The quiet hum of the morning stretched on for a few more minutes, the only sounds being the occasional clink of utensils and the rhythmic slurping of noodles.
Talia had settled into her meal, eating with the focus of someone who had gone to war with hunger too many times to ever take food for granted.
Then, footsteps. Heavy, sluggish, the kind that belonged to people who were still shaking off the last remnants of sleep. Finn and Cade were the first to appear, their hair disheveled, their movements slow but functional.
"Morning," Cade mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
Finn gave a lazy nod. "Yeah, morning."
I gestured toward the pot. "Help yourselves. There's enough to go around."
They didn't need to be told twice. Within seconds, they had filled their plates and settled at the table, falling into the same comfortable silence that had filled the room earlier.
It was rare to have moments like this—where there were no orders to give, no fights to prepare for, no wounds to mend. Just quiet. Just food. Just a moment that felt strangely normal.
Cade broke the silence first. "So… what's the plan now?"
I exhaled slowly, considering. "I've got a few errands to run today. You can stay here if you want."
He nodded, as did the others. No one pressed for details. They knew better than to expect me to lay everything out in the open.
One by one, the rest of them began trickling in, drawn by the scent of food and the sound of quiet conversation. Plates clattered, chairs scraped against the floor, and before long, the pot was picked clean, every last scrap of food devoured.
I was lost in thought, already turning over the day's tasks in my mind, when Tobias spoke up from beside me.
"Since when do you cook, man?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I looked at him, half-smirking. "I don't know. Since we had our first victory, I guess." I leaned back slightly, stretching out the tension in my shoulders. "Felt like something worth celebrating."
Tobias let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Huh. Didn't think I'd live to see the day Rowan cooking breakfast."
I shrugged, picking up my empty plate. "Guess we're all full of surprises."
The conversation continued around me, voices rising and falling in an easy rhythm, but my mind was already elsewhere, drifting ahead to what needed to be done. This morning was quiet, but the world outside this room wouldn't stay that way for long.
Then The door burst open with a deafening bang, the wood splintering against the wall.
What?
Before I could fully register what was happening, a figure lunged forward, the glint of metal catching my eye. A bat—swinging straight for my face.
Shit.
I twisted sharply, barely ducking under the attack as the wind of its force rushed past my ear. My chair scraped against the floor as I kicked off, putting space between me and the attacker. My eyes flicked past him—seven of them, maybe more, crowding the doorway, their faces shadowed by the dim morning light.
The room exploded into motion.
I was already moving, snatching the nearest thing in reach—a fork, of all things—and aiming for the closest bastard's neck. But before I could make contact, the others rushed me, boots slamming against the floor as they closed in.
"We need to get out!" I shouted, snapping my group out of their stunned paralysis.
The words had barely left my mouth before another figure rushed in—a knife-wielder, blade glinting as he lunged.
Not again.
I reacted on instinct, shifting my weight and snapping a kick up with everything I had. My foot connected with his chest, sending him staggering back, the knife slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor. But there wasn't time to celebrate—I could already hear the shuffle of boots around me, the heavy breathing of the next attacker moving in.
The bastard was built like a wall—broad shoulders, thick arms, the kind of guy who could break bones just by squeezing. And that's exactly what he tried to do.
He lunged, hands reaching for me, but I moved faster. My fingers shot up, wrapping around his throat, squeezing hard. His breath hitched, his face contorting as he struggled. But before he could wrench himself free, my other hand—still clutching the fork—flashed forward.
Straight into his eye.
A guttural scream tore from his throat as he stumbled back, clutching his face, blood streaming between his fingers. I shoved him away, barely sparing him a glance as I took in the chaos around me.
Shit. I'd underestimated the threat.
Ten of them—maybe more—had already flooded into the room. And judging by the pounding footsteps beyond the door, this wasn't all of them.
Then—bang.
A wooden chair came flying past me, missing my head by an inch before it smashed against one of the attackers. I turned, startled, just in time to see Talia standing there, breathing hard, already charging into the fray.
Right, no time to freeze.
I turned back to the guy I had kicked earlier, the one who had gone down hard but wasn't out yet. He was already back on his feet, shaking off the hit, his stance shifting as he anticipated my next move.
I didn't give him the chance.
I lunged forward, sweeping my leg out in a low kick meant to take him down. But the bastard was quick—he jumped back, barely dodging it, his eyes flashing with realization.
He came at me again, this time without the knife—just his bare fists and a hell of a lot of momentum. But I wasn't about to make it easy for him.
His first punch came fast, a blur in the corner of my vision. I snapped my arms up, guarding high, my hands tight to my face. The impact still rocked me, forcing me a step sideways, my jaw rattling from the force.
I bit down the pain, reacting on instinct. My fist shot forward in a sharp, vicious hook to his liver. A clean hit. His body jerked, but he barely staggered. Damn—tough bastard.
I flicked a glance around the room, just for a second—bad idea.
Tobias was locked in a two-on-one, fending them off but barely keeping ground. Finn and Cade were holding their own, steel flashing in their hands as they traded blows with their opponents. And then—Handy. He was in front of Elias and Alicia, a knife swinging wildly in his grip as he kept an attacker at bay.
Shit.
A mistake.
The moment of distraction cost me.
The bastard I was fighting closed the distance fast, and I barely saw the punch before it cracked against my cheek. It wasn't enough to drop me, but it still sent a flash of pain through my skull.
I ducked on instinct, avoiding the next blow by a hair, and then I struck.
My fist snapped forward, straight for his throat.
No hesitation. No wasted movement.
The hit landed dead center. His eyes went wide, hands clawing at his throat as he crumpled to the ground, gasping, his breath stolen from him in an instant. Another down. But there were still more.
My gaze landed on Cade just as the shadow loomed behind him.
No. No, no, no.
"Cade, behind!" The words tore from my throat, but they might as well have been whispers against the roar of chaos around us.
The blade slid in before he could even turn.
I heard it. The sickening, wet glide of metal slicing through flesh. Cade's body tensed—his back arching for a second, as if he could fight against what had already happened. His mouth opened, but no sound came.
Then, he dropped.
Like a puppet with its strings cut.
A pool of crimson spread beneath him, too fast, too much. His fingers twitched, reaching for something—maybe his weapon, maybe for one of us. His eyes locked onto mine for a brief moment, and then... they dulled.
Gone. Just like that.
And standing over him, blade still in hand, was the bastard who did it. A man with a scar running down his cheek, a sneer twisting his face like he was proud of it.
Finn saw it too.
His breath hitched, then turned into a broken, guttural scream. A sound that cracked through the chaos like a thunderclap. His best friend—his brother—was gone. And he was about to do something stupid.
He lunged, blind with fury. I barely had time to react before I was chasing after him, weaving through the mess of bodies. He was screaming Cade's name, screaming curses, screaming for blood—anything but what he really wanted.
For Cade to get back up.
I caught him before he could throw himself into the scar-faced killer's waiting blade. My arms locked around his, yanking him back, feet digging into the floor. He fought me. Hard. But I wasn't letting him go.
"Finn!" I roared in his ear, shaking him. His wild eyes flicked to mine, but he wasn't seeing me—just the rage, the grief, the horror.
"Everyone! To the back!"
It was pure instinct, pure survival. My voice ripped through the madness, cutting through the screams and the clashing bodies. The others heard me. Even through the haze of blood and fear, they listened.
The room turned into a maelstrom—a frantic mess of scrambling bodies, of us shoving our way toward the back exit while the bastards tried to cut us down before we could make it.
I pulled Finn with me, nearly dragging him. He wasn't fighting me anymore—not really. His body was moving, but his mind wasn't here. He was still back there, on the floor, next to the body of his best friend.
I just hoped we would be faster than them.
We tore through the back exit like hunted animals, feet slamming against the ground, hearts hammering in our chests. I was last, pushing myself forward with everything I had. Finn had finally snapped out of his daze, his steps no longer dragging, though I could still hear his breath coming out in ragged gasps.
We weaved through the narrow alleys, slipping between buildings, vaulting over debris. Every shadow felt like a threat, every sound like the promise of pursuit. But after what felt like an eternity of running, there was nothing. No footsteps behind us. No shouting.
Just silence.
We stopped behind a run-down shack, lungs burning, sweat trickling down my back. My hands braced against my knees as I sucked in deep, desperate breaths. Fuck. I failed again.
I glanced at the others. They were shaking, barely keeping it together. The horror of what we'd just escaped was still etched into their faces. And then there was Finn.
He was staring at me, his entire body trembling—not from exhaustion, but from something deeper. Something darker. His eyes, once clouded with grief, sharpened into something lethal.
Then, he exploded.
"What the fuck was that?!" His voice cracked through the quiet like a whip, raw and ragged. He stalked toward me, fists clenched, face twisted in fury. "You invited us into a goddamn death trap! And look where it got us—Cade's fucking gone! You hear me?! Dead!"
His voice echoed off the walls, his rage barely contained, and all I could do was stand there and take it.
Because he was right.
I was the one who led them there. I was the one who thought we'd be safe. And now Cade—Cade, who had fought by our sides, who had laughed with us just last night—was nothing more than a bloodstain on the floor.
I swallowed the knot in my throat, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Look, I'm sorry." The words felt hollow, meaningless. "But stop fucking screaming before you get them on our tail again."
The others tensed, eyes darting between us, uncertain whether to step in or stay out of it. Finn's breath hitched, his hands shaking at his sides, caught between throwing a punch or breaking down entirely. The silence stretched between us, thick with grief, thick with blame.
Finn's mouth opened again, his shoulders sagging slightly as the fury in his eyes gave way to something far more fragile. "Sorry, man, it's just... Fuck, he didn't deserve this." His voice cracked, barely holding itself together.
And he was right. Cade hadn't deserved this. That cheerful guy who had been cracking jokes just last night, who was telling me about Mary yesterday—was gone. Just like that.
Before Finn could say another word, a hand clamped down on his shoulder—Handy.
Finn flinched at the touch, then froze when he caught Handy's expression. There was no pity in his gaze, no words of comfort. Just a slow shake of the head, something unspoken passing between them.
Finn's grief turned sharp in an instant. He shoved Handy's hand off. "What the fuck, William? You don't get to shake your head at me—not after all the shit you pulled back then!" His voice was venomous, the words cutting deep.
Alicia shifted uncomfortably, wringing her hands. "Guys, please, can we just calm d-down?" Her voice was small, barely audible over the tension threatening to snap between them.
Tobias, standing beside her, simply rested a firm hand on her shoulder and shook his head, as if telling her not now.
I had enough.
"Listen!" My voice cracked like a whip, snapping everyone's attention to me. "They fucking got us. You're right, Cade didn't deserve this—but it happened. So tell me, are you gonna avenge him? Or point fucking fingers like a little bitch?"
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Finn's fists clenched at his sides. Handy's jaw tightened. The others remained silent, their faces a mixture of grief, rage, and something close to exhaustion.
Finn nodded slowly, I could feel his rage and grief mixing into something we had in common, the thirst for revenge.
The others didn't look much better—Alicia kept wringing her hands, Tobias had a face full of fear, and Handy... well, he was always hard to read.
But I knew they were all waiting for direction. For something, anything, to make sense of this mess.
I ran a hand down my face, exhaling slowly.
"Look, what happens now is simple. We lay low. I've got a friend—someone we can crash with for a while, regroup, figure out our next move."
I glanced around at them, gauging their reactions.
"And I..." The words caught for a second, but I pushed through. "I've got a meeting to attend."