Chapter 11.
When the world fell apart, the air was thick with dust and smoke, heavy and choking, every breath scraping through Jade’s throat like sandpaper.
The world was a symphony of chaos.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Alarms screamed from shattered buildings, and the sky above them glowed in shades of gray and fire as though the heavens themselves had cracked open.
Rus massive wolf form darted through the broken streets, a streak of power and desperation.
His paws struck the cracked asphalt with bone deep force, each impact echoing like thunder against the trembling ground.
The air rippled around him, dust spiraling in his wake.
Beneath him, the earth trembled as if it too were trying to flee from the destruction.
Jade held onto his fur as tightly as she could, her fingers buried deep into his thick, coarse coat.
Her knuckles were bone white from the strain, her pulse pounding so wildly it seemed to merge with the rhythm of Ru’s racing heartbeat.
Her face was pressed against his back.
Her body flattened against the rise and fall of his muscles as he ran around them.
The city was unrecognizable.
Buildings leaned precariously.
Their windows shattered into glittering shards that rained like deadly snow.
Car alarms blared.
Street lights sparked.
wires hissing and spitting fire.
Somewhere in the chaos, a transformer exploded, sending a flash of blinding white across the sky.
A car suddenly veered across their path, its horn blaring, tires shrieking as it skidded uncontrollably across the broken road.
Metal screamed against asphalt, the sound sharp and terrifying.
Jade barely had time to gasp before Ru leapt, an enormous fluid arc through the air.
His paws cleared the mangled wreckage by inches, his fur brushing against the scorching heat of the car’s hood as it erupted into flame.
For a moment, everything slowed.
Jade’s heart seemed to stop in her chest as they soared through the air, the chaos around them fading into a blur of light and smoke.
Then they landed hard, and Ru’s paws struck the ground again, steady, certain, unyielding.
Jade squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face against him.
The stench of smoke, gasoline, and dust filled her senses, sharp and nauseating.
It coated her tongue, stung her nose, and made her lungs burn.
But beneath it all, she caught the faintest trace of something else.
Something grounding.
Rue.
His scent cut through everything.
Warm, earthy, alive.
It reminded her of pine and rain and soil after a storm.
It steadied her when nothing else could.
Her breath came in shallow gasps.
Fear clawed at her chest, cold and electric.
But there was awe, too, pure and wordless.
Even with the world collapsing around them, she couldn’t help but marvel at him, at his strength, at the raw grace of his movements, the silent determination in every stride.
He dodged a falling street light in a single powerful bound, landing smoothly, his claws digging into the broken pavement.
The metal pole crashed down behind them, sending sparks flying as it struck a car.
The wolf didn’t flinch.
His growl, low and guttural, rumbled through his chest and into her palms.
A vibration she felt down to her bones.
The world blurred past them.
Flames licking at storefronts.
The shattered remains of once familiar places passing in seconds.
They turned corners, littered with debris and twisted road signs, past people running and screaming, their voices lost in the roar of the chaos.
Ru moved like he could sense every tremor before it happened, swerving just in time to avoid falling debris.
He was faster than she remembered, faster than she thought possible.
His powerful strides devoured the road, each bound propelling them further from the collapsing heart of the city.
Then finally, they turned onto their street.
Jade lifted her head, blinking through the haze of smoke and tears.
What she saw made her stomach twist.
Their once quiet neighborhood, the safe suburban haven where she’d spent her childhood, was gone.
The calm treelined avenue now looked like a battlefield.
Cracks zigzagged across the asphalt like lightning scars.
Houses were split open, their insides spilling out, furniture scattered, roofs caved in, walls torn apart.
One of their neighbors homes, Mrs.
Patel’s with the red shutters and rose bushes was gone entirely, just rubble.
The roses lay crushed beneath chunks of brick and glass.
Windows were shattered in every direction.
Smoke poured from one house down the block and another stood tilted, one side sinking lower as if swallowed by the earth.
The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and concrete dust.
But somehow, somehow, their house still stood.
For a moment, she just stared.
Her heart was pounding, her hands trembling, her vision swimming with relief and disbelief all at once.
Their home.
Chapter 12.
The truth beneath the tremor.
Ru came to a halt at the edge of the driveway.
His chest rising and falling in heavy ragged breaths.
Dust and bits of shattered concrete clung to his fur like ash.
His once golden brown coat now muted to a dull gray.
The air shimmerred with heat and chaos.
Sirens wailed distantly.
A dog barked somewhere down the block, and the faint echo of collapsing structures still rolled across the horizon like thunder.
Jade’s hands trembled as she slid off his back, her legs nearly giving out beneath her.
The ground beneath her feet was cracked and littered with debris.
Splinters of wood, twisted metal, shattered glass that caught the faint light of a burning street lamp.
For a second, she couldn’t tell if the trembling beneath her was the aftershock of the quake or the pounding of her own heart.
Ru shook himself hard, sending a storm of dust flying from his coat in a wide arc.
Then came the sound she could never quite get used to.
The low, sickening crack of bones rearranging themselves.
The ripple of transformation surged through him like a wave.
Fur receded.
Muscle shifted.
The wolf melted into the man.
Within seconds, Ru stood before her again, human shirtless sweat and dirt streaking across his skin, his chest rising sharply as he tried to catch his breath.
His hair clung to his forehead, matted with dust, and his eyes, those amber gold eyes, still glowed faintly in the dim light.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice, roughened by the run in the transformation.
Jade nodded quickly, though her throat felt tight and her heart was still hammering against her ribs.
“You’re incredible, Ru.
” I Before she could finish, his hands shot out, fingers wrapping firmly, but not harshly, around her wrist.
His touch was warm, grounding.
“Come on,” he said, eyes scanning their surroundings.
“Let’s find your mom,” they ran.
The front door was already open, swinging on its hinges from the tremors.
Inside the house was alive with frantic movement.
The once cozy living room, the place where they’d watched movies, argued about chores, shared laughter, was a whirlwind of chaos now.
Bags lay open on the couches, half-packed with clothes.
A trail of shoe prints tracked through the dust that coated the floor.
The air smelled of sweat, fear, and the faint metallic tang of adrenaline.
Down the hall, she heard muffled voices, short, urgent, clipped.
They followed the noise to her mother’s room.
Jon and Jack were there, their movements fast, and deliberate.
The room looked like it had been hit by a storm.
Drawers yanked open, the bed covered in papers, passports, IDs, birth certificates, even a few faded photos, all spread out in organized chaos.
Jack was muttering to himself, trying to sort them into neat piles, while Jon, ever the calm one, slipped them carefully into envelopes.
“Grab everything essential,” Jon said, his tone sharp but steady.
His focus didn’t waver even for a second.
The sharp clang of metal and glass drew Jade’s attention toward the kitchen.
She darted to the doorway, peering inside.
Jordan was there, his tall frame moving with precision.
He was pulling open the pantry, arms full of cans, soups, beans, cereal boxes, all of it tossed into baskets on the floor.
His hands shook slightly, his face tight with concentration, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle flickered beneath the skin.
Jordan, she called.
John, no answer.
She tried again louder this time.
What’s happening? Why is everyone still nothing? It was like her voice didn’t exist.
She stepped further into the hallway, confusion prickling at her spine.
The air in the house was tense, vibrating with unspoken urgency.
Her brothers moved like a machine, each one knowing exactly what to do, as if this wasn’t chaos, but a routine they had trained for.
A plan.
Ru, she whispered, glancing back at him.
Why aren’t they answering me? Rus brow furrowed.
He didn’t reply.
He didn’t have to.
The silence said everything.
Then screeching tires.
The sound ripped through the air outside, sharp and jarring.
The hair on Jade’s arm stood on end.
She turned toward the front door, pulse quickening.
A car door slammed.
Then another.
Her chest tightened.
Mom.
She bolted toward the sound, the fear in her stomach blooming like wildfire.
She barely noticed the cracked floorboards or the fallen picture frames as she sprinted through the hallway.
The light outside was strange, gray and gold, filtered through dust clouds that hung in the air like ghosts.
The sky was still shifting, trembling faintly, as if the earth hadn’t finished its tantrum.
And there, at the end of the driveway, Laurel Lockheart came running.
Her mother’s blonde hair was disheveled, stre with dirt, her clothes torn in places, but her eyes, those sharp blue eyes that usually held warmth, were filled with something else entirely now.
Fear, determination.
Jeffrey and Jackson were at her sides, one carrying a duffel bag, the other clutching a rifle case.
Their faces were pale, smeared with dirt, but alive.
Thank God.
alive.
Mom.
Jade’s voice cracked as she ran to her.
Laurel barely had time to open her arms before Jade collided into her, clutching her with desperate force.
For a moment, everything stilled.
The world, the chaos, the noise.
It all faded to the rhythm of her mother’s heartbeat beneath her ear.
Laurel’s arms wrapped around her tight, trembling.
Oh, my baby, she murmured, voice breaking.
You’re safe.
Jay didn’t even realize she was crying until she felt the tears on her mother’s shoulder.
What’s going on? She gasped.
Why are we leaving? What’s happening? Laurel didn’t answer right away.
Her silence was heavy.
When she finally pulled back, her hands came up to Jade’s face, palms warm, but shaking.
There was a flicker in her eyes, something that wasn’t just fear.
It was sorrow and something like resignation.
“We have to leave, Jade,” she said softly, her voice trembling despite the calm she was trying to hold.
“Now, but why?” Jade’s voice cracked.
“Is it the earthquakes? The city’s collapsing? We can wait until it’s no.
” The single word froze the air between them.
Laurel’s eyes glistened.
Her lips trembled before she spoke again.
And when she did, her voice broke like glass.
It’s not just that.
He’s found us.
Jade blinked.
What? Her mind scrambled to make sense of the words, but they didn’t fit anywhere.
He’s found us.
Who? Laurel looked at her as though she were seeing her for the first time.
When did you start hearing voices? The question hit like a physical blow.
The air left Jade’s lungs.
How could she possibly know that? Her throat went dry.
How do you How do you know about that? She whispered.
Laurel’s hands fell away.
For a moment, her expressions softened, then hardened again, resolve setting into her features like stone.
“Because I’ve been waiting for this day, right from the day you were born,” she said quietly, hoping and praying it would never come.
Jade’s stomach dropped.
Mom, it’s okay, Jade.
Laurel reached for her again, her voice low, but urgent.
Well explain everything, but right now, we need to leave.
He’s closer than we thought.
He The word hung in the air like smoke, thick and choking.
At that exact moment, Jade noticed it.
The shift in the room behind her, the scraping of shoes, the sudden stillness.
When she turned, her heart nearly stopped.
Every one of her brothers had frozen mid-motion.
John still held a stack of papers.
Jack’s hand lingered on the edge of the desk.
Jordan stood in the kitchen doorway, a can halfway to the basket.
Jeffrey and Jackson had stopped in their tracks by the stairs.
Their eyes, all of them, were on her, not on the house, not on the chaos.
On her.
It wasn’t just concern she saw there.
It was something deeper.
A mixture of fear and knowledge.
They knew something.
Something she didn’t.
And for the first time in her life, Jade felt it, the crack in her reality.
The faint pull of something cold stirring beneath her skin.
The house shuddered once more, dust falling from the ceiling.
But this time, it wasn’t the quake that made her tremble.
It was the truth closing in step by step.
Chapter 13.
Unmasked.
I felt like the ground had vanished beneath me.
Why are you all looking at me like that? The words came out barely above a whisper, but they cut through the air like a blade.
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with tension, secrets, and fear.
It was the kind of silence that made your heartbeat sound too loud, too human.
No one answered.
Not John, who was always the calm one.
Not Jeffrey, who never knew how to hold his tongue.
Not even Jack, who usually met every crisis with a sarcastic remark to lighten the air.
Instead, they just stared.
Their gazes were locked on me as though they were looking at something unfamiliar, something dangerous.
My pulse pounded so loudly, it drowned out the chaos outside for a moment.
Laurel straightened slowly, the air around her shifting from panic to command.
There was something about her tone when she finally spoke, steady, sharp, and threaded with authority.
It wasn’t just a mother’s voice anymore.
It was the voice of someone who had seen this before.
Ru, she said, her eyes never leaving mine.
Don’t let her out of your sight.
The weight of her words hit harder than the tremors beneath our feet.
Ru didn’t even hesitate.
He stepped closer until I could feel the warmth of his skin brushing mine.
His presence was grounding, his breathing steady.
Even as the world trembled around us, I could see the faint sheen of sweat on his temple, the tension in his jaw, the golden flicker that threatened to break through his eyes.
Then, as if the earth itself had been waiting for that command, another tremor struck, violent, angry, primal, the entire house convulsed.
The floor shuddered so fiercely that I nearly lost my balance, stumbling into Ru’s chest.
He caught me instantly, pulling me close as dust and splinters rained from above.
The ceiling cracked, spiderwebs of fractures racing across the plaster.
Bits of debris fell around us like heavy snowflakes.
Each thud a reminder that the house, our home, wasn’t going to last much longer.
“Move!” Jeffrey shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.
“Everyone out now.
” The order snapped everyone into motion.
It was chaos, but purposeful chaos.
Jack and Jon grabbed the final boxes from the living room, their movements swift and precise like they had trained for this.
Jordan sprinted past with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, shouting something I couldn’t hear over the rumble of the collapsing world.
The air inside was filled with the sounds of hurried footsteps, slamming doors, and breaking glass.
My heart raced as I followed Laurel down the hall.
The familiar rooms of our childhood flashing by like fragments of a fading dream.
Family portraits tilted on cracked walls.
A toppled vase spilling dried flowers.
The faint smell of home buried beneath dust and fear.
Laurel reached the threshold of her bedroom and suddenly froze.
A small wooden box had spilled open at her feet.
Its contents, a scattering of old photographs, spilled across the floor like pieces of our past, trying to cling to her before she left.
I recognized some of them even through the dust.
Me at 2 years old with chocolates smeared across my cheeks.
Jeffrey holding Jack on his shoulders at the beach.
Mom and dad smiling before everything went wrong.
For a brief moment, she knelt, hands trembling as she gathered them one by one.
Her fingers brushed over each image as though memorizing the faces, the smiles, the fragments of a life that was already slipping away.
Then the air changed.
It was so subtle at first that I thought it was just my imagination, the faint hum beneath the noise of destruction.
But it grew low and electric like static building before a lightning strike.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
A cold wind began to snake its way through the broken windows, sharp and unnatural.
The curtains fluttered violently.
The very atmosphere seemed to tighten, pressing down on us.
Laurel’s head snapped up.
Her eyes widened, the color draining from her face.
He’s here.
The words were soft, almost lost beneath the rising roar outside.
But the way she said them, the finality, the terror, made every muscle in my body go rigid.
“Mom, what do you mean?” I stammered, my voice trembling as I took a step toward her.
She didn’t answer right away.
Her gaze flicked toward the front window where the sky had turned the color of bruised metal.
The hum grew louder, like the world itself was vibrating in anticipation.
And then, without warning, the heavens split apart.
A roar ripped through the air, deafening and raw.
The cloud spiraled violently, twisting into a monstrous cyclone that clawed across the horizon.
The storm wasn’t natural.
It moved with intent, its edges glowing faintly with flickers of crimson light.
It swallowed buildings whole, sending debris spinning into the air like toys.
Trees were uprooted, cars flung aside as though the earth itself was being rewritten.
The wind slammed against the house with a force that rattled the walls.
Windows shattered inward, glass spraying across the floor.
I threw up an arm to shield my face as Ru pulled me backward, his arm wrapping protectively around my shoulders.
The air was alive with noise, the deep rumble of thunder, the shriek of the wind, the cracking of wood and concrete.
Laurel’s voice rose over it all, sharp and shaking.
He’s here,” she repeated, dropping the wooden box as though it burned her hands.
The photographs flew from her fingers, scattering across the floor, faces of the past swept away by the wind.
The room dimmed as clouds rolled overhead, turning day into night.
For a moment, everything seemed to slow.
The papers caught midair, the photos spinning like falling leaves, the flicker of the storm reflected in my mother’s tearlazed eyes.
And in that suspended breath of time, I understood something without her saying a word.
This wasn’t just an earthquake.
It wasn’t just a storm.
This was a reckoning.
The kind that hunted you through generations.
The kind that didn’t stop until it found what it was looking for.
Laurel took a trembling step back, her voice breaking as she turned to the others.
Get to the cars now.
Her words snapped through the panic like a whip.
My brother sprang into motion again, grabbing what they could, pulling the door open against the raging wind, but I couldn’t move.
My feet felt rooted to the floor.
My mind caught between disbelief and dread.
Ru’s hand gripped mine tightly, grounding me again.
Jade,” he said firmly, his voice deep and steady despite the chaos.
“We have to go.
” Outside, the typhoon’s howl became a scream, and for the first time, I swore I could hear something inside it.
A voice, distant, distorted, and calling my name.
The walls groaned as the storm drew closer, tearing through everything in its path.
Rue tugged me toward the door.
“Jade!” But I couldn’t stop hearing it, that voice.
low, echoing, and familiar in a way that made my blood run cold.
“He’s found us.
” Mom’s words echoed in my head as I finally stumbled forward, the house shaking behind us.
And as we ran toward the door, the storm roared again, an ancient, inhuman sound that seemed to call only for me.
The photographs behind us danced in the wind, faces blurring, memories scattering into oblivion.
It was the end of one world and the beginning of another.
Chapter 14.
Fright or flight.
Everyone get in the car, Jeffrey shouted, his voice cut through the storm like a blade, sharp and commanding, filled with urgency that left no room for hesitation.
We didn’t need to be told twice.
Rus hand found mine in the chaos, warm, rough, and unyielding.
He pulled me forward as shards of debris and dust whipped violently through the air.
The wind roared so fiercely it felt alive, like some monstrous thing breathing down our necks.
The moment we stepped outside, the world was unrecognizable.
What had once been our quiet street lined with trimmed hedges, kids bikes, and blooming jackaranda trees was now a nightmare of destruction.
Trees lay uprooted, their roots jutting out like bones from torn earth.
Cars were overturned, windows shattered, alarms blaring through the storm’s roar.
The sky had turned a violent shade of gray, veins of lightning slicing through it in brilliant flashes.
Every time the light cracked, I saw glimpses of the devastation, the houses caving in, the street ripped apart by fissures that glowed faintly with heat from the earth’s core.
Ru gripped my hand tighter as the wind howled.
“Stay close!” he shouted, though his voice was nearly drowned out by the chaos.
We sprinted toward the cars, our feet pounding over shattered pavement, ducking and weaving as chunks of debris rained down.
A section of the roof from our neighbors house tore free, crashing onto the ground just a few feet from us with an explosive boom.
Splinters of wood flew everywhere.
I gasped and stumbled back, but Rus arm came around me instantly, shielding me, his body a wall of protection.
The air was thick with smoke and rain.
Dust burned my eyes.
I could barely see a few feet ahead.
My hair whipping into my face as I fought to breathe.
Every inhale tasted of ash and metal.
Ru and jade in the first car with mom.
Jeffrey shouted over the storm.
Jack Jordan third.
John with me.
Jackson take the RV.
His voice carried authority.
practiced, precise, as if he had rehearsed this evacuation in his head a hundred times.
It wasn’t panic I heard in him.
It was command, a strange kind of control born from knowing exactly what we were running from.
Doors slammed, engines sputtered to life one by one.
Their rumble drowned beneath the storm’s fury.
Ru guided me through the mess, one hand at my back as we fought against the wind.
I could feel his muscles tense every time lightning struck too close.
For a split second, his golden eyes flared beneath the dim light, not entirely human, before he blinked it away.
We reached the first car with Mom.
I stumbled into the passenger seat beside Mom, breathless and trembling.
My heart was still racing so hard I thought it might burst.
Ru climbed in after me, his hair soaked, his shirt clinging to his chest, stre with mud and ash.
behind us.
The others piled into the remaining vehicles, their faces grim, pale, and focused.
Everyone ready? Jeffrey’s voice came through the radio mounted on the dashboard, steady, authoritative.
Laurel pressed a trembling hand to the receiver.
Go.
And then, with a deep growl of engines, the caravan began to move.
The tires crunched over broken asphalt as the line of vehicles surged forward, headlights cutting through the smoky haze.
The ground trembled again, cracks splintering under us, but the cars held their course, weaving through the wreckage.
I turned in my seat, looking back through the rain streaked window.
Our home, the only place I had ever known, was falling apart.
The once white walls of our house were cracked and bleeding dust.
The porch had collapsed in on itself.
The garden fence was gone.
The roof, the roof that Dad had built himself when I was little, caved inward with a loud, hollow groan.
It was like watching a memory die in real time.
The world that had raised me, sheltered me, loved me, was breaking apart piece by piece.
And then silence.
The earthquake stopped as suddenly as it had started.
The shaking faded, the roaring lessened, and what remained was a hollow, haunting stillness.
The town was gone, where there had once been life.
Streets bustling with people, laughter echoing between buildings.
There was now only ruin.
Smoke curled up from the rubble and small fires flickered in the distance like dying stars.
No one spoke, not a word.
The only sound was the soft rhythm of the tires crunching over fractured ground, the hum of the engines, and the occasional crack of collapsing debris far behind us.
I stared out the window, numb.
My reflection in the glass looked like a strangers, pale, holloweyed, smeared with dust and fear.
Mom.
My voice came out horsearo, breaking the silence.
What did you mean by he’s found us? The question hung in the air like a ghost.
Laurel didn’t answer right away.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
Her eyes fixed on the road ahead were distant, not with shock, but with something deeper, unknowing.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, then closed again.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she said quietly, almost to herself.
You’ll understand soon, Jade.
Understand what? I pressed, but my voice trembled.
She exhaled shakily, her gaze never leaving the endless road.
“We’re going to your father.
” The words didn’t register at first.
It was as if my brain refused to understand them.
“My my father,” I whispered, the words strange on my tongue.
“Yes, just that one word, final, certain.
” My chest tightened painfully.
my father.
The man who was nothing more than a fading photograph in a cracked frame.
The man whose name no one dared to say out loud for years.
The man mom refused to talk about.
Not even when I asked as a child.
Not even when I cried for answers.
He had always been a mystery wrapped in silence.
And now we were going to him.
Outside the world blurred past.
the broken remnants of buildings, flashes of fire light, twisted metal, roads torn in two.
It all felt surreal, like driving through the ruins of someone else’s nightmare.
I turned back toward mom, voice, trembling.
Why now? She didn’t look at me, didn’t even blink.
Her fingers tightened on the wheel until I could see the tremor in her hands.
Ru, sitting quietly beside me, glanced at her through the rainotted windshield, his jaw tightening as if he already knew the answer she refused to say.
The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
I stared at her profile, the faint streaks of gray in her hair, the determined line of her jaw, the exhaustion in her eyes.
She wasn’t just driving, she was running, not from the destruction, but from something far older.
And I could feel it now.
That unseen presence, that name she hadn’t spoken, but I could feel deep in my bones.
The storm outside was fading, but something darker was coming.
My chest achd with questions I couldn’t form.
My throat burned with the weight of them, but she stayed silent.
The only sound was the rhythmic hum of the road beneath us, carrying us away from everything we had ever known.
Outside the window, the town that had been my entire world for 19 years faded into the distance, broken, shattered, swallowed by smoke.
And beyond that horizon, somewhere out there, was a man I had never met, and a sister, Jenna.
The name drifted through my mind like a whisper, one I’d heard only a handful of times, always cloaked in sorrow.
Who was she? Why had mom’s voice always cracked when she said her name? The questions built in my chest like thunderclouds.
But deep down, beneath the fear, beneath the confusion, something else stirred.
Something that made my heart beat faster.
A sense of inevitability.
As if my entire life had been leading to this.
As if everything, the dreams, the whispers, the shadows that moved just beyond sight had been guiding me toward this road, this moment, this truth.
I looked out at the broken skyline one last time, at the faint glow of fires flickering where homes used to be and felt tears sting my eyes.
Somehow I knew this wasn’t just a reunion.
This was a reckoning.
The beginning of answers that would change everything.
The beginning of the truth about my father, about Jenna, and about him.
The one who had found me.
Chapter 15.
The road to Salazar.
The hum of the engine filled the car as we traveled down the lonely highway.
It was a steady, low vibration that pulsed beneath the seats and through my bones, like the slow beating of a weary heart.
The night outside was endless, an unbroken stretch of darkness that seemed to swallow everything we passed.
The town lights had long vanished behind us, consumed by the horizon, leaving nothing but the glow of the headlights cutting faint paths through the black.
The stars above shimmerred with cruel beauty, sharp and cold, scattered like shards of glass across the velvet night.
Every so often, a faint ribbon of mist drifted across the road, curling in the beams of light before vanishing into the trees.
Inside the car, it was quieter than it had ever been.
No one spoke.
No one even dared to clear their throat.
The only sounds were the soft wor of the wheels against the asphalt and the occasional creek of the suspension whenever we hit a bump.
The tension was heavy, almost suffocating, a fragile silence that could shatter with a single word.
I sat by the window, my knees drawn up slightly, watching my own reflection flicker against the glass.
Every time we passed under a street light, my reflection flashed back at me.
pale skin, shadowed eyes, and the faint streaks of grime still smeared across my cheek from the chaos we’d escaped.
I didn’t look like myself anymore.
I looked like a ghost, hollow, uncertain, lost.
My fingers toyed with the hem of my sleeve, restless.
My mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
It kept circling back like a moth drawn hopelessly toward flame, to everything we’d left behind.
The memories replayed in fragments.
the deafening roar of the collapsing town.
The cries of people trapped in rubble.
The flash of red emergency lights cutting through clouds of dust.
And through it all, one thought nod at me like something alive and cruel.
It was because of me.
If something, someone had truly been after me, then all that destruction, all that pain, every life lost in those fires and quakes, it had been my fault.
The thought burned through me.
I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, breathing slowly, trying to calm the trembling in my hands.
The air in the car felt too thick.
Every breath hurt.
Maybe that’s why my brothers had barely spoken to me since we left.
Their gazes lingered just long enough to make me feel their distance.
Jordan hadn’t cracked a single joke.
Jack, usually the loudest, sat silently behind the wheel of the second vehicle ahead, following Jeffrey’s lead.
Jon had kept his earphones in, eyes distant.
Even Jackson, the calm one, the one who always had something reassuring to say, “Couldn’t he meet my eyes for long?” The silence between us, had taken on a life of its own.
It grew thicker the farther we drove, pressing down on us until even the sound of the tires rolling over the cracked road seemed deafening.
Maybe I was cursed.
The thought came unbidden.
A whisper in my mind made my throat tighten.
It sounded ridiculous, something out of an old story.
But the way mom had looked at me before we left, the mixture of fear and sorrow in her eyes, made me wonder.
Outside the trees loomed like tall, dark sentinels watching our slow procession.
Their branches arched over the road, interlocking like fingers, forming tunnels of shadow that the headlights barely pierced.
I tried to focus on them, on their rhythm, the blur of bark and leaves as we passed, anything to keep my thoughts from unraveling completely.
The car’s interior lights were dimmed, casting everything in soft amber.
Mom was still behind the wheel.
Her eyes forward, the glow from the dashboard painting her face in hues of blue and green.
The lines around her mouth were deeper now, carved by exhaustion and worry.
Every so often, her hand would tighten on the steering wheel as though she was fighting the urge to turn back, to go home.
But there was no home to go back to anymore.
Jeffrey’s car led the way, his tail lights a faint red glow through the mist ahead.
The RV followed close behind.
Jackson’s silhouette occasionally visible through the wide windshield.
It was strange how calm everything looked from the outside, as though we were just another family on a late night drive, not fugitives running from something unseen and dangerous.
I didn’t even notice when Ru’s large frame shifted beside me until the weight of him suddenly pressed lightly against my shoulder.
I turned.
He had fallen asleep.
The sight of him caught me off guard.
Ru, always alert, always guarded, was slumped slightly forward, his head tilted toward me.
His dark hair fell over his forehead, the ends brushing my arm.
His breathing was slow and steady, his chest rising and falling beneath the worn shirt that clung to him.
For a moment, I just stared.
He looked different in sleep, softer, almost peaceful.
The sharpness in his jaw eased, and the everpresent tension in his features melted away.
Even in the faint light of the car, I could see the streaks of dirt across his cheek.
The faint scratch near his collarbone from when he’d shielded me from debris.
A strange calm settled over me.
I should have been exhausted.
My body achd from running.
My eyes burned from stress.
But something about his presence grounded me.
He saved me.
The scent of him, warm, earthy, faintly like pine, filled the air around us.
It was the only thing that felt real in the blur of everything else.
I dared not move, afraid of waking him, but at the same time, I couldn’t look away.
His hand rested loosely against his knee, calloused and scarred in small places from training.
His hair shifted slightly as the car bounced over a bump, and I instinctively steadied him, my fingers brushing his arm.
His skin was warm.
For a moment, time felt suspended.
Like the world outside didn’t exist.
Like the storm, the destruction, the fear.
All of it had been swallowed by this small, fragile moment of peace.
But the peace didn’t last long.
A sudden gust of wind slammed against the side of the car, jolting us.
Laurel gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles pale.
The tires hissed as we swerved slightly before she steadied the vehicle again.
Ru stirred but didn’t wake.
His brow furrowed for a moment as though something dark haunted his dreams.
I swallowed hard, turning back to the window.
The forest outside had grown denser.
The road twisted now, narrower.
The headlights cutting through the mist like blades.
In the distance, faint outlines of mountains rose against the star-l sky.
Salazar.
That’s where we were heading.
A place I barely remembered from childhood.
Small coastal town, quiet, remote.
Dad’s hometown.
A chill crept through me.
The last time I’d heard the name, Mom’s voice had been trembling.
I was eight.
I remembered the map she tore in half.
The arguments behind closed doors.
The promise that we’d never go back.
And yet, here we were.
The road curved sharply, the sign flashing past.
Welcome to Salazar County.
47 mi.
The letters were faded, bullet holes dotting the edges.
Beneath someone had scrolled in red paint.
Turn back.
I blinked, unsure if I’d imagined it.
Laurel didn’t react.
Either she hadn’t seen it or she didn’t care.
Her gaze was locked on the dark road ahead.
Her jaw set tight.
The silence stretched once more, heavy and thick.
I turned my head again toward Ru, who was still asleep beside me.
His breathing remained steady, but his hand had curled into a loose fist.
I wondered what he dreamed about.
Did he dream of the same things that haunted me, the screams, the light, the destruction? Or did he dream of something simpler, peaceful, something that didn’t hurt to remember? I wanted to ask him.
I wanted to wake him, to hear his voice cut through the quiet, to remind myself that I wasn’t alone in this.
But I didn’t.
I just sat there staring out the window, my reflection merging with the darkness outside.
The car continued down the winding road, the stars overhead cold and distant, the air growing heavier the closer we got to Salazar.
Chapter 16, a fragile dawn.
His breath was steady, soft, the warmth of it brushing my skin like the gentlest whisper.
It carried the faintest trace of salt and smoke, a reminder of the fire and dust that had filled the air not long ago.
His hair was messy, falling in dark, uneven strands across his forehead, some clinging faintly from dried sweat.
Even in the faint orange wash of the dashboard light, I could see how calm he looked.
So unlike the chaos that still lived and raged inside my mind, probably exhausted, I thought after everything, the memory of him darting through the streets during the quake replayed in flashes, the tremor that split the ground beneath our feet, the scream of metal and stone collapsing around us, and him, Ru, sprinting into the danger without a thought for himself.
He had grabbed my arm, shielding me from the shower of falling debris.
He had transformed and had me ride his fur back without hesitation and had navigated the town like he was born there.
His eyes had burned with determination, jaw tight as he guided the others through the smoke.
And now here he was, asleep, breathing softly beside me, head resting against my shoulder like the weight of a promise I didn’t deserve.
My lips pressed into a thin line.
He didn’t deserve any of this.
None of them did.
I adjusted my smaller frame to accommodate his, inching slightly toward the window so he could rest more comfortably against me.
The car was still moving, humming softly along the cracked road, but I could feel his weight settle completely now.
Heavy, warm, solid.
The closeness was strange at first, unfamiliar and intimate in a way I hadn’t expected, but it was comforting, too.
Grounding, even.
His warmth seeped through the thin fabric of my shirt, and the steady rhythm of his breathing became an anchor in the storm that still churned inside me.
For the first time since we fled, I felt something close to it wasn’t just an earthquake.
His arm twitched slightly, a small involuntary movement.
Then, still half asleep, he shifted again, sighing deeply.
His arm slid across me, and before I could even process it, he’d wrapped it around my waist, pulling me closer.
His face nuzzled lightly against my shoulder, his breath fanning across my neck as he murmured something unintelligible under his breath.
The kind of sound someone makes when the line between dream and waking blurs.
A sleepy sigh escaped him as he nestled into me before sinking fully back into slumber.
For a long moment, I didn’t know what to do.
My heart was hammering, my muscles locked between the instinct to pull away and the quiet ache that begged me to stay still.
His arm around me felt protective, not restraining, not intrusive, just safe.
It was strange how easily he could sleep given everything.
How effortlessly he could find peace even for a few hours when my own mind was a battlefield of guilt and noise.
I envied him for it.
I looked down at him, at the faint shadows beneath his eyes, at the way his lashes trembled as though chasing something in a dream.
His jaw was covered with the faintest hint of stubble, a detail I’d never noticed before.
And his lips were parted slightly, his expression almost boyish in sleep.
Something inside me softened.
The guilt that had been sitting like a stone in my chest began to thaw slowly, quietly as his warmth seeped deeper into me.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t dare.
The moment was fragile, and somehow I knew that if I even breathed too loudly, it might shatter.
From the driver’s seat, Mom caught sight of us through the rear view mirror.
Her eyes flicked up briefly, meeting mine.
For a heartbeat, I froze, half expecting a teasing comment or a raised brow.
But instead, a faint smirk curved her lips.
Small, tired, but real.
She didn’t say a word, just looked for a second longer.
something almost knowing in her gaze before turning back to the road.
At least, she gave me an expression.
Something, anything.
It was more than I’d gotten in days.
A small flicker of relief passed through me.
Fragile, but enough to loosen the tightness in my chest.
The silence inside the car no longer felt as sharp, no longer as suffocating.
It had mellowed into something gentler, the kind of quiet that settles between people who have said too much, who understand each other without words.
Hours dragged by.
The night deepened.
Outside, the world had turned into an ocean of darkness, broken only by the faint gleam of moonlight over the treetops.
The road stretched endlessly before us, winding and narrow, bordered by walls of pine and mist that swayed with the movement of the wind.
Every so often, a wild animals eyes would flash in the headlights, bright pin pricks of reflection that vanished as quickly as they appeared.
Inside, Laurel had started humming softly under her breath.
It was an old tune, one I vaguely remembered from our childhood, something she used to sing when we were scared during storms or couldn’t sleep during the long summers at grandma’s house.
Her voice was soft and low, barely above a whisper, but it carried through the car like a thin thread of light weaving through the darkness.
Jackson and Jordan were sprawled in the back seats of the RV, both half asleep.
Jackson’s head had tilted awkwardly against the window.
his mouth slightly open while Jordan had a blanket pulled up to his chin, one arm dangling off the edge of the seat with Jake driving steadily.
Their breathing was uneven, the kind of deep half-conscious rhythm that comes from exhaustion rather than peace.
John, on the other hand, was still awake, at least halfway.
His eyes were half-litted, his gaze fixed on the blur of the road ahead.
His fingers drumed lazily against his thigh, a slow, aimless rhythm that matched the engine’s hum.
Every now and then, he’d glanced toward Mom in the driver’s seat, as if checking that she was still awake, still steady.
The faint smell of old leather and smoke hung in the air.
The windows had fogged slightly from all the breath inside, softening the edges of everything, making the interior feel small and cocooned.
The car felt like its own world, a drifting capsule moving through the night, carrying all our fears, memories, and silence together.
By the time Jeffrey finally slowed the second car to a stop, the sky outside had shifted.
The blackness of night had begun to soften into a deep indigo stre with pale threads of silver and pink.
Dawn was coming, quiet and uncertain, painting the clouds with color.
The cars rolled to a gentle halt beside a clearing that opened up to the side of the road.
The headlights illuminated tall grass heavy with dew and the dark outline of trees that stood like quiet sentinels.
The air that rushed in when mom cracked her window was cold and sharp, and beneath it was something else, the faint tang of salt.
The ocean was close.
It was faint but unmistakable.
That scent of salt and wet earth that lingered in the breeze.
Somewhere ahead, beyond the hills and the fog, lay the sea that bordered Salazar.
The realization sent a strange shiver through me.
We were getting closer.
Mom stirred first, rubbing her temples.
Let’s rest for a bit, she murmured, her voice rough with fatigue.
Well continue after sunrise.
Jeffrey nodded, parking the cars more securely before cutting their engines.
The sudden silence that followed was deafening.
No hum, no vibration, just the sound of wind moving through the trees and the distant calls of unseen birds greeting the coming morning.
Jeffrey nodded, parking the cars more securely before cutting their engines.
The sudden silence that followed was deafening.
No hum, no vibration, just the sound of wind moving through the trees and the distant calls of unseen birds greeting the coming morning.
We climbed out slowly, stretching our stiff limbs.
The cold bit at my skin immediately, chasing away any trace of sleepiness.
The grass was wet beneath my shoes, glistening faintly under the first fragile light of dawn.
Ru stirred last.
I felt him shift against me, then heard a small groan as he blinked awake.
His arm fell away from me, and for a brief moment, his eyes met mine.
Still groggy, he blinked again, confusion flickering across his face as he realized how close we were sitting.
I turned my gaze quickly, pretending to fuss with my jacket zipper.
He didn’t say anything, just stretched, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
The corner of his mouth twitched as if he almost wanted to smile.
Jeffree stepped out of the driver’s seat, inhaling deeply, his breath forming a faint mist in the cool air.
“We’ll set up here for a bit,” he said, his voice low.
“No fires, just quick rest.
” And so we did.
We set up a small camp beside the RV, just enough to rest our legs and breathe for a while.
The clearing was quiet, save for the occasional whisper of wind rustling through the tall grass.
The early light painted everything in shades of soft gold and blue.
And for the first time since the chaos began, the world looked almost peaceful again.
I sat a few feet away from the cars, wrapping my arms around my knees as I watched the sky brighten.
The faint silhouette of Ru moved nearby, helping Jackson pull out supplies.
His movements were slower now, but there was a steadiness in them, a quiet strength that made the knot in my chest loosen just a little more.
Chapter 17.
The weight of ashes.
John, ever the organized one, moved with a kind of quiet purpose that grounded everyone else.
His motions were neat, practiced, the product of countless camping trips and emergencies that he’d always somehow been prepared for.
He crouched beside the open trunk, his sleeves rolled up and began pulling out the portable gas stove, and a stack of vacuum sealed instant meals.
Metal clinkedked softly against metal, and soon the faint hiss of gas filled the still morning air.
The first flicker of flame came alive, casting a warm orange glow against the pale blue of dawn.
Within minutes, the comforting smell of creamy macaroni and cheese began to spread through the clearing.
Thick, rich, almost unreal against the backdrop of wet grass and the faint tang of salt from the unseen sea.
The scent curled through the crisp air, stirring something almost human again in all of us.
Hunger, memory, warmth.
My stomach growled loud enough to make Jordan glance back with an amused grin as he stirred a dented metal pot over another small burner.
He’d found packets of instant cocoa somewhere in our supplies and was busy brewing hot chocolate.
Steam curled upward in soft white ribbons, disappearing into the chill.
He whistled under his breath as he worked, a quiet, nostalgic tune that I couldn’t quite place, but that somehow made the scene feel softer, safer.
The rhythmic sound of the spoon tapping the pot.
The soft whistle.
The gentle bubbling of water.
All of it mixed together in a fragile symphony of normaly.
And for a moment it almost felt like we were just a family on a trip again.
Beside me.
Ru stirred.
His body shifted slightly and he let out a low groan.
The sound of someone caught between sleep and waking.
His lashes fluttered, his eyes heavy and unfocused at first.
Then slowly his gaze sharpened, landing on me.
He blinked once, then again, his lips curving into that lazy half smile I’d dee known since we were kids.
The kind that always seemed to melt tension no matter how bad things were.
“You didn’t move,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, still thick with sleep.
The words caught me off guard.
For a heartbeat, I didn’t know how to respond.
His tone wasn’t accusing.
It was soft, almost grateful, the kind of quiet acknowledgement that carried more weight than it seemed to.
“You looked comfortable,” I said softly, turning my gaze away toward the fire.
He huffed a small laugh, rubbing a hand over his face.
“You’re too nice,” he muttered, though there was a gentleness in his tone that undercut the words.
A moment later, he got up, stretching until his joints popped, then wandered toward the supplies where Jon had stacked the blankets.
He rummaged through them with practiced ease, pulling out a thick gray one that looked wellused and faintly smelled of cedar.
When he came back, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t even ask.
He just sat beside me again, close enough that our shoulders brushed and threw the blanket over both of us in one smooth motion.
I froze for a second, feeling the sudden rush of warmth from the shared cover, his presence solid beside me.
Then I felt it, the weight of eyes.
Even before I looked up, I could sense them, my brothers.
Their stairs burned like quiet embers through the space between us.
Not cruel exactly, but sharp, watchful, unreadable.
Jackson’s especially.
He was sitting on an overturned crate near the fire, his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on us with that steady, evaluating look that always made my stomach twist.
But this time, Ru didn’t move.
He stayed exactly where he was, relaxed, calm.
The blanket draped loosely over both of us, as if daring anyone to question it.
And maybe that was what struck me most.
Not the closeness itself, but the quiet defiance of it.
After everything, after the suspicion, the chaos, the fear, he wasn’t stepping away.
He stayed.
We sat there in silence, sharing warmth beneath the heavy blanket.
The air smelled of smoke and melted cheese.
That thick nostalgic scent that shouldn’t have meant so much, but did.
The kind of scent that reminded me of late nights at home, laughter echoing down hallways, the faint hum of old cartoons playing somewhere in the background, a world that no longer existed.
Now that same smell felt foreign, almost intrusive, like a memory trying to sneak its way back into a life it didn’t belong to anymore.
Laurel sat near the fire, her hands folded in her lap, staring into the flames.
The light painted her face in flickering shades of gold and shadow.
She had that far away look again, the one she always got when she was deep in thought, carrying some secret too heavy to share.
Her lips moved faintly as though she were whispering to herself, but no words came out.
I watched her for a moment, trying to read her expression.
There was something fragile in the way her shoulders curved forward, something weary in the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve.
Whatever she was thinking, it was eating her alive from the inside.
And then, suddenly, breaking the quiet, Jeffrey stood up.
The movement was abrupt enough to make everyone glance his way.
He brushed his palms against his jeans, then walked toward me, his boots crunching softly against the gravel.
The fire light caught in his eyes, turning them a deep amber.
He crouched down in front of me, his face open, calm, the kind of expression that made you want to believe him even before he spoke.
“Don’t worry, Jade,” he said quietly, his voice barely above the crackle of the fire.
We’re not mad at you.
I blinked, startled.
He hesitated, his gaze steady on mine.
We just feel bad for you.
The words landed like a strange echo in the clearing.
Soft, almost kind, but carrying a weight that made my chest ache.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
The fire hissed as a drop of dew hit the coals.
The faint crash of waves far away broke the silence.
a ghost of the sea whispering through the distance.
Then, from across the fire, Jackson moved.
He’d been sitting perfectly still until that moment, his face half shadowed by the flames.
But now, he straightened sharply, his expression hard.
The reflection of the fire danced in his eyes, turning them into shards of molten glass.
“Feel bad for her,” he said, his tone razor sharp, slicing through the calm like a blade.
Jeffrey turned slightly, frowning.
Jackson, but he didn’t stop.
He pushed himself up abruptly, the crate he’d been sitting on toppling behind him with a dull thud.
Feel bad for her? He repeated, his voice rising.
“How about the fact that he destroyed an entire town because of her?” The words slammed into the air like thunder.
Silence fell instantly.
The kind of silence that burns, thick, electric, suffocating.
The kind that makes every breath feel too loud.
The fire crackled.
Somewhere an owl hooted in the trees.
But around us, time seemed to stop.
I felt the color drain from my face.
My lips parted, but no words came out.
My throat tightened, a lump forming there that refused to go down.
Rus hand hidden beneath a blanket flexed slightly.
Not enough to draw attention, just enough for me to feel the faint pressure of his fingers brushing mine.
Laurel finally looked up from the fire.
Her expression was unreadable, a mask of calm that barely concealed the storm behind her eyes.
“Jackson,” she said softly.
“But he wasn’t done.
He took a step closer, his jaw tight, his voice trembling with something roar than anger.
You saw what happened, didn’t you? The ground split open.
The sky tore itself apart.
“You think that’s coincidence, Jackson?” Laurel repeated firmer now.
He shook his head, eyes blazing.
“No, Mom.
It’s not coincidence.
It’s him.
It’s always been him.
And he found us because of her.
” The last word hit me like a blow.
Her.
Me.
I wanted to say something, anything, but my tongue felt heavy.
My mind blank.
The guilt I’d tried to bury since the town fell came rushing back like a tide, drowning me all over again.
Ru straightened beside me, his voice quiet but edged with steel.
That’s enough.
Jackson turned on him, glaring.
You think you can protect her from this, Ru? From him? Rus eyes darkened.
Watch your mouth.
Jackson laughed bitterly.
But there was no humor in it.
Just exhaustion and fury wound too tight.
You don’t get it.
None of you do.
This isn’t just about her.
This is about what she is.
Everyone froze.
Even the fire seemed to hold its breath.
And for a long unbearable moment, the only sound was the low, steady roll of the ocean somewhere far beyond the trees, a reminder of how small we were, how fragile everything had become.
The air was heavy with things unsaid.
With truth that was no longer avoidable, and though no one spoke, we all knew it.
The fragile quiet that had carried us through the night was over.
The real storm was only beginning.
Chapter 18.
Wonder.
He didn’t wait for a reply.
He just turned and stormed off toward his tent.
Shoulders rigid, anger radiating from every movement.
The sound of his boots crunching over gravel was sharp in the quiet clearing, echoing louder than it should have.
The flames flickered in response to the sudden gust of cold air he stirred up, sending sparks upward like restless fireflies.
“Don’t mind him, sis.
He’s just stressed out and probably scared,” Jordan said softly, breaking the tense silence.
He was crouched near the fire, his face illuminated by its orange glow, shadows dancing across his tired features.
His usual easy smile was subdued tonight, his eyes softer.
He reached for one of the mugs beside the portable stove and handed it to me, careful not to spill.
Here, he murmured.
Hot chocolate.
You look like you need it.
I hesitated before taking it.
The metal cup was warm against my cold fingers.
The heat seeping through my skin, grounding me in the moment.
My hands trembled slightly as I lifted it to my lips.
The faint scent of cocoa and sugar filling the space between us.
The first sip burned slightly, but the taste, sweet and rich, was oddly comforting.
The warmth spread down my throat and into my chest, a temporary illusion of calm.
But no amount of warmth could thaw the guilt that sat heavily in my stomach.
It was there, a constant ache, like something coiled and alive, refusing to let me forget.
Why was this happening? Why me? The questions came again, swirling in my head like a storm I couldn’t escape.
Each time I thought I’d reached the answer, it slipped away, leaving me emptier than before.
I stared into the flames, trying to lose myself in their movement.
The way they danced and flickered, always shifting, always alive.
Around us, the camp had fallen into an uneasy quiet.
Laurel had retreated into her own thoughts, her eyes fixed on the fire, the reflection of it turning her irises to molten amber.
Jeffrey was sitting near the cars, head tilted back as he stared up at the night sky.
From time to time, his jaw tensed as if he was thinking too much.
Jackson’s tent rustled in the distance, fabric shifting with every frustrated movement inside.
I didn’t need to see his face to know his mind was far from rest.
The wind picked up slightly, sweeping through the clearing.
The fire hissed, embers glowing faintly as the air carried the scent of salt from the ocean somewhere beyond the dark treeine.
It was a lonely sound, that wind, soft but endless, brushing against the tents and leaves like a whisper.
When it was finally time to sleep, the air had turned colder and the moon had begun its slow climb above the horizon.
It hung there, pale and full, casting faint silver light across the clearing.
Shadows stretched and shifted, merging with the dark.
Ru was the last to stir from the fire.
He stood up, brushing ash and dirt from his palms, his gaze flicking briefly toward me.
For a moment, he seemed uncertain, his brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly as if to speak.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he took a hesitant step forward, voice low and rough with fatigue.
I’ll I’ll share your tent tonight, just in case.
His tone carried quiet worry, not assumption.
The same worry that had always been there ever since we were kids.
when I used to scrape my knees or get into trouble.
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, Laurel’s voice cut through the quiet.
“She’ll be fine, Ru,” she said firmly.
Her tone didn’t rise, but it carried an edge that made even Ru stop.
She was sitting cross-legged near her sleeping bag, her hair a mess of dark waves, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion lining them.
She’ll be fine with me, she repeated slower this time.
You’re sleeping with Jack tonight.
Ru hesitated.
His eyes darted from her to me, lingering just a little longer than they should have.
I could see the conflict there.
The silent wish to stay close to make sure I was okay, but Laurel’s tone left no room for argument.
Her gaze lingered on us both for a moment longer, assessing, unreadable.
Then she looked away and began getting ready to sleep as if the conversation was over.
Ru sighed quietly, a low exhale of defeat.
Right, got it.
He disappeared into the other tent with Jack a few seconds later, though he threw one last glance over his shoulder before the flap closed behind him.
The faint rustle of fabric and the muffled sound of voices faded soon after, swallowed by the night.
I changed quietly, the fabric of my clothes brushing softly against the sleeping bag.
The air inside the tent was colder than I expected, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.
The only light came from the faint glow of the fire outside, flickering through the thin fabric walls.
Laurel lay down beside me soon after, her movements deliberate and calm.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
The silence felt heavier than before, thick with unspoken words.
I lay there, staring up at the faint outline of the tent ceiling, tracing the way the shadows shifted whenever the wind moved the trees outside.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, so soft I almost missed it.
“Life isn’t always fair to everyone, Jade,” she said.
Her back was turned to me, her words directed at the darkness rather than me.
Sometimes fate isn’t on our side, but that doesn’t mean we stopped moving forward.
There was something distant in her tone, a quiet sorrow that made my chest tighten.
It sounded like she wasn’t just giving advice.
It sounded like she was reminding herself of something she’d already learned the hard way.
Her voice wavered slightly as she continued.
“You’ll meet your dad and sister tomorrow.
” I blinked, turning my head slightly to look at her shadowed form.
The words hit harder than I expected.
Dad and sister, two people who had existed for me only as memories or maybe dreams.
Faces blurred by time and distance.
Laurel shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.
Be on your best behavior and be nice, Jade.
The way she said it, soft, almost pleading, made something twist in my chest.
I wanted to ask her what she meant.
why her voice trembled just a little at the end, but I didn’t.
The exhaustion in her posture told me enough.
She didn’t want questions tonight, so I stayed silent.
Outside, the wind sighed again, and somewhere far away, the faint rush of waves met the rocks.
The night was alive in its own quiet way.
Crickets chirping, leaves rustling, the fire occasionally popping as the last embers burned low.
I listened to all of it until the sounds began to blur together, soft and rhythmic, like a lullabi I’d forgotten the words to.
My eyelids grew heavier, but sleep didn’t come easily, not with so much still churning inside me.
Fear, guilt, the weight of the unknown waiting at dawn.
I turned slightly, facing Laurel’s back.
In the faint light, her hair shimmerred, the dark strands tangled across the pillow.
Her breathing was slow, steady, peaceful.
I envied that peace.
For a long while, I just watched her, trying to find comfort in the rhythm of her breathing, the steady rise and fall of her shoulders.
Then I closed my eyes, pulling the blanket tighter around me, and whispered softly.
Words too small for the night to hear.
I’ll try.
And somewhere beyond the tent walls, the first light of dawn began to edge over the horizon, pale and quiet, promising both hope and reckoning.
Chapter 19.
Salazar Island.
I lay awake long after her breathing evened out.
The rhythm of Laurel’s soft exhales filled the small space of the tent, steady and calm, a stark contrast to the noise storming inside my own head.
The night outside was thick with the hum of crickets, their chirps weaving into the faint whisper of the ocean somewhere far beyond the trees.
Each sound seemed to press in on me, amplifying the silence that hung between my thoughts.
I couldn’t sleep.
My mind wouldn’t let me.
Everything was happening too fast, too much, too soon.
It felt like we had been caught in a current that kept dragging us forward, leaving no chance to breathe, no time to think.
My heart still hadn’t caught up to everything that had happened in the past few days.
The quake, the running, the constant fear that something or someone was chasing us.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of it all.
The collapsing buildings, the cries, the dust, and through it all, Rus face, determined and afraid, telling me to keep running.
But now, in the fragile, quiet of night, the danger felt far away.
Even though I knew it wasn’t, I turned slightly, my fingers brushing against the cool fabric of the sleeping bag.
Laurel shifted in her sleep, but didn’t wake.
I could see the faint outline of her face illuminated by the moonlight that filtered through the thin tent fabric, her lashes resting against her skin, her expression peaceful.
I envied that.
How did she manage to sleep so soundly when everything around us felt uncertain? My gaze drifted upward toward the small slit in the tense fabric where the moonlight poured in.
The stars outside were hidden behind a veil of clouds, but their glow still pressed faintly against the darkness.
Somewhere out there was a world that hadn’t shattered.
Somewhere out there, people were sleeping in real beds under real roofs with no fear of what tomorrow might bring.
I wasn’t sure about where we were headed exactly.
Mom had never told me much, never talked about Dad or Jenna.
Their names were like faint echoes in my life, existing only in fragments of overheard conversations or the rare moments when mom’s expression would darken at their mention.
She never described what they were like, never told me what had happened between them or why they had been gone for so long.
And now I was supposed to meet them, complete strangers who were somehow family.
The thought filled me with a strange twisting kind of curiosity.
What would they think when they saw me? Would they even want to see me? Did they know I existed? Or was I about to walk into the lives of people who had long moved on without me? I swallowed the sounds small in the stillness.
I’d heard whispers that their home was old, ancient, even a piece of land our pack had held for generations.
Somewhere near the wateride, where the air always smelled of salt and the winds carried secrets.
Mom had once said that the ocean near Salazar Island never slept.
It roared through storms and shimmerred through silence, holding memories in its depths.
A place with salt in the air and secrets buried deep in the sand.
My eyes grew heavy eventually, though my thoughts didn’t slow.
They spun and tangled until exhaustion pulled me under.
The last thing I remember before sleep claimed me was the faint sound of waves in the distance, steady and eternal.
When I woke the next morning, sunlight was already spilling through the tent fabric, painting soft gold patterns across the floor.
The world outside was alive again, the hum of the forest returning with a morning breeze.
I could smell the sharp, clean scent of pine mixed with a sweetness of morning dew.
Somewhere nearby, laughter carried through the air.
It was light and unguarded, the kind of laughter that only comes after a night of real rest.
I blinked the sleep from my eyes and pushed myself upright, rubbing the stiffness from my shoulders.
Laurel’s sleeping bag was already empty, her side neatly folded.
Typical.
She was always the first one up.
Outside, the clearing had transformed into a scene of organized chaos.
Jeffrey and Jordan were by the RV, folding up the tents with practiced movements, the fabric snapping softly as they worked in sink.
Jon was rolling up the blankets, humming faintly under his breath, while Laurel stood near the fire pit with a folded map in her hands, muttering directions to herself.
The scent of cooked food wafted through the crisp morning air, something warm, buttery, and familiar.
Ru appeared a few seconds later, his hair a wild mess, balancing two plates in his hands.
“Breakfast!” he announced with a grin that reached his eyes.
“Jackson made it with love.
” There was a teasing lil to his voice that immediately made the heaviness in my chest lift, even if just a little.
He set one of the plates in my lap before sitting down beside me.
I glanced down.
Sliced bread and a fluffy omelette.
Steam curling lazily from the edges.
My stomach growled in betrayal.
And Ru laughed quietly.
Guess I brought it just in time.
I smiled faintly, the warmth of the food spreading through me even before I took a bite.
Thanks.
Across the camp, Jackson was sitting on a log by the cars, mug in hand.
He caught my gaze and raised his eyebrows in mocka fence.
Don’t look so surprised, Jade,” he called out, figning hurt.
“I can be nice sometimes, you know.
” Ru chuckled beside me, and I couldn’t help it.
I laughed, too, a small real laugh that felt strange in my throat after so many days of tension.
Laurel’s voice cut through the moment, crisp and commanding as always.
“If we leave early, we’ll reach Salazar Island by noon.
Hurry up, everyone.
” Her words set everyone into motion.
Blankets were rolled faster, tents folded tighter.
The RV doors slammed open and shut as bags were loaded.
Jeffree was already securing the last of the supplies while Jordan double-ch checked the route.
I finished my breakfast quickly, savoring every bite.
The omelette wasn’t perfect.
It was a little overcooked, but it tasted like something normal, something safe, and for a fleeting moment, that was enough.
As I stepped out of the tent, the morning sun hit my face in a burst of warmth.
The golden light made the deuce sparkle on the grass, each droplet like a tiny crystal.
I closed my eyes, letting it wash over me, breathing in deeply.
It had been so long since I’d actually felt the sun like this, without fear, without urgency.
When I opened my eyes again, Jordan was already seated in the passenger seat, adjusting the map.
He gave me an assuring nod, that easy grin of his still there.
Jeffrey, in the driver’s seat, met my gaze through the window and flashed a quick reassuring smile.
Even Jackson’s expression had softened, his usual sarcasm replaced with quiet focus as he helped Laurel secure the remaining supplies.
Maybe they weren’t mad at me anymore.
Maybe the silence from last night had done something, given everyone a moment to breathe, to process.
Ru was still by the stream a short distance away, his sleeves rolled up as he splashed water on his face.
The sunlight caught the droplets on his skin, making them glisten.
His laughter carried across the clearing as Jordan threw a handful of water at him, and Ru retaliated instantly, splashing back until both of them were soaked.
Their laughter echoed through the air, pure and unrestrained.
For a moment, it was just noise and sunlight and familiarity.
The kind of scene I used to take for granted.
The kind of peace that felt like a memory.
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Disclaimer : This content may be created by AI for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.
