Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
When they stand to go, Karen holds Juno’s face in both hands and kisses her forehead. “Call me when you get home tonight,” she says. “Even if it’s very late.”
“I will,” Juno says, and for once I believe a promise none of us can enforce.
Bob hugs her like she’s made of glass and then turns to me. “You watch her,” he says, no humor.
“Yes, sir,” I say.
In the hall, I hang back while Juno kisses her mom’s cheek again. I want a word. Thirty seconds. Anything. As Karen and Bob start down the stairs, I lean toward Juno and lower my voice. “Can we talk? Just us?”
She shakes her head, eyes flicking toward the stairwell like there’s a timer running. “Not now.”
“When?” It slips out sharper than I intend.
She meets my gaze full-on, and for once there’s no fence in it. Just a tired, honest ache. “When I’m sure you’re not going to lock all my doors for me.”
My throat tightens. “Okay,” I say. “Okay.”
She grabs her bag, slips past me, and follows her parents down one flight, then stops and doubles back. She pokes her head around the corner, finds me still in the doorway. “Arrow?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for not telling them,” she says.
“Which part?” I ask, because there are so many parts.
“All of it,” she says, and is gone.
I stand in her doorway for a long beat, staring at the blank eye of the Ring like it might blink. Then I lock up, slip my phone out, and type a message I have to get exactly right.
To: Render — If J heads anywhere near Atlas or the marina today, text me. I won’t crowd. Just don’t let her be alone in a dark corner.
The dots dance.
Render: Copy. She’s aiming at Nereus. I’ll keep you a block away, Boy Scout.
Me: Appreciate it.
I slide the phone away and take the stairs two at a time, the way Bob threatened his knees not to. Outside, the air has the clean bite of a storm that can’t make up its mind.
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 word respect between 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 she told 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 need his help.
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 Riverside loft 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 says 404 in 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.