Cassian leans against the table, spinning a pen between his fingers. “We first distract the Hollow Syndicate with some intel of drugs or easy money they can make. They’ll probably leave Winston to get their mark. Then, we make Winston believe that Blythe is in some inn or a motel. Somewhere, he can storm in and grab her.”

My stomach knots. “And when he gets there?”

Sanford’s expression darkens. “When he does, we got him⁠—”

“And end this,” I finish for him. “But will it be just him and a couple of men?”

Mal nods. “If we remove the syndicate, yes. This might be the only way. We need to end this before Winston gets another chance.”

I exhale, slow and measured, trying to keep my voice steady. “And what happens if they don’t take the bait?”

Sanford glances at Cassian. Cass nods once. “We make it so they believe it. This isn’t our first rodeo.”

My fingers twitch. I rake a hand through my hair, forcing my thoughts into order. Finally, I nod once. “Fine. But Blythe stays out of it.”

“You’re going to have to leave her with Hopper,” Malerick states. “I’ll stay behind to protect them.”

I want to trust him, but can I trust him?

“I’ll defend her with my life,” he adds.

“Fine, but if anything happens to her . . . I’ll kill you,” I state.

“I wouldn’t expect less from you.” He nods. “Go tell your woman that we have to leave. The sooner we’re there, the faster you all can start moving.”

When I arrive at our apartment, Blythe is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the phone in her hands. Her face is blank, unreadable, but the tension in her shoulders tells me she’s already guessed something is happening.

She doesn’t look up as I step inside, but her voice is quiet. “When are you leaving?”

I cock an eyebrow. “How do you know I’m leaving?”

“Intuition,” she states. “I⁠—”

“You’re leaving too,” I say.

“Why?”

“It’ll be safer if you’re at the ranch⁠—”

“I’m not putting Hop, Nysa, and Maddy in danger.” Her voice cuts through my words before I can finish. No hesitation. No cracks. She means it.

I exhale, crossing the room. When I crouch in front of her, resting my hands on her knees, she doesn’t look away. Her gaze locks onto mine, almost challenging.

“You have to go,” I murmur. “Stay safe. Keep our little one safe.”

Her jaw tightens. “I could help you,” she says suddenly, her fingers curling into fists. “I want to end this.”

“Babe—”

“You don’t trust me to be part of this.”

I flinch. Because it’s not true. Not exactly.

“That’s not⁠—”