Chapter 88: Oh great, my entire family is full of psychos

“We're not going tonight.” Beck's voice was final, his body blocking the door like he expected me to bolt. “We sleep. We eat. We think. Then we go.”

“They could be gone by morning.”

“Then they were never the real threat.”

I wanted to argue. My blood was still hot from the photo on the table, from the cigarette smoke still clinging to the air, from the proof that someone had been standing where I stood, breathing where I breathed. But Beck was right. Running on adrenaline and fear was how people got killed.

“Fine.” I dropped onto the couch. “But I'm not sleeping.”

“Neither am I.” He sat next to me, close enough that his thigh pressed against mine. “But we can rest.”

“Same thing?”

“Different thing.”

He pulled me against his chest, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. His heartbeat was steady. I pressed my ear to his sternum and listened.

“Ivy.”

“Yeah.”

“When this is over—when we find whoever's behind this—I want to take you somewhere. Just us. No threats, no texts, no running.”

“Like a vacation?”

“Like a life.”

I looked up at him. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark. “You're scared.”

“I'm terrified.” He kissed my forehead. “But not of them. Of losing you.”

“You're not going to lose me.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I keep meaning it.”

I must have fallen asleep. When I opened my eyes, sunlight was cutting through the blinds. Beck was still there, still holding me, his cheek resting on top of my head.

“You're staring,” he said.

“I'm thinking.”

“About?”

“About how you managed to make me sleep when I swore I wouldn't.”

He smiled. It was small, tired, but real. “I have powers.”

“You have patience.”

“Same thing.”

He kissed me. Slow, warm, his lips tasting like sleep and coffee—though we hadn't made any yet. His hand slid to my waist, pulling me closer. “We should eat something.”

“We should.”

Neither of us moved.

Elena arrived at 9 AM. She looked like she hadn't slept either. “Nora isn't talking. She lawyered up.”

“She's protecting someone,” I said.

“Or someone she's afraid of.” Elena set a tablet on the table. “I pulled satellite images of the warehouse from Clara's address. It's been abandoned for years, but there's been recent activity. Tire tracks. Lights at odd hours.”

“Could be homeless.”

“Could be.” She zoomed in on a corner of the image. “Or could be this.”

A dark sedan. Same make and model as the one that had been following us for months.

Beck leaned over. “That's the car. The one from the alley, the one from the rink.”

“Same plates?”

“Can't tell from this angle.”

Elena straightened. “I'm going to need more than a blurry satellite image to get a warrant. Which means you're not going to that warehouse.”

“We're not asking for permission.” I stood up. “We're asking for backup.”

“You're asking for trouble.”

“Trouble is already here.”

The hours crawled. Beck paced. I sketched. Elena made calls. Clara was still at the hotel, guarded, silent. Nora was still in custody, mute.

By 4 PM, the sun was low. Beck stopped pacing.

“We go tonight. Midnight.”

“Same plan as before?”

“Same plan, better execution.” He pulled a small earpiece from his pocket. “Elena and I will be on comms. If anything goes wrong, you say one word, and we come in.”

“What word?”

“Apples.”

I remembered. The word from the rink, the word that was supposed to mean trouble. “No one says apples in a crisis.”

“That's why it works.”

We left at 11 PM. Beck drove. Elena followed in her car, keeping distance. The warehouse was on the edge of the city, surrounded by empty lots and dead factories.

Beck killed the engine three blocks away. “We walk from here.”

The air was cold. My breath fogged in front of me. Beck took my hand, his fingers laced through mine. “Stay close.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

We walked.

The building was massive, dark, the windows boarded up. A single light glowed through a crack in the door. Voices inside. Beck pressed his finger to his lips.

We crept to the side of the building. A window, broken, just wide enough.

“I'll go first,” he whispered.

“No. We go together.”

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he nodded.

We climbed through.

Inside, the warehouse smelled like rust and gasoline. Crates stacked high, dust thick on the floor. The voices were coming from the back, behind a row of shelves.

Beck pulled me into the shadows. We listened.

“She's not coming. She's smarter than that.”

“She's desperate. Desperate people do stupid things.”

“Her mother was desperate. Look where that got her.”

Beck's hand tightened on mine.

A third voice, older, female. “Enough. She'll come. They always come.”

We stepped out from behind the shelves.

“We're here,” I said.

Three figures turned. Two men, one woman. The woman was older, gray hair, sharp eyes. She looked like my mother. Not Clara. Not my mother. Someone else.

“Ivy Choi.” She smiled. “You look just like her.”

“Who are you?”

“Your grandmother.”

The word hit me like a check into the boards. “My grandmother is dead.”

“Your father's mother, yes. But not mine.” She stepped closer. “I'm your mother's mother. The one she cut off when she started her little empire.”

“Why are you here?”

“To clean up her mess. To make sure her enemies know that her family isn't weak.” She looked at Beck. “And to offer you a choice.”

“What choice?”

“Join us. Or die.”

Beck stepped in front of me. “She's not joining anyone.”

“She doesn't have a choice. Her mother's enemies are her enemies now. The only way to survive is to have protection.”

“And you're offering protection?”

“I'm offering family.” She held out her hand. “The family she should have had from the beginning.”

I looked at her hand. At her face. At the men behind her, their hands resting on their belts.

“What about Beck?”

“He can come too. For now.”

“For now?”

“Nothing is permanent.”

I didn't take her hand. “I already have a family.”

“You have people who will use you. Who will discard you when you're no longer useful.” She dropped her hand. “I'm your blood.”

“Blood doesn't mean loyalty.”

“No. But it means obligation.”

Beck's voice was low. “Ivy, we should go.”

“She's right.” The woman stepped back. “You should go. Think about what I've said. The offer stands until your mother's enemies find you.”

“That's not much time.”

“It's all I can give.”

She turned and walked into the shadows. The two men followed.

The warehouse was empty.

Beck pulled me toward the window. “We need to leave.”

“Who was she?”

“Your grandmother. Apparently.”

“I have another grandmother.”

“Apparently.”

We climbed out. The night was cold. The stars were hidden.

Beck drove. I stared out the window.

“Ivy.”

“Yeah.”

“You're not actually considering her offer.”

“I'm considering that she knew things. Details about my mother that no one else would know.”

“That doesn't make her safe.”

“That doesn't make her a liar.”

He pulled over. Killed the engine. Turned to face me. “Ivy, listen to me. Your mother's family is not your family. They're people who watched her destroy herself and did nothing to stop her.”

“They cut her off.”

“Because she was dangerous.” He touched my face. “And so are they.”

“What if they're the only way to survive?”

“Then we find another way.” He kissed me. Hard, desperate, his hand cupping the back of my neck. “Together.”

We got back to his apartment at 2 AM. The lights were off. The door was locked.

Nothing on the table.

No photos. No threats.

I should have felt relieved.

I didn't.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number. A single line: “Grandmother says hello.”

I turned it toward Beck.

His jaw tightened. “Block it.”

“She'll just get another number.”

“Then we change ours.”

“She'll find us.”

He pulled me into his arms. “Then we fight.”

Outside, a car engine started.

Headlights flared through the blinds.

Then faded into the night.

They were watching.

They always were.

And now we knew who they were.

Family.