Page 122 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

Max doesn’t move from the door. Watching. Guarding.

Stitch hits the stopwatch.

“Twenty-two seconds,” she announces. “Closer. Again.”

By the fourth run, we’re down to eighteen.

Luke runs straight for the panic room. Zephyr stays quiet. Rebel doesn’t fumble for gear—she knows where it is. We move like a unit now. Not perfect. But ready.

Stitch finally nods. “Good. You’ve got muscle memory now. That’s what keeps you alive.”

She doesn’t smile.

None of us do either.

Not yet.

Jenna pulls her pistol from the hidden safe under the end table and holds it out, grip-first. “We need this accessible to all of us. If I’m not here—or can’t reach it—I don’t want that to be the reason someone gets hurt.”

Stitch takes it without hesitation, already tapping on her tablet. “Give me your hand.”

One by one, we step forward. Stitch scans our fingerprints—quick, clinical swipes over a compact biometric reader. No one speaks. The gravity is understood.

Once she’s logged all our data, she links it to the pistol, fingers flying over the interface. A soft chime signals the upload’s complete.

“You’re all authorized now,” she says, handing it back to Jenna. “Any one of you can fire it.”

Then she unzips the small duffel at her feet, revealing two more compact sidearms and a slim, matte-black taser. “These are configured the same way. Same print access. Spread them out. Couch cushions, top of the fridge, bathroom cabinet—I don’t care where, just make sure you remember.”

As Stitch finishes securing the final biometric update, Malia leans against the counter, arms crossed. “Okay, but what about during the day? When we’re at the café?”

A pause. We all look at each other—because none of us thought about that.

“That place has windows for days,” Violet murmurs. “And it’s always packed.”

Jenna straightens. “If something went down while we were working…”

“There’s a safe room there, too,” Stitch says without missing a beat.

We blink at her.

“The storeroom?” Maliaarches a brow.

Stitch actually smiles.

“You’re kidding,” Rebel says.

Stitch shakes her head. “Behind the second set of shelves. There’s a disguised panel—looks like a breaker box. Tap twice on the right side, then swipe the top edge. Panel opens, keypad activates.”

“What’s the code?” Jenna asks.

“Delta-nine-seven-three-four,” Stitch says. “That’ll trigger a sliding wall panel. It won’t lock down like these residential panic rooms, but it’s reinforced, concealed, and buys you time.”

“You should really be more open with this kind of info,” Malia mutters, half in awe, half-annoyed.

“I share what’s necessary when it becomes necessary,” Stitch replies calmly, tucking her tablet under one arm. “And now? It’s necessary.”

After she leaves, we settle into an uneasy routine for the night.

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