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Davenport ignored Tate’s words. “I couldn’t take him to your headquarters, it’s still too hot. He’s going to need to disappear, and soon.” Davenport stepped to the side, revealing Benny.

Tate’s face morphed from pissed and grumpy to outright shock, then a smile wider than Benny had ever seen. But what Benny’s brain latched onto was the fact that his best friend was standing there, mostly naked, in his sister’s apartment.

Then Beth was pushing past Tate as Davenport slipped further into the shadows.

In the background he could hear the two men talking but tuned it out completely as his sister’s arms closed around him and everything in his world clicked back into place.

He found himself smothered beneath the weight of Beth’s kisses on his cheeks, her arms wrapped tight around him, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt anything better. So he let himself wallow in it for a few precious moments. There were so many questions crowding his mind, but for now he simply steeped himself in his twin’s love.

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” she kept saying over and over, her voice broken and joyous at the same time.

When she finally loosened her hold, he lifted his head and found Tate standing beside them. Just like that, he remembered the sliver of outrage he’d felt toward his best friend. Being a territorial brother made sense, gave him something normal to latch onto.

Then he noticed the tears streaking Tate’s face, just before the big man hauled him into a hug so tight Benny’s back cracked.

The sound made him choke out a laugh. It made Tate laugh too, the sound watery and raw, so at odds with his usual stoic exterior. His friend’s joy at seeing him was so unfiltered, so fierce. So strange after waking up not knowing where he was. When he was.

That thought brought him screeching back to the present and the jumble of questions tumbling around in his head.

When Tate let him go, Benny pivoted toward the closed front door. The mysterious Davenport was nowhere in sight.

“Where did he go?” Benny asked. “Davenport?” He heard the panic in his own voice and didn’t care who noticed it. “He has answers to what’s going on. I know he does.”

“It’s okay, I think we can help out in that regard, for some of it, at least,” Tate said, his expression sobering. “Give us a sec to get dressed, then I’ll call the team in.”

But Beth wasn’t letting Benny go. Even during Tate’s hug, she’d kept one hand on him, just touching. That constant, grounding contact sent echoes through him, shards of memory spearing into places he couldn’t quite reach.

Tate gave her an understanding look and pressed a kiss to her forehead before disappearing into the bedroom. He reappeared moments later in jeans and a T-shirt.

“I’ll watch him for you,” he said quietly. “Make sure he doesn’t disappear on us again.”

Benny caught the look on Beth’s face--joy tangled with lingering trauma--as Tate draped an arm around his shoulders, his touch replacing hers. She gave one last sniffle and turned toward the bedroom.

Tate steered Benny into the kitchen and guided him onto a barstool before starting a pot of coffee and firing off a quick text. “If I know Dev, he and the rest of the team will be here soon. Right now, I’m thankful he was paranoid enough to set up secure comms, that’s for sure.”

Why would Devin Beck be coming? And what team was Tate talking about?

There were so many questions crowding his head that he couldn’t even figure out where to start.

Tate glanced over at him, sympathy softening his features. “I don’t know what happened to you, man, but it’s so fucking good to see you.” His voice broke. “Benny… we had a funeral for you.”

Oh God. “My parents,” Benny said hoarsely. “Can I call my parents?”

Tate nodded. “You can, but we need to sort a few things out first. They’re in Montana right now, staying with friends. We sent them there to keep them safe.”

“Safe?” Benny echoed. “Why wouldn’t they be safe?” Where adrenaline and sharp fear had kept him on edge until now, fatigue had crept in on sneaky feet and now dragged at him with every word he spoke. The caffeine couldn’t come fast enough.

Beth slid onto the chair beside him, her hand settling on his shoulder again.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” she whispered and Benny felt her joy down to the marrow of his bones. Felt the confusion as well and had to wonder if it was her mirroring his own, or if she was as muddled as he.

Tate set a mug in front of him, coffee doctored exactly the way Benny liked it. Too much cream. Way too much sugar. He picked up the mug and downed half a cup, willing the caffeine and sugar to do their magic, and quickly. He had so many questions.

He surfaced from the dregs of his cup and Tate held out a hand, doctoring up another. By the time he finished the second, the combo had begun to work. He’d just opened his mouth to ask… what? How the hell he’d been gone for eight months? Why they’d had a funeral when he’d obviously been alive? That thought brought him up short. Not because he remembered anything specific, but because there was a knowing deep in his bones. He had been dead. And now he wasn’t.

A pounding on the door snapped his attention away from navel gazing. Maybe it was Davenport returning. Or Devin Beck, as Tate had said. Davenport made more sense, though, at least to his semi-addled brain.

Tate opened the door and Benny craned his neck, surprised to see Warren Bowman stride in, followed by Clay Matthews. What were they doing here? Sure, they’d gone through a bunch of shit together and because of that had become friends of a sort, but not enough for them to be barging in the door before the sun had even started to rise.