Page 157 of What We Become

His face wipes clean. “We do.”

I point at him. “That’s exactly my concern.”

Odin snaps the folder closed. “Your concern is noted. Again. Now get out.”

I look at the three of them. Thor holds Loki’s hand while Loki stands close enough that his hip rests against Thor’s arm. Odin sits across from them, separate in distance but connected to them through body language and shared tension.

Who the fuck is she to them? What do they want with her?

There’s nothing left to say that will change their minds, so I stand and leave the three of them alone with their fucked-up consciences.

THIRTY-SIX

KNOX

We arrive at Unholy Desires in our usual vehicles, dressed for a night at the club, and walk through the main entrance together.

The black leather collar at Fury’s throat looks like part of the outfit—a skin-tight dress with so much of each side cut away that there’s no way she’s wearing underwear—but it also carries the replacement tracker she agreed to let Milo install after the cameo was destroyed.

We stay on the main floor for forty minutes, long enough for anyone watching to believe we’ve settled in for the night. Before we go belowground, Milo loops the tracker’s signal inside the club, leaving anyone who has found a way into our system convinced Fury is still here with the rest of us.

Fury, Eli, and I take the private elevator belowground, change into black, and leave through the secured vehicle bay in an SUV that has never been near our house. Holden, Milo, and Micah follow in the second.

The vehicles separate two blocks from the club. Odin’s people stay on both routes until they confirm neither team has picked up a tail, then Eli turns toward Waldock’s neighborhood.

Waldock’s house reeks of old takeout and neglect, strong enough to penetrate the mask and make me ration every breath.

I lead the way through the shadowed living room, rope coiled loose in my grip, the noose already knotted and ready. Eli’s right behind me, silent as ever, and Fury slips along in our wake, her steps light, her eyes sharp. My Fury, and the knife she never has to think about.

We’ve timed this perfectly. Waldock’s alone, slumped in his recliner with the TV flickering blue light across his face, some late-night game show droning on low. It’s always easier when the guy doesn’t have a family. The only things we need to worry about are him and the justice we’ve come to deliver.

I signal with a glance—Eli nods, Fury tenses—and we close in, my boots soft on the carpet. The noose feels right in my hand, custom-weighted for a clean drop, the fibers whispering against my palm as I ready the loop. One quick move, and it’ll be over his head before he even registers the shadow. His breathing’s steady, oblivious, the remote loose in his lap.

Almost there.

“Movement at the rear,” the spotter says through my earpiece. “One woman crossing from the adjoining yard. Looks like the neighbor.”

The warning gives us seconds, not options. A gate hidden behind the dividing hedge clicks shut, then the back door creaks open, carrying a slice of night air through the stale warmth.

We freeze.

“Hey, you home, Jerry?” a woman calls from the kitchen. “Just popping in for a second. I ran out of bread, and the kids need sandwiches for school tomorrow. You got any to spare?”

Fuck.

I pivot fast, motioning the others back. Eli’s already moving, grabbing Fury’s elbow to guide her retreat. We slip into the narrow hall and listen.

“Yeah, yeah, in the pantry. Help yourself, Marla.”

Footsteps again, cabinets banging.

“I can’t see it.”

“Here. Let me.”

As he shoves out of the recliner, we retreat even further. I scan for cover—there’s a closet door, half-open, crammed with coats and boxes. It’s tight, but it’ll do. I yank it wider, bundle us all inside, pulling Fury against my chest and Eli crowding in behind her, the three of us pressed like sardines in the dark. I ease the door shut as footsteps shuffle from the living room through to the kitchen.

My arm wraps around Fury instinctively, holding her steady, her breath hot and quick against my neck. Eli’s shoulder digs into mine, his hand finding the small of her back to keep us all stable. The space is a furnace already, bodies too close, the scent of her shampoo mixing with the faint must of old wool. We all shift our masks to the top of our heads so we can breathe, staying as quiet as we can.