CHAPTER 56: HOW WRONG HE WAS

The tires crackled over frozen dirt and pine needles.

The cabin came into view, tucked just off the narrow gravel road that hugged the lake. No lights, no noise, just the gentle lapping of water behind the trees across the street and the scent of pine carried on the wind. A porch light flickered to life the second Sera approached—motion-sensor, battery powered.

She stepped out before the Hummer had fully stopped.

The cold didn’t register. But the blood sticking to her shirt did. Blood had a smell, and after years in Adam’s cages and her own creature demanding a taste, Sera really couldn’t stomach the smell anymore.

Lachlan pulled the vehicle into its usual spot beneath the overhang beside the cabin, engine idling as the heat bled out. Noah sat in the back, still staring like he couldn’t quite believe she lived here.

She opened the front door with a practiced turn of the lock and flicked on the warm LED bulb above the kitchen arch.

Vanilla. Cinnamon. Something almost like pumpkin spice.

The smell greeted her first.

Then the silence.

Not emptiness. Not sterile silence.

It was the silence of comfort.

The air was soft, warm, and laced with familiarity. The creature inside her sighed in relief—low and content.

Shoes scraped against the wood porch behind her, and Sera called over her shoulder, "Don’t touch anything."

Noah stopped mid-step.

Inside, the cabin was exactly how she’d left it: small but full. The bearskin rug that she had made herself was sprawled across the living room floor, worn smooth in the center. Soft fleece throws were folded on the arm of the sage-green couch. Fuzzy pillows were stacked in uneven towers on the oversized chair by the window—pink, seafoam, dusty blue, soft mint.

A candle had long since burned out on the kitchen counter—caramel apple. The wax had settled into a sleepy swirl.

It didn’t look like a survivalist’s retreat.

It looked like a sanctuary.

Which was exactly what she needed it to be.

Sera peeled off her bloodied hoodie and hung it on the hook by the door, next to a thick knit cardigan she didn’t plan on wearing anytime soon. Her boots left faint prints on the polished hardwood as she crossed to the hallway.

"I’m going to change," she muttered, already disappearing into her bedroom. "Blood’s drying."

She shut the door behind her with a click.

The bedroom was darker—curtains drawn, everything still in place. A lamp glowed beside the bed, and her other hoodies were folded in the corner by the bookshelf. More pillows here. Pale purple sheets. A weighted blanket in soft grey.

Safe.

She undressed quickly, yanking off the soaked clothes and tossing them into the tub in the bathroom nook. Blood clung to the seams and cuffs. It hadn’t even been her kill, but the damn stuff always found its way onto her anyway.

The creature both loved and hated the smell.

So did she.

She scrubbed her hands and arms with a bar of oatmeal soap until the faint scent of rust gave way to something warm. Then, she reapplied her makeup, the thick foundation on her face, her arms, her hands. The pale lavender of her skin quickly disappeared under a layer of a light peach color.

Only when she was sure that her natural skin was hidden did she change—dark joggers, a long-sleeve blue tee, bare feet on the floor.

She felt human again.

For now.

She felt human again.

For now.

The hallway was quiet as she padded back toward the main room, her steps silent on the wood floor. She didn’t bother announcing herself—if they hadn’t figured out by now that she moved like a ghost, that was their problem.

Lachlan was crouched by the low table in front of the couch, a black hardcase open beside him. Inside, a field-ready comms unit blinked quietly. Not military issue—better. Civilian-modified with locked encryption and battery shielding. The kind of thing no one bought unless they expected to be the last man standing.

Noah sat slouched on the edge of the chair by the fireplace, wiping a smear of blood off his sleeve with the sleeve of his other arm. Sera ignored him.

She leaned against the archway and listened.

Lachlan was already mid-transmission, voice low and even.

"Repeat—grid Tango-Seven-Four. Two clicks south of the ridge line, past the old mill access road. Coordinates incoming. Cabin secure. Three inside—myself, Noah, and..." A small pause. "Asset Blue."

Sera raised an eyebrow. But she didn’t interrupt.

"Copy that," came the reply through the earpiece—deep, with a clipped accent. It sounded like her was from the Middle East somewhere, and Sera found herself straining to hear him better.

"Any structural damage?"

"Negative," Lachlan said. "Perimeter’s intact. Forest barrier’s holding. We’ve got visual cover and sound dampening from the water line. Good for forty-eight hours, maybe more."

Another voice cut in, dry as sandpaper. He had a very thick Country S accent that caused him to seem to purr the more he spoke. His voice did something to both the creature and the woman as Sera felt the tension release for her shoulders.

"Define ’good.’ Because ’good’ could mean you’ve got clean walls and solid locks. Or it could mean you’re broadcasting from under a table while something eats your face."

Lachlan’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smile. "No face-eating. Yet."

"Encouraging," Alexei muttered.

Then the third voice came through. Calm, clinical.

"We’re moving. Full regroup ETA—thirty-six hours minimum. If traffic thins out."

"Thins out," Alexei echoed. "Cute."

"I’ll send an updated ping at dawn," Lachlan said. "Be dark and quiet until then."

"Copy," Zubair replied. "Over and out."

The line crackled once, then fell silent.

Lachlan pulled the earpiece free and shut the comms unit with a soft click. He reached forward, methodically disconnecting power lines, wiping any frequency trails, securing the unit with practiced ease.

Sera finally pushed off the wall and crossed into the room.

"’Asset Blue’?" she asked.

He didn’t look up. "You like colors, and I didn’t want to use your name."

She snorted, grabbed a fuzzy seafoam pillow from the couch, and sat, one leg tucked underneath her. The heat was on low, humming faintly through the vents—she’d left it running before leaving for campus, and the place still held warmth from that morning’s sun.

She turned her head toward the window.

The lake across the road shimmered in the moonlight, dark and endless.

"You trust them?" she asked.

"I trust that they’ll show up and be able to handle things better than those kids we dropped off."

Sera nodded once.

Then leaned back into the soft curve of fleece and cotton, surrounded by caramel, cinnamon, and quiet.

The world hadn’t ended here yet.

But it would.

Soon.

"You know, Peaches," Lachlan continued, coming to sit beside her. "The only way we are going to survive this thing is by being together."

Sera had no idea how to tell him just how wrong he was.