Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
We clear the first large room. Nothing but dust and shadows. In the second room I spot fresh boot prints in the thick layer of dirt on the floor. Recent. I point them out to Anniston and she nods, eyes wide. We follow the trail toward the back offices, stepping carefully around broken glass and fallen debris.
The prints lead us to a small room that looks like it was used as a makeshift camp. A sleeping bag is rolled up neatly in the corner. A portable stove sits cold on an overturned crate. I kneel beside a small fire pit someone had made with scrap wood and touch the ashes. They’re still slightly warm. He was here tonight. Maybe even a couple of hours ago.
"He was here," I whisper.
Anniston moves to a metal desk pushed against the far wall. She picks something up and holds it out to me. My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
It’s my father's old pocket knife. The one with the worn wooden handle and the initials B.H. scratched into the side by Nash’s hand when he was fourteen. He never went anywhere without it. I turn it over, feeling the familiar weight, the smooth grain of the wood. He left this on purpose. For me. For us.
Under the knife is a folded piece of paper. I open it with steady hands even though my pulse is hammering.
Boys,
Stay out of Halo City.
They are watching.
I’m close to ending this.
Trust no one.
— Dad
The words hit like a punch to the gut. He knows we’re looking. He’s been here recently. And he’s warning us away. My eyes sting for a second before I blink it back. He’s alive. He’s close. And he’s still trying to protect us even after all this time.
Anniston touches my arm gently. "Banks..."
Before I can answer, I hear it. Footsteps. Multiple sets. Heavy boots on concrete. Coming from the east side of the building.
"Down," I hiss.
I pull her behind a row of old filing cabinets, pressing her against the wall and covering her body with mine. We crouch low. I keep my pistol ready but pointed down. Three men enter the large room we just left, flashlights sweeping the floor in sharp arcs. They’re armed with rifles and move like they know exactly what they’re doing. Not the same hired muscle from Wyatt's apartment. These guys are professionals.
One of them speaks into a radio. "No sign of him now. But someone was definitely here recently. Fresh tracks and warm ashes."
They start moving in our direction, checking behind machinery and kicking over crates. The sound echoes loud through the empty factory. My grip tightens on the pistol. If they get any closer I will have to engage but I can’t risk Anniston getting hurt.
She’s pressed tight against my back, her breathing shallow but controlled. I reach behind me and squeeze her hand once. Stay calm. I have you.
The men get within twenty feet. One of them kicks over a metal crate, the crash ringing out like a gunshot. I shift my weight, ready to move, ready to fight if I have to.
Then a loud crash comes from the far end of the building. Something heavy falling. Metal on concrete. The men spin and head toward the noise, flashlights cutting through the dark.
"Now," I whisper.
I grab Anniston's hand and pull her up. We move fast but quiet, retracing our steps through the maze of machinery toward the side door. My heart pounds in my ears. Every second feels stretched too thin. We slip out the same door we came through and run low across the lot, sticking to the deepest shadows between the buildings.
Shouts echo behind us. They’ve realized someone was inside.
We sprint the last hundred yards to the fence. The spot we came through is a few hundred yards away, so I boost Anniston over first, then haul myself across right after her. We run hard back to the truck, gravel flying under our feet. I get her inside, slam the door, and peel out fast, killing the headlights until we’re well clear of the industrial park.
Only when we’re back on the main road and several miles away do I let out a long breath. My hands are still tight on the wheel. Anniston’s breathing hard beside me, but she reaches over and rests her hand on my arm, steady and warm.
"Banks," she says softly. "Pull over for a second."
I find a quiet turnout off the road and stop the truck. The engine ticks as it cools. For a moment we just sit there in the dark, the only light coming from the distant glow of Halo City.
I turn to her. The moonlight catches her face, and something inside my chest cracks wide open. All the fear from tonight, all the worry about my dad and my brothers, it collides with how much this woman has come to mean to me in such a short time.