouse like the world itself had cracked open.

Pain slammed into me—sharp, overwhelming—then nothing made sense anymore. My legs gave out, my vision collapsing into streaks of light and dark.

I felt myself falling.

Felt Don lunging forward.

“Y/N!”

His scream cut through everything—raw, broken, terrified.

I tried to answer him. Tried to hold on to the sound of his voice, to Maya’s face, to anything that meant I was still here.

Don’s P.O.V

“Y/N?” I called, stepping into the apartment. No answer. Just silence — thick and wrong. The kind that crawls under your skin.

My eyes darted around the living room. The coffee table was tipped, papers scattered across the floor. A dark smear trailed along the rug — blood. My heart stopped.

“Y/N!” I shouted, louder this time. My voice cracked.

I moved fast, scanning the room. Her phone lay near the couch, screen cracked, blood on the corner. Maya’s bear lying in the hallway, one ear torn. My stomach twisted so hard I thought I might throw up.

No sign of them. No sound. Just that awful, still silence.

“Jesus Christ…” I whispered, my throat tight.

I pulled my gun, sweeping through the apartment — bathroom, bedrooms, kitchen — all empty.

He’d taken them.

My mind went blank for a second, then came roaring back all at once — panic, rage, guilt. I left them alone. I left them.

I grabbed my radio, my voice harsh and uneven. “Detective Flack to all units — Code Red! Suspect in the Trent case just made contact. Repeat, Y/N Taylor and Maya Trent have been taken from their residence. Blood on scene — possible injury to Taylor. Suspect is armed and dangerous.”

Static crackled back before the dispatcher confirmed.

I slammed a fist against the kitchen counter. “Goddamn it!”

My chest heaved as I turned back into the room, every instinct screaming to do something. My hands shook as I grabbed Y/N’s phone, pocketing it for evidence, then reached for the stuffed bear, the one Maya had made at Build-A-Bear.

I held it for a second, closing my eyes.

“I swear to God,” I muttered, voice low and shaking with fury, “if he hurts either of you…”

Then I grabbed my badge and bolted for the door, already calling Mac.

He picked up on the first ring. “Flack?”

“They’re gone,” I said, breath ragged. “Y/N and Maya — he took them.”

Mac’s voice went cold. “I’m mobilizing the team. Don, stay put until backup arrives.”

But I was already halfway down the stairs, heart hammering. “Can’t do that, Mac. I’m finding them.”

I wasn’t stopping until I did.

…

Mac’s P.O.V

Mac’s phone nearly slipped from his hand as Don’s voice tore through the speaker — frantic, breathless, ragged.

“They’re gone. Y/N and Maya — he took them.”

For a split second, everything in the lab stilled. Then the sound of Mac’s sharp inhale filled the space. “I’m mobilizing the team. Don, stay put until backup arrives”

“Can’t do that, Mac. I’m finding them.”

“Don’t move. I’m on my way. Flack—”

But the line was already dead.

Mac lowered the phone slowly, eyes fixed on nothing, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Then — like a switch flipping — he came alive.

He stormed through the lab, voice booming across the floor. “Adam! I want Michael’s phone tracked — last known location, any movement, I don’t care how small. Get it now!”

“On it!” Adam scrambled toward his workstation.

“Lindsay!” Mac barked, shrugging into his jacket as he strode past. “I need you and Stella pulling every traffic cam feed from Y/N’s apartment — he can’t be far. Sheldon, meet me in the garage with the SUV.”

Stella rushed out of her office. “Mac, what happened?”

“Trent’s taken them,” Mac snapped, his tone razor-sharp. “Both of them.”

The air in the room changed instantly — energy snapping into urgency.

Mac grabbed his gun and badge from his desk, holstering them with practiced precision. “Notify command. I want a BOLO on Trent, every unit in the city looking for his vehicle. Armed, dangerous, and desperate.”

He stopped by Adam’s station. “Anything?”

“Got a partial ping before it went dark,” Adam said quickly.

Mac nodded once.

“Mac, you should wait for—”

“I’m not waiting,” he growled, voice low but fierce. “My daughter and Maya are out there with a killer.”

For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Stella’s gaze softened as she stepped closer. “Then we’ll bring them home.”

Mac met her eyes, the weight of years of cases — and this one that cut too deep — reflected back at him. “We will.”

He started for the exit, calling out orders over his shoulder. “Stella, coordinate with uniforms on the ground. Adam, keep tracking that signal. If he turns that phone back on for even a second, I want it traced. Stella, call me the second anything new comes through.”

He shoved open the lab doors, his voice echoing down the hall.

“She’s my daughter. I’m not losing her.”

And with that, he was gone — moving fast, anger and fear burning beneath the calm precision of a man who’d spent his whole life holding chaos together.

He wasn’t just chasing a suspect. He was going to war.

…

Sheldon’s P.O.V

The air in Y/N’s apartment was thick with the ghosts of a struggle. I knelt by the dark smear on the rug, the scent of copper sharp in my nostrils. It wasn’t a massive pool, but it was enough. Enough to tell a story of violence, of a fight. Y/N wouldn’t have gone down easy.

Across the room, Mac was a statue carved from ice and fury. He’d methodically cataloged every detail with his eyes, his mind a whirlwind of procedure and paternal terror. Don, on the other hand, was a live wire. He paced the length of the living room, his movements sharp, agitated, like a predator caged too long. Every few seconds, his gaze would land on the torn bear in the evidence bag, and a muscle would jump in his jaw.

“Anything, Hawkes?” Mac’s voice was low, dangerously controlled.

I gestured to the smear with a gloved hand. “Blood type is consistent with Y/N’s from her medical records. There’s epithelial tissue mixed in. He grabbed her, hard. Probably dragged her.” My eyes scanned the floor, my mind working, trying to shut out the image of my friend, my colleague, being treated like this. “There’s something else.” I pointed with a pen to a faint, almost invisible residue near the overturned coffee table. “It’s a fine dust. Not household dust. It’s alkaline, slightly corrosive. Industrial.”

Don stopped pacing. “Where? Where would he get that?”

“Could be anywhere,” I said, hating the words as they left my mouth. “A factory, a warehouse, a construction site.”

Mac’s phone buzzed. He answered it, his back to us. “Taylor.” He listened, his posture growing even more rigid. “Understood.” He hung up and turned, his face a mask of grim finality. “That was Adam. The phone is a brick. Trent destroyed the SIM. The partial ping he got? It was from a cell tower covering half of lower Manhattan and parts of Brooklyn. It’s useless.”

“Useless?” Don’s voice was a raw snarl. “No. It’s not useless.” He strode over to the evidence table, staring down at Y/N’s phone. “She knew he was coming. She fought back. There has to be something on here. A draft message, a voice memo, something.”

“We’ll process it, Don,” Mac said, his tone a warning. “We will go over every byte. But you need to step back. You’re too close to this.”

“I’m exactly as close as I need to be!” Don shot back, his voice cracking with fury. “He has my girlfriend, Mac! Your daughter!”

The word hung in the air, heavy and true. Y/N was Mac’s daughter, but she was Don’s future. Maya the little girl who had already wormed her way into all their hearts.

I stood up, placing a calming hand on Don’s arm. He flinched but didn’t pull away. “Hey,” I said softly. “We’re going to find them. We’re the best in the city”

Don’s eyes were wild, burning with a feverish intensity. “What if our best isn’t good enough this time, Sheldon? What if we’re too late?”

The question hung between us, a chilling possibility that none of us dared to voice. In the suffocating silence of the apartment, with the evidence of violence all around us, it felt less like a question and more like a prophecy. Time wasn’t just running out; it felt like it had already run out, and we were just scrambling to catch up to the wreckage.

…

Y/N’s P.O.V

A dull, throbbing ache in my head was the first thing I registered. The second was the cold, damp concrete pressing against my cheek. The third, and most important, was the small, trembling body curled up beside me.

“Maya?” I whispered, my voice a dry rasp.

Her little hand clutched my jacket. “Y/N? My head hurts.”

I pushed myself up, my own head swimming. We were in a cavernous, dark space. The air smelled of rust, mildew, and something chemical that burned the back of my throat. A single, bare bulb hung far above, casting a weak, jaundiced light that did little to push back the oppressive shadows. An abandoned warehouse. A classic for a reason.

My training kicked in, warring with the panic clawing at my throat. Assess. Secure. Survive. I checked Maya over, my hands gently probing. A small lump on her forehead, but no serious bleeding. My own arm throbbed where I’d been grabbed, the skin raw and bruised. I remembered the fight—the door bursting open, Michael Trent’s wild eyes, the struggle. I remembered Maya screaming my name before a sharp blow sent the world spinning into darkness.

A heavy metal door screeched open, flooding the space with a sliver of gray light. A silhouette filled the doorway, and then Michael Trent stepped inside. He wasn’t the calculating, cold-blooded suspect we’d been hunting. He was a wreck. His clothes were filthy, his eyes were bloodshot and darted around nervously, and in his hand, he clutched a gun like it was a poisonous snake he couldn’t let go of.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rough. He was looking at Maya, not me.

“Her head hurts,” I said, shifting to shield the little girl with my body. “She needs a doctor”

Trent laughed, a harsh, broken sound. “No doctors. No hospitals. They’ll take her from me again. They put all those ideas in her mothers head, turned her against me.”

“They didn’t turn her against you, Michael,” I said, keeping my voice even, calm. The way I’d talk to any jumper on a bridge. “You scared her. The court said it wasn’t safe for her around you. We can help you. Let us help you.”

“Help me?” he spat, taking a step closer. The gun wavered. “You’re one of them. A Taylor. Your father put me in a cage. You stole my daughter from me.”

“I didn’t steal her,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I was protecting her. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

Maya started to cry, a soft, whimpering sound that tore through me. “I want to go home.”

“This is your home, sweetheart,” Trent said, his voice suddenly soft, a terrifyingly gentle contrast to his rage. He knelt down, reaching for her.

“Don’t touch her,” I snarled, the detective in me gone, replaced by a feral instinct to protect. I could feel the seconds ticking away, each one stretching into an eternity. Every moment we spent here, the colder the trail got for Mac, for Don. The thought of Don’s face when he found the apartment… it was a physical pain in my chest.

Trent’s eyes hardened. He stood up, pointing the gun directly at me. “You don’t tell me what to do. You will sit there, and you will be quiet, and you will let me be a father to my daughter. Or I will make sure you’re never a detective, or a daughter, or anything to anyone ever again.”

The threat was real. The man was unstable, his desperation curdling into something dangerous. I looked down at Maya, whose small body was shaking with silent sobs. I had to get her out of here. But as I stared down the barrel of that gun, I knew the clock wasn’t just ticking for us. It was about to strike midnight.

…

Mac’s P.O.V

The command center at the lab was a pressure cooker. Every screen was a window into a city that had swallowed the most important person in my life whole. Four hours. Four hours of dead air, of every lead turning to ash in my mouth. The chemical analysis from the apartment—industrial alkaline dust—felt less like a clue and more like a cruel joke. In a city of this size, it was like searching for a specific grain of sand on Coney Island.

Don was a silent storm at the edge of the room. He hadn't moved from his post, staring at the main map as if he could burn a hole through it with sheer force of will. His silence was more unnerving than any outburst. It was the sound of a man holding himself together by a thread that was fraying, second by second.

“Mac,” Lindsay’s voice cut through the low hum of computers, sharp with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline. “I think I have something.”

I was at her side in an instant, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Show me.”

She pointed to a grainy traffic cam feed from the approach to the Lincoln Tunnel. The timestamp was forty-five minutes after the estimated time of the abduction. “This van. It’s a 2002 Ford Econoline, white, no plates. It matches the description of a vehicle Trent owned before his license was revoked.”

My eyes narrowed. The tunnel. A direct line out of the city. “It’s too clean. The timing is right, but it could be any white van.”

“That’s not all,” she said, her fingers flying across the keyboard. She zoomed in, enhancing the digital noise. On the rear wheel well, a faint, off-white smear. Barely visible.

My breath caught in my throat. It wasn't a coincidence. It was him. He was running.

“Where did it go?” Don demanded, suddenly right behind me, his voice a raw wound.

“We track it through the tunnel’s internal cameras,” Lindsay said, her own frustration evident. “He stays in his lane, doesn’t make a move. But the second he exits the tunnel… he’s gone.” She brought up the final image. The van, emerging into the harsh light of Weehawken, New Jersey, before immediately veering off onto a local street with no surveillance coverage. “We lost him, Mac. He’s in Jersey.”

The words hit the room like a physical blow. New Jersey. A different state. A different jurisdiction. A whole new nightmare.

“Run it again!” Don slammed his hand on the desk, making the monitors flicker. “Backtrack! There has to be something! A license plate on another car, a reflection, a street sign—anything!”

“Don,” I warned, my own control stretched to its breaking point.

“No!” he whirled on me, his eyes blazing with a feverish, desperate fire. “I’m not going to sit here and play politics while he’s in another state! He’s putting more distance between us with every second! We have the van! We know where he went!”

“And we have the entire state of New Jersey to search!” I shot back, my voice rising to match his. “You want to go storming into Weehawken? Our badges mean nothing over there! We go in loud and wrong, we could trigger a hostage situation! We could get them killed!”

The air crackled, thick with unspoken grief and fury. Sheldon stepped between us, his calm presence a fragile dam against the flood of emotion.

“Hey. Hey. This isn't helping,” he said, his gaze steady. “Mac’s right, Don. We have to be smart. But Don’s right too, Mac. We can’t just sit here.”

He turned back to the map, his mind working, pushing past the jurisdictional wall that had just slammed in our faces. “Okay, so he’s in Jersey. He’s desperate, he’s unstable, but he’s not stupid. He had a plan. Why the Lincoln Tunnel? Why New Jersey?”

Don stared at the map, his breathing ragged. “It’s fast. It gets you out of the city. Away from us.”

“It’s more than that,” I murmured, my detective brain finally kicking back in, overriding the father’s panic. I looked at the list of industrial sites tied to the chemical dust. I cross-referenced them with a map of northern New Jersey. “The Meadowlands. The Port Newark-Elizabeth. The refineries along the Turnpike. That dust isn’t just common in factories; it’s prevalent in heavy industry zones. He’s not just running. He’s running to a place he knows.”

The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. A vast, sprawling, industrial wasteland. A thousand places to hide a van and two people.

I grabbed my phone, my fingers dialing a number I never thought I’d have to use. The office of the New Jersey State Police.

Don watched me, his face a mask of horror. “What are you doing?”

“My job,” I said, my voice cold as steel. “I’m calling for help. And I am hating every second of it.”

The hallway felt too bright, too quiet. My ears rang with the words escaped custody, looping again and again until they didn’t sound real anymore.

“He—he can’t just be gone,” I managed, my voice catching halfway through. “There were guards, transport officers—how the hell does someone like him just walk out?”

Mac’s face didn’t so much as flicker. He was in full command mode now, the one I’d grown up watching from across the lab. Calm, decisive, terrifyingly composed. “Details are still coming in,” he said. “He overpowered the transport officer. Stole a car. They’ve got every unit in the city looking for him.”

My breath caught. “And Maya—”

“—doesn’t know,” he finished quietly. “And she’s not going to, not yet. She’s safe here. You did the right thing bringing her in today.”

For a second, I couldn’t speak. My mind jumped through every possible scenario—every back door, every security gap, every reason why this was my fault. Because I was the one who pushed for the arrest. I was the one who told Maya she was safe.

“Y/N.” Mac’s voice softened just a fraction, enough to pull me back. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t.”

I blinked up at him. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t take this on yourself.” He met my gaze, steady and unyielding. “We’ll handle it. You focus on keeping her calm.”

My throat felt tight, but I nodded. “Okay.”

He hesitated—just a heartbeat of something almost paternal flashing through the steel of his expression—then drew in a deep breath. “I need to get the rest of the team together. We’ll brief everyone, coordinate with the precinct, and expand the search.”

And just like that, the warmth in his tone vanished, replaced by the clipped efficiency of a commander in crisis. He gave my shoulder one last squeeze before stepping away, already reaching for his phone.

As I watched him disappear down the hall, the air felt heavier. Because whatever happened next… it wasn’t just a case anymore. It was survival.

…

Mac’s voice carried across the glass conference room, firm and controlled, the way it always did when things were spiralling. The blinds were half-drawn, muting the city light and wrapping the room in a dim, closed-in focus.

Everyone was there — Stella, Lindsay, Sheldon, Danny, and Adam — gathered around the table, eyes fixed on the screens at the front where a still of Maya’s father glared back at us from his mugshot. Don stood just behind me, arms folded, jaw set tight.

Mac paced slowly in front of the table. “At approximately nine-thirty this morning, during transfer to federal custody, the suspect — Michael Trent — overpowered his escort. He assaulted one transport officer, commandeered the vehicle, and abandoned it in Queens. NYPD units are coordinating with state police and the FBI, but so far, he’s vanished.”

A low curse slipped from Stella. Lindsay rubbed her temples, looking sick. Danny kept his gaze fixed on the file in front of him, avoiding everyone’s eyes — especially mine.

Mac continued, tone precise, but the tension around his mouth betrayed what it cost him to keep it together. “Crane has military training, extensive knowledge of weapons, and a personal vendetta. He’s not running to hide — he’s likely out for Maya. But we proceed as though everyone connected to the case is a potential target.”

That last part landed heavy. My stomach turned.

Sheldon spoke first. “Maya?”

Mac nodded. “She’s under our protection. Y/N has temporary guardianship, which means she stays close to her — but not without backup.” His gaze flicked to Don, then to me. “Effective immediately, Don, you’re assigned to personal protection detail for both of them.”

Don gave a single nod. “Understood.”

Lindsay frowned. “You think he’d really come after his own kid?”

Mac’s jaw tightened. “He’s already killed her mother and grandparents. That answer itself should tell you everything you need to know.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I stared down at the table, the lines of case notes blurring. My pulse pounded in my throat. She’s safe here, Mac had said — but how safe could any of us be if a man like Trent was out there, desperate and armed?

Mac stopped pacing and turned to face us all squarely. “We find him. Fast. I want updates on any vehicle thefts, abandoned properties, or associates he might reach out to. Sheldon, coordinate with the morgue and confirm any new bodies or injuries that might tie to Trent. Stella, Lindsay — check surveillance near the transport route. Adam, start pulling phone data from his last known cell activity.”

He finally looked at me. “Y/N, I want you to stay in the lab, process anything new that comes in. But don’t leave the building until I say so. Understood?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

His expression softened just barely at that — father to daughter, not boss to subordinate — then hardened again as he turned toward the rest. “Everyone knows what’s at stake. Move.”

Chairs scraped back, the hum of urgency flooding back into motion.

As the team broke apart, Don stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “I’ll keep you both safe,” he said. “I promise.”

I nodded, gripping my coffee tighter, even as my heart sank. Because deep down, I wasn’t sure any promise could hold back the kind of storm that was coming.

…

The briefing broke apart fast — chairs scraping, voices rising, boots echoing across the polished floor. Mac was already on the phone with command, rattling off orders before I’d even made it to the door.

Don caught up to me halfway down the hall. He didn’t say anything at first, just kept pace beside me, his hand brushing my elbow like he was making sure I didn’t bolt.

“Hey,” he said finally, voice low. “You okay?”

“Define okay,” I muttered, swiping my access card. The lab doors slid open with a hiss. “The guy who killed Maya’s mom and grandparents just escaped federal custody. So… no. Not really.”

“Fair,” he said quietly.

The walk to Mac’s office felt longer than usual. Every step echoed too loud in the hall, like the whole building knew what was waiting for us on the other side of that door.

When we pushed it open, Maya was exactly where we’d left her — curled up on Mac’s couch with her bear tucked under her arm, a coloring book open on her lap. She looked up at us, eyes brightening instantly.

“Hey! You’re back!”

I forced a smile, kneeling down beside her. “Yeah, kiddo. We just had a meeting with Grandpa Mac.”

She giggled at that — she’d started calling him that earlier today, and Mac just hadn’t corrected her.

Don crouched next to me, his badge catching the light. “You been keeping him company?”

“Uh-huh,” she said proudly. “He let me use his special pens! The ones in the drawer.”

“Oh, did he now?” Don said, mock-serious. “You must be really special.”

She grinned and went back to coloring, humming softly under her breath.

I stood, arms crossing tight over my chest as I tried to steady my thoughts. Don rose with me, leaning against the edge of the desk.

“She doesn’t have a clue,” I whispered. “She doesn’t know he’s out.”

“She doesn’t need to,” Don said. “Not yet. Let her feel safe for as long as we can manage it.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Mac said you’re on protection detail.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I’ll stay close — either here or at your place, depending on what Mac wants. We’re not taking chances.”

I looked down at Maya again — the soft rise and fall of her shoulders, the pink crayon clutched in her hand, the faint smile on her face. The image of her mother’s bloodstained apartment flashed uninvited through my mind, and I had to turn away.

Don noticed. Of course he did. He reached out, brushing his thumb across my knuckles where my hand gripped my arm too tight. “Hey,” he murmured. “We’ve got her. And we’ve got each other. We’re not letting him get anywhere near her.”

For a moment, I just breathed. Let the weight of his words — and the quiet certainty behind them — anchor me.

Then I looked up, forcing my voice steady again. “Alright. Then let’s make sure the lab’s locked down and that she’s safe until Mac says otherwise.”

He nodded. “You take care of her. I’ll handle the rest.”

And as he left to coordinate with security, I sank down beside Maya again, pulling her close without saying a word. Because for now, keeping her safe was the only thing that mattered — and I wasn’t going to fail her.

…

The clock on the wall ticked loud enough to drive me crazy. Every second that passed felt heavier, slower — like time itself had decided to mock me.

I’d run the same test twice. Then three times. Not because I needed to, but because sitting still wasn’t an option. Every drawer I opened, every slide I checked under the scope, was just an excuse to keep moving.

Nothing. No new samples. No new evidence.

And that meant no progress.

I could feel it — that restless burn building in my chest. The part of me that hated waiting. The part that couldn’t stand knowing there was a murderer out there — her father — while Maya sat two rooms away trusting us to keep her safe.

I slammed a tray of slides onto the counter a little harder than I meant to. The sound made Adam, who’d been hovering near the DNA sequencer, flinch.

“Easy, Y/N,” he said carefully. “The machines didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” I snapped, then sighed, dragging both hands through my hair. “Sorry. I just… I hate this. We’re sitting here doing nothing while he’s out there.”

Adam hesitated, watching me for a moment before leaning against the counter. “Mac’s got people canvassing. Don’s coordinating with the feds. Something’ll come in soon.”

“‘Soon’ isn’t good enough.” I turned back to the workstation, flicking through files just to have something to do. “Every hour he’s free, that’s another hour he could be running. Another hour closer to him finding out where she is.”

Adam didn’t argue — which, honestly, was smart of him.

I stared down at the microscope again, though I wasn’t really seeing the sample in front of me anymore. My mind kept drifting back to Maya — how small she’d looked on Mac’s couch, clutching that stuffed bear like it could protect her from everything.

“She’s already lost everything,” I murmured, not even sure if I was talking to Adam or myself. “Her mom. Her grandparents. She can’t lose her safety too.”

Adam shifted awkwardly, then said, “You know… for what it’s worth, Don’s got your back. Mac too. None of them are gonna let that happen.”

I forced a smile, but it didn’t stick. “Yeah. I know.”

But knowing and believing were two different things.

Another hour passed. Another scan came up blank.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I shoved away from the workstation and started pacing the narrow strip of floor between the benches. My nerves were raw, every sound — the hum of the machines, the flicker of the fluorescent lights — grinding against them.

Adam glanced at me. “You should go check on Maya. You’ll just drive yourself crazy in here.”

“Maybe,” I said quietly. “But if something comes in and I’m not here—”

“I’ll handle it,” he said. “You’re allowed to take a breath, Y/N.”

I looked toward the glass wall that separated the lab from the hallway, where I could just make out the soft glow spilling from Mac’s office.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe I did need a breath.

But something in my gut told me to stay. Because the moment I stepped away, that’s when everything would start happening. And I wasn’t going to miss it.

…

Another thirty minutes crawled by. I’d gone through three cups of coffee, one granola bar I barely tasted, and an entire playlist I couldn’t focus on long enough to hear. The hum of the centrifuge was the only thing keeping me from screaming into the void.

Adam had taken to spinning gently in his chair, tapping a pen against his thigh. Every so often, he’d glance at me like he wanted to say something, then think better of it. Probably for the best.

“I hate waiting,” I muttered, mostly to myself. “If I wanted to sit around doing nothing, I’d have become a detective.”

“Hey, easy,” Adam said with a smirk. “You’re dating one, remember?”

I gave him a sharp look. “You think that helps your case?”

He held up both hands in surrender. “Fair point.”

The faintest twitch of a smile pulled at my mouth — it wasn’t much, but it was something. Then silence settled again, heavy and suffocating.

I stared down at the glowing screen of my workstation, scrolling through data that refused to give me what I needed. Every part of me itched to do something, move, but the second I tried to focus, my brain just kept circling back to Maya — the little bear she was clutching, the way her eyes darted toward the door every time footsteps passed in the hall.

I couldn’t protect her. Not really. Not from what was coming. But damn it, I could try.

The sharp ring of the lab phone made both of us jump. Adam grabbed it first. “Lab.” He paused, then looked over at me. “Mac.”

I was already crossing the room by the time he handed me the receiver.

“Mac?”

“Y/N.” His voice was calm but clipped, business mode. “We just pulled something from an email address. A folder full of documents that look like some kind of plan — dates, locations, but nothing that makes sense.”

“What kind of plan?” I asked, already moving back to the computer.

“That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me. We’ve got digital scans coming through to your system now. I need you and Adam to work on it — whatever it is, I need answers fast.”

“Understood,” I said, the restless energy in my veins finally snapping into focus.

“Good. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“If it’s what I think it is, we’re running out of time.”

The line clicked dead before I could ask what he meant.

Adam looked up from his screen. “Incoming.”

The files populated fast — scanned images, then plain text. At first it looked like nonsense: rows of letters, numbers, weird little phrases that didn’t line up. But once I stopped trying to read it as random and started looking for patterns, the shape of it came into focus.

“Look at the names,” Adam said. “He’s sloppy enough to hide people’s names in plain sight.”

I scrolled, fingers flying. Then my breath went cold.

Line after line resolved into a schedule. Not a list of targets or ransom notes — a plan. Timings. Locations. And tucked into the text, words that matched things only someone who’d watched us could know: the way we stagger shifts, where Mac ate lunch, who usually left the building and when.

We didn’t need to guess what it meant. It told us.

I pulled the first clear line into the editor and read it aloud so the words stopped sounding like code and started sounding like a threat.

Y/N 08:30 foot

I felt my chest tighten. “That means… me. Leaves lab at 8:30 on foot.”

Adam’s face went white. “He’s been tracking routines. This is a timetable.”

Then another line:

Don 08:45 car — perimeter

Mac 12:00 lunch — office unlocked

Maya office 09:00 — quiet, alone

CPS 10:00 van — route A

Stella 11:15 — patrol route

And one that made my hands start to shake:

Take: Maya — pick up 09:05 — office door / corridor safe / no cameras

There were also notes that read like shorthand for contingencies — single words and small verbs next to times:

Delay — unplanned / wait 15 Signal — horn / two beeps Cover — traffic / bus stop 3B

Each line was precise, as if somebody had sat down with a calendar and watched us for days.

I scrolled faster.

Y/N 08:30 foot // store stop 08:35 // return 09:00 Don 08:45 car // route south // hold Mac 12:00 lunch // office vacated 12:00–12:20 Maya office 09:00 // lull // station 2B Extraction 09:05 Secondary 09:10 — if Don present — distract / fire alarm / power out

Adam’s mouth moved without sound. “He’s planned for how to separate you from your partner, how to bait the building into a gap.”

I felt sick. “This isn’t a plan to hide — it’s a plan to take her.”

We read through the rest in a blur. There were references to camera blind spots (“blind — stairwell B”), references to personnel by shorthand (the initials shifted occasionally, but context made them clear), and a chilling underlined line that could be read no other way:

Goal: remove child. Remove trace. Van to 312 Hoyt.

My throat closed. “This is a kidnapping plan,” I said, the words flat and obscene in the sterile lab air. “He’s timing the team’s predictable movements and laying a trap.”

Adam didn’t argue with the translation. He was already reaching for the phone.

“Mac needs to see this now,” I said. My hands were still trembling as I pulled the file into a secure window and flagged the most critical lines. “Lockdown the office doors. Don — he’s on protection — needs to be told right now. Whoever sent this knows our routines.”

Adam’s fingers flew. “I’ll get Mac. I’ll call Don. We don’t move this through normal channels — this is priority one.” He paused, looking at me. “You okay to sit with me and keep working the files? We need to map every single time reference against our logs — figure out when the earliest window is.”

“No,” I said before I could think. “I’m going to Mac’s office. I need to be with Maya. If he tried to be clever enough to put my name in his plan, then I’m not letting him use me to get to her.”

Adam’s jaw tightened. “Fine. I’ll lock this down and be ready.”

I stood and the world narrowed to the corridor between the DNA lab and Mac’s office. Every step felt like it was taking me closer to the thing the plan was designed to do — and away from the one person who shouldn’t be alone for a second.

As I pushed the glass door open I heard Adam on the phone, voice clipped and businesslike: “Get every unit on Hoyt, now. Secure every van route. Lockdown Lab A. Tell Don to keep both of them in sight.”

I kept the decoded file on the screen in my head as I walked: Y/N 08:30 foot. Take: Maya — pick up 09:05. Extraction 09:05. Secondary 09:10.

We had minutes. Not to plan how to do anything violent back, but to stop it — to shut down the routine the plan relied on. To keep Maya safe.

The waiting ended and the hunt began.

I didn’t have time to be afraid—there wasn’t time for anything but movement.

Mac’s voice on the line had been the kind that shuts down a room. “We’re moving them out now. Don, you and two officers take Y/N and Maya to her apartment, grab what you need. No detours. No social media. We go to protective custody site B. Flack, copy?”

Don answered before I could even blink. “Copy. Moving now.”

Adam was already pinning the last lines we’d decoded into a priority folder when two uniformed officers—hard faces, soft eyes—stepped into the lab. They wore kevlar under their jackets and the kind of calm that comes from having to be steady for other people. One of them offered a gentle smile at Maya and dipped to her level.

“Hi, princess. We’re just going to make sure you’re safe, okay?” he said quietly, as if this was a game and not a plan to steal a child.

Maya clutched her teddy to her chest and looked from me to Don like she was measuring who might take her away. I crouched and wrapped my arms around her.

“We’re not going anywhere scary, Maya,” I said, voice shaking but steady. “We’re going to a place where we can be safe. Mommy would want that.”

She nodded once, solemn. Then she looked up at Don. “Can Don come too?”

He already had his arm around her shoulders. “I’m coming, kiddo. I’m not going anywhere.”

Mac stepped in, brief, official. “Y/N, you and Maya are going to be placed in protective custody while we spin up everything else. This is temporary, until this threat is neutralized. You understand?”

I swallowed hard. “I understand.”

He hesitated for only a second—father, not commander—then added, softer: “Don’t go on your phone unless it’s to call me or to tell me you’re safe. We’ll handle the rest. And Y/N… I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

I wanted to tell him I didn’t regret it. That I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Instead I nodded.

The officers moved like a well-drilled unit. One stayed with Maya; one walked with me. Don took a last look at Mac, then at me. “I’ll be right there the whole time,” he promised.

We were out the side door in under two minutes. The city sounded extra loud—sirens a few blocks away, a car alarm going off like some panicked animal. Don kept one hand on the small of my back and another on Maya’s shoulder as we crossed to the unmarked SUV waiting two cars down, lights off but engines humming. Two plainclothes detectives climbed in ahead; the rear seats were already prepped with a child safety seat and a blanket.

…

The apartment felt too quiet when we stepped inside — like the air was waiting for something to go wrong.

Don was the first to move, his instincts kicking in before mine. He swept the front rooms while I guided Maya inside, closing the door softly behind us. The light from the kitchen window stretched thin across the floor, touching the edge of Maya’s pink backpack where she’d dropped it last night.

“Alright,” Don said, reappearing from the hallway. “You two grab what you need. I’ll take the first load down to the car.”

I nodded, trying to keep things normal. “We’ll be quick.”

Maya followed me into my bedroom, the soft shuffle of her sneakers the only sound. She clutched her teddy close, her wide eyes darting to every shadow like she half-expected monsters to crawl out. I crouched beside her, forcing a smile.

“Hey. We’re okay, sweetheart. Just a few minutes, then we’re gone.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

I was stuffing clothes into a duffel when Don leaned in the doorway, keys in hand. “I’ll get these down to the car, make a little room in the backseat. Lock the door behind me, okay?”

“Got it.”

He gave me a quick, reassuring smile — the kind that said I’ve got you — before heading down the hall. I heard the door shut. The deadbolt clicked. Then there was just the sound of my own breathing and Maya humming faintly to her bear.

I turned to grab her jacket off the bed — and froze.

The click of the lock froze me.

“Don?” I called out, my voice tight. He’d only gone down to the car a minute ago. The lock turned again — slower this time. Careful.

Then the door swung open, and every instinct in me screamed wrong.

He stood there — taller, broader than I remembered, the dim light catching the edge of a familiar scar. Maya’s father. The ghost we’d been chasing.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he rasped, and before I could move, the door slammed shut behind him.

“Run, Maya!” I shouted, shoving her toward the bedroom. My heart hammered as she stumbled, clutching her stuffed teddy. But he was faster. He lunged, his arm hooking around my throat, yanking me back before I could get to her.

“Don’t!” I gasped, nails clawing at his forearm. He squeezed tighter, his breath hot against my ear.

“Quiet,” he whispered. “Or the kid gets it.”

Maya’s scream split the air. I tried to twist free, slamming my heel into his shin. It only earned me a growl and a sharp crack across the face that sent stars bursting behind my eyes. The world blurred. Warm blood trickled from my nose, thick and metallic.

He shoved me toward the couch, grabbed Maya by the arm before she could dart away, and dragged her back. She kicked, screamed, tiny fists hitting his chest.

“Let her go!” I tried to lunge again, dizzy, half-blind from the hit. He turned on me with sudden fury and drove his fist into my ribs — the breath whooshed out of me, pain blooming deep and raw.

I dropped to the floor, gasping, trying to crawl toward her. “Maya—”

He grabbed my hair, yanked my head back, and slammed it against the side of the coffee table. The sharp corner split skin — hot, white pain flashing behind my eyes. The room tilted, smeared red.

“Thought you could hide from me?” he spat, voice full of venom. “You took everything from me. You and your friends. Now you’re going to fix that.”

He pulled a zip tie from his pocket, binding my wrists behind me in one rough movement. My head lolled to the side, blood dripping down my temple. I could barely focus — the floor, his boots, Maya’s terrified face.

“Please,” I whispered. “She’s just a kid—”

He ignored me, pressing the cold edge of a knife against my jaw. “She’s, my kid.”

Maya sobbed as he yanked her close. “You’re coming too,” he told me, his tone like steel. “Insurance.”

He hauled me upright by my bound wrists, pain exploding through my shoulders. My knees buckled but he dragged me anyway, half-lifting me toward the door. Maya screamed my name, trying to reach me, her tiny hands clawing at his sleeve.

“Stop—please!”

He threw a glare over his shoulder, then swung the hilt of the knife across my face. The world went white, then black.

I fell — or maybe he dragged me — it was hard to tell. The last thing I felt was the cold night air as we crossed the threshold, my blood wetting the front of his jacket, Maya’s sobs fading into the sound of traffic below.

Then there was nothing.