Page 37 of Rook

“Like Gunnar?” he says, a smirk playing on his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach those bright blue eyes of his.

“Right.” I’m wary, watching his reaction. “So what’s your angle, Vance? You always have one.”

“Maybe I do,” he admits, and I can tell he’s weighing his words like bullets before firing them off. “Maybe I care more than I let on.”

Before I can dig deeper into that confession, a sudden roar cuts through the air. We both snap our heads toward the window just as a motorcycle blasts past us, a blur of chrome and rebellion slicing through the heavy heat.

“Damn,” Vance mutters under his breath. “That’s one way to stir up the dust.”

“Or a storm,” I add, the uneasy feeling in my gut saying that might just be the prelude to something worse.

The engine’s growl spikes as another bike rips by, its shadow flicking over us like a bad omen.

“Wha—?” Aisling’s voice is groggy, her head lifting from my shoulder. She blinks hard into the harsh glare of the afternoon.

“Trouble,” I mutter, my eyes tracking the vanishing speck of the motorcycle.

“Again?” Her grey eyes are sharp now, no trace of sleep left in them. “Or still?”

“Could be both,” I say, watching her shake off the last tendrils of unconsciousness.

“Great.” She straightens up, trying to peer out of the tinted windows. “Any idea who?”

“Can’t say,” I answer, but there’s that gnawing in my gut that tells me we’re about to find out. It’s a feeling I’ve come to trust, out here where alliances are as brittle as sun-baked bones.

Aisling frowns, sensing the shift in the air. She’s always been attuned to the undercurrents of danger, a gift and a curse for an omega like her.

“Vance?” she probes, turning towards him with a mix of caution and curiosity.

“Keep your head down, Stargazer,” he instructs, his focus fixed on the road ahead. He’s got that look, like he’s ready to tear through whatever’s coming our way.

“Like hell I will,” she fires back, defiance sparking in her gaze. That’s Aisling; never one to cower, even when retreat might be the better part of valor.

“Suit yourself.” Vance doesn’t argue further; knows it’d be a waste of breath.

Another roar shatters the relative quiet, followed by more—a symphony of engines, growing louder, closer. My pulse kicks up a notch. This isn’t just a couple of riders showing off—it’s a statement.

“Here we go,” I breathe out.

“Damn right.” Aisling squares her shoulders, ready to face whatever storm we’re driving into.

And then it hits—an ear-splitting cacophony of screeches and metal crunching. The car swerves violently as our driver wrestles with the wheel. A sickening thud, and the world tilts on its axis. Glass shatters, spraying like diamond dust in the harsh sunlight. Aisling’s scream slices through the chaos, raw and primal.

“Oberon!” Her hand finds mine, gripping tight enough to bruise.

“Got you,” I say, though it’s more a promise than a fact.

“Everyone, hold on!” Vance’s voice cuts through again, commanding even as the car bucks beneath us.

“Trying to!” I shout back, bracing myself as best I can.

Then, another impact, this time throwing us sideways. The seatbelt bites into my chest, but I barely feel it. All I can think about is keeping Aisling from harm, her name a silent mantra on my lips.

“Stargazer, stay with me,” I urge, my free hand reaching for her even as the world outside devolves into a blur of motion and noise.

There’s no reply, only the ragged sound of our breathing and the relentless assault on the senses as we careen through the anarchy unfurling around us. And somehow, amidst the havoc, I know this is just the beginning.

We’re caught in the eye of a storm we can’t outrun—not on the Mojave Skyway, not anywhere.

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