Page 57 of Make Them Bleed
I don’t know whether Juno’s headed for the river tonight, or if she’ll sit in front of her wall and color in a mandala so the panic has something to do with its hands. I don’t know if I’ll get to stand beside her or behind her, or if tonight the best version of love is the one that looks like distance.
I do know two things: Nico Armand breathes, and that means he can be found. And Juno Kate asked me to wait until she’s sure.
So I’ll wait. I’ll listen. I’ll put the wordrespectbetween us like a bridge and hope it holds, even when every muscle in me wants to sprint.
And when she walks out of that door again—tonight, tomorrow, three days from now—I’ll be a sidewalk away, exactly where shetold me to be, until she tells me to come closer. Or until the moment requires me to forget permission and step in front of whatever’s coming.
21
Juno
By the time I trudge up my stairs, my bag feels like it’s full of wet bricks and my brain feels like a dryer lint trap clogging with useless fibers. The Atlas bartender didn’t text. The marina stayed sleepy and smug. The burner number Render traced has already gone dark. I spent an hour pretending to read a book in the Marina Club’s public boardwalk pavilion like I belonged there, and my only win was a seagull with murder in its eyes deciding I wasn’t lunch.
I stand in the doorway of my apartment and take it in: the half-shaded mandala, the cold coffee, the crime wall humming at me like a neon sign I can’t turn off. The quiet presses. The truth is simple and heavy. I need help.
I needhishelp.
My throat goes tight. I grab my phone anyway and type with thumbs that want to rebel:
Can you pull your team together? Tonight. No masks needed anymore. I want a plan.
The typing bubbles appear instantly, like he’s been waiting with the chat open.
Arrow: Yes. Riverside at 8? I’ll text everyone.
A beat.
Arrow: Thank you for asking me.
I stare at those six words longer than I should. Relief spreads through me—warm, unwanted, undeniable. Then I shove the feeling down where I’ve been keeping all the other messy ones and start moving. Hoodie. Notes. Pepper spray. The Moleskine with Nico – Atlas Room underlined twice.
The Riversideloft glows against the river’s dusk like a stubborn thought you can’t shake. When I climb the metal stairs, the door is already propped. The war room feels brighter without the masks: faces I know, not presidents I don’t.
Ozzy’s in a gray hoodie and joggers, mohawk tucked under a beanie that says404in block letters. Knight leans against the table, all height and warm grin, sleeves shoved to the elbow. Render is perched on a folding chair with a camera bag by his feet and an air of alert quiet; he lifts two fingers in hello. Gage holds up a pack of neon sticky notes like he’s a dealer and we’re here to gamble.
And Arrow in his jeans, black Henley, beard looking hot enough to ride, and his sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He’s at the whiteboard, already drawing a timeline with a neat hand. He turns when I enter and the room shifts almost imperceptibly, like everyone rotates a few degrees to face me. It’s not threatening. It feels like being backed up.
“Final Girl,” Render says, using the nickname with a tiny smile, as if checking whether it still fits. “Ready to set a small, legal-adjacent fire?”
“As long as it’s pointed the right way,” I say, setting my bag down and spreading my notes across the nearest table.
Knight taps the whiteboard. “We’ve got a skeleton plan. You flesh it out, we’ll give it muscle.”
Ozzy slides a hot tea toward me. “Mint. For nerves. No judgment if you spike it with whiskey later.”
I take the mug and meet Arrow’s eyes across the table. For a second, everything else blurs. I’m still mad, still cracked down the middle… and I’m safer just looking at him. I hate how true that is.
“Okay,” I say, pulling myself into the circle. “Here’s what we know, plus the scraps I scraped up today.”
I walk them through it: Arby’sClose Friendsstories; the matchbook; Megan at Atlas Room rememberingsmoked honeyand a signet ring.Nereus Marine LLC – Legacy Slip D4; Render’s text aboutNicolas Armand; the burner text—bright girl—and how it curdled my stomach. I show the blurry photo of the signet crest, the boat shot, the half-caught license plate:NRS-0417.
Gage’s eyes sharpen. “I can stabilize that plate photo more. Also pull any city cams along the marina exit and build a car path.”
“Valet logs,” Render adds. “Marina Club’s system is outsourced. If they run a cloud POS, I can angle a spear-phish.”
Knight gives a low whistle. “English, please.”
“Render will politely trick the valet vendor into giving us the guest list,” Ozzy translates. “And we’ll send them cookies. Always cookies.”
