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Another rifle fired outside.

A second later Micah came over comms. “South fence noise is fake.”

Dad demanded, “What is it?”

“A speaker. Hidden in the brush.”

Clayton’s voice was tight beside his. “Remote noise. Nobody here.”

Another problem solved.

Too late.

Wade backed me toward the front door.

I could see Dad outside through the narrow sidelight. Gun raised. He shifted left. Wade shifted me left.

Dad shifted right.

So did Wade.

It was a dance and Wade knew every move by heart.

Dad’s face had changed. Whatever he was feeling had been forced down into something colder. Angles. Distance. Timing.

Waiting for the shot that wouldn’t come. Wade opened the door using me as cover.

Dad moved.

Wade pressed the gun harder into my side.

Dad stopped.

Dad had always been where fear ended. The person I could call and know something would happen. Something would be fixed.

Seeing him armed and furious and completely unable to reach me broke something open in my chest.

If Dad couldn’t get me back, I was nine years old again.

“Hazel,” he said.

“I’m okay.” It was ridiculous. I was not remotely okay. Nothing was okay. But it was the only thing I could think to give him.

Riot came around the corner of the house. His weapon came up. Stopped.

“No shot,” he said again, disgust in every word.

Wade backed me onto the porch.

Marion held the side.

Dad held the front.

Riot was moving wide.

Three guns. No line.

Ruckus’s voice broke through the radio. “Another vehicle’s down.”