Page 7 of Brick's Retribution

My pulse quickens. "You think it's connected to Lashes?"

"I don't know. But keep your eyes and ears open. Just... don't lose sight of what your focus needs to be until this run is over."

"Get the girl to safety. I got it."

She studies me for a long moment. "I know how hard these past months have been for you. I know what Lashes means to you. But I need you present, focused."

"I'm always focused."

"No. You're always searching. There's a difference." She stands, indicating our meeting is over. "Kelsey's waiting with breakfast. Don't keep her waiting, or Boulder will have your ass."

I rise, tucking the file and burner phone into my inner pocket. At the door, I pause. "Why me, Amara? Really?"

Her expression softens almost imperceptibly. "Because you remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who would do anything to protect the people he cared about, even at a great personal cost."

Before I can ask who she means, she's already refocused on the paperwork on her desk, dismissing me with a wave.

Kelsey's breakfast is legendary—a spread that could feed a small army.

Boulder watches with amusement as I shovel eggs and bacon into my mouth, realizing only now how hungry I actually am.

"When was the last time you ate arealmeal?" Kelsey asks, refilling my coffee.

I shrug. "Define 'real.'"

She rolls her eyes. "Something that didn't come wrapped in paper or from a gas station."

"It's been a while."

Boulder snorts. "Told you he's been running himself into the ground."

I ignore him, focusing on the food.

Kelsey's presence is calming, her steady hands and quiet strength a reminder of why Boulder fell for her.

"Be careful out there," she says as I finish eating. "The borders are more dangerous than usual lately."

"I'm always careful."

"No, you're always reckless," Boulder corrects. "There's a difference."

I flip him off, but there's no heat behind it. He's not wrong.

After breakfast, I return to my room to pack the few belongings I've unpacked.

The stack of letters from my father catches my eye, and after a moment, I tuck them into my duffel.

A reminder of what failure looks like. A reminder of what happens when you abandon the people who need you.

My medical bag comes next—the specialized kit I've assembled over the years.

Beyond the standard first aid supplies, it contains everything needed for field surgery: suture kits, hemostatic agents, IV supplies, antibiotics, painkillers. Some obtained legitimately, others through club connections.

All potentially life-saving.

This, at least, is something I know I can do.

This is how I make myself useful to the club, to the world. I may have failed to find Lashes, but I won't fail at this.

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