Page 119 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“Better to have them and not need them,” Rebel counters, producing a small pistol from her ankle holster. She moves to the kitchen and secures it with magnetic strips under the counter, just out of sight but within easy reach.

Sophia’s eyes widen. “With Luke here?”

“It has biometric locks,” Jenna explains, demonstrating how the grip reads her fingerprint before it will fire. “And I’ll keep it up here.” She places the weapon inside a hollowed-out book on a high shelf in the living room. “No chance the kids can access it, but we’ll know it’s there.”

“That’s the problem though,” Rebel points out. “If it only recognizes your fingerprint, none of us can use it if you’re not here or… incapacitated.”

A heavy silence falls as we all process the implication.

“We need Stitch,” Mia says quietly. “She can reconfigure the biometrics to recognize all of us.”

“Good call.” Jenna’s already thumbing her phone. “I’ll ask if she can bring extra weapons too. Ones we can hide in plain sight.”

The apartment shifts around us, slowly but deliberately. Rebel slides a curtain rod off its brackets. Malia replaces heavy candlesticks just a little closer to reach. Jenna swaps the decorative letter opener from her desk drawer to the end table. Everything looks the same—cozy, curated—but now it bristles with intention.

Mia holds up a rolled magazine. “Strike the neck, side of the throat. Pressure points.” She points to the kitchen. “Hairspray. Lighter. Instant blowtorch.”

She quietly shows us how ordinary household items can become defensive tools—hairspray near lighters, a rolled magazine that can strike pressure points, even how a kitchen towel can temporarily blind an attacker.

“Where’d you learn this?” I ask, watching her tie a dish towel with calm efficiency.

“Rigel.” Mia’s smile is sad. “He’s paranoid about my safety. It’s why we train.” She points to Rebel and Sophia. “We should all learn basic self-defense.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a reminder of what binds us together.

Jenna kneels beside Max, her German Shepherd. “He’s trained for threat commands. If I say ‘sentinel,’ he goes into full protection mode.” He sits at attention, intelligent eyes scanning the room.

“That your safe word?”Malia deadpans.

“More like our danger word,” Jenna replies, scratching behind Max’s ears. “Let’s hope we never need to use it.”

A knock on the door freezes us in place. Max is up in an instant, ears high, no growl—but alert.

Jenna checks the peephole and exhales. “It’s Stitch.”

She opens the door, and there she is—black jeans, combat boots, silver chains flashing as she steps in, tablet in hand like an extension of her body.

“I got your message.” Stitch’s gaze sweeps the room, catching every weapon and fallback point. “Heard you were prepping.” She scans the room. When she sees me, she approaches. “Hi, I’m Stitch.”

“Ally,” I respond. “Do you think we’re overreacting?” I ask.

“It’s never a bad thing to be prepared. We’re not aware of any imminent threats. Not that Mitzy doesn’t have us tracking every inconsistency in our security reports, system glitches, or communication delays. I think we’re all waiting forsomething.”

“Something?” I catch something in her tone.

“Only that Malfor has been suspiciously quiet. It’s got everyone on edge. So, don’t feel bad about wanting to be prepared.”

She turns toward the hallway. “Which is why I’m showing you this now. Should’ve done it weeks ago.”

“Showing us what?” Malia asks.

“Your fallback plan.” Stitch eyes Jenna. “Did you know each unit has a panic room?”

Jenna straightens. “I… no. Carter never mentioned it.”

“Few people know. Forest insisted on installing them during construction, but we keep their existence need-to-know.” Stitch moves to what looks like an ordinary closet near the bathroom. “This isn’t just storage.”

She walks to what looks like a regular linen closet. Presses her palm to the wall. A hidden keypad slides out. A hiss of pressurized air, and the back wall splits open.

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