“You’re not running anymore, Blythe,” she says, her voice gentler now. “You’re not that girl who barely made it through an abusive marriage. You’re stronger now, and you have people now. A family. Atlas.” A pause. Then, softer, “You have a baby on the way.”

My throat burns.

“I’m scared.”

“I know. But you don’t have to be,” she reminds me. “You’re not alone. If you want to fight, we’ll fight with you.”

I press my palm against my stomach. There’s a tiny movement beneath my touch—a flutter, a kick.

It steals my breath.

Our daughter. Our little person.

I don’t want to run.

I don’t want to hide.

I want to fight.

For her. For Atlas. For myself.

The tremor in my pulse fades, my breathing settling into something calmer, surer.

“I think I know what I have to do.”

Nysa doesn’t ask what. She just says, “Then do it, just be smart about it.”

A breath, long and steady. “Thank you.”

She snorts. “If you need more encouragement, I can go over and slap you into action.”

A laugh bursts out of me—real, unguarded. It startles me. Feels foreign for a second. Then good.

Like hope.

Chapter Forty

Atlas

I fucking hate leaving Blythe.

She’s just upstairs, I remind myself. Safe. But then the words ‘for now’ latch onto it, and I feel uneasy. What-ifs begin to push the sense of security I had. Quickly, I go through all the potential dangers. If anyone wants to get to her, they’ll have to go through me first.

My fingers twitch at the thought, an instinctive urge to check the safe in the shop. The one with my weapons, my insurance policy. There’s a loaded SIG tucked inside, extra mags are lined up next to it. A shotgun, because sometimes close range is all that matters. And a knife—because my mentor always says a man should never be without one.

I push the thought aside and step into the backroom of the shop. Malerick, Cass, and Sanford are already there. The tension in the air feels like the last few seconds before a storm breaks.

“Is it just the three of us?” I ask, scanning the room. I try not to say we might be fucked, but my tone probably gives it away.

“Not exactly,” Sanford says. “We have the support of our local sheriff.”

Malerick exhales through his nose, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t have that many people.” His jaw tightens, his expression dark. “This is another bloodbath waiting to happen. I . . .” He rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, I should’ve stayed with the FBI.”

Cass leans against the table, smirking. “You’d be bored out of your mind.” He nods toward Malerick. “It’s better when you hang out with friends while being a public servant.”