Elliot's eyes went wide. His head immediately snapped left, then right, scanning the driveway and the surrounding fields for any sign of witnesses. His jaw was tight, muscles tensed like he was preparing for something terrible to happen.

Then, without a word, he grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. Hard. Almost violent in his urgency.

"Get in. All of you. Now."

The others didn't need to be told twice. We filed into the house quickly, and Elliot slammed the door behind us, immediately moving to the window to check outside again.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed, his voice low but intense. "Reynard, have you seen the news? You're wanted everywhere on the planet. Everywhere. And you just showed up at my front door?"

"I know how it looks—" I started.

"Do you?" Elliot interrupted, turning from the window to face me directly. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you just brought a global manhunt to my family's doorstep. To Anika's home. To the one place we thought was safe."

His anger was justified. I'd known it would be, but hearing it laid out so plainly still stung.

"Elliot, please," Sienna said gently. "We wouldn't be here if we had anywhere else to go."

"There's a whole world out there," Elliot shot back. "South America. Asia. Africa. Why here? Why my farm?"

"Because you're one of the few people who might actually understand what's happening," I said, keeping my voice calm despite the tension. "You met me as Mr. Angel and Mr. Jester. You helped with Anika. You know what the Cain Protocol did to people. You know I was fighting against the World President."

"Was that before or after you inherited your power from him?" Elliot asked, and the words hit like a physical blow. "Because that's what they're saying, Reynard. That Hugo Vale was the World President. That you're his son. That everything you have came from his experiments."

"It's true," I admitted. "Hugo was the World President. And I am his son. But I didn't know. Didn't choose it. Spent three years fighting against him without knowing who he really was."

Elliot stared at me, conflict written across his face. "And I'm supposed to just believe that? Just take your word for it when the entire world is saying something different?"

"You don't have to believe anything," Evelyn interjected, her professional tone cutting through the emotion. "But you know Rey. You've worked with him. Has he ever given you reason to think he was corrupt? That he was part of what the World President represented?"

Elliot's jaw worked, chewing on that question. "No," he admitted finally. "But that was before. Before I knew who his father was. Before all of this came out."

"Nothing's changed except what you know," I said. "I'm the same person who helped Anika. Who fought to expose corruption. Who tried to build something better than what existed."

"Everything's changed," Elliot countered. "You're being hunted. Anyone who helps you becomes a target. And this farm?" He gestured around. "We're in Valeska's territory. If you don't remember that's the leader of Poland. We all saw the news, she was your biggest opposition during that UN meeting. If she finds out you're here, if she finds out I'm harboring you…"

He trailed off, but the implication was clear. Valeska had been vocal in her opposition to me. Had argued against every reform I proposed. Had positioned herself as a defender of the status quo.

If she learned we were here, she'd use every resource at her disposal to capture us. And Elliot's farm would be the first casualty.

"I know the risk," I said quietly. "I know what we're asking. But Elliot, we have nowhere else to go. Every ally has backed away. Every safe house is compromised. This farm is remote enough, quiet enough, that we might actually be able to hide long enough to figure out our next move."

"And if you can't?" Elliot challenged. "If you get found anyway? What happens to my family then? To Anika?"

"We leave," Alexis said firmly. "The moment we sense any threat, any indication we've been discovered, we leave. You'll never see us again. We won't let danger come to your door."

"You can't promise that," Elliot said. "You're already here. Danger is already at my door."

Camille stepped forward, her usual wild energy subdued into something more genuine. "Elliot, I get it. We're asking for a lot. Too much, probably. But look at us." She gestured to our group—exhausted, injured, desperate. "We've been traveling for days. Running from a mob. Rey's bodyguard died in Ghana. We're not here to cause trouble. We're here because we're out of options."

Elliot looked at each of us in turn. His expression was still guarded, still conflicted, but I could see him wavering. Could see the part of him that wanted to help warring with the part that needed to protect his family.

"How long?" he asked finally.

"I'm not sure," I said. "We need enough time to recover, to plan our next move."

"And then what? You just leave? Go back to fighting a battle you can't win?"

"Maybe," I admitted. "Or maybe we find a different way forward. But we can't figure that out while we're running. We need time. Space. Safety."

Elliot ran a hand through his hair, frustration and concern mixing in his expression. "This is insane. You know that, right? Harboring fugitives in Valeska's territory while the entire world is looking for you?"

"I know," I said.

"And you came anyway."

"Because I trusted that you'd understand. That you'd remember what we fought for together."

Elliot let out a long breath, and I saw the moment he made his decision. Saw his shoulders drop slightly, the tension easing just a fraction.

"Fine," he said. "You can stay. But—" He held up a hand before anyone could thank him. "If trouble comes. If there's any indication that Valeska or her people are looking here, I prioritize my family over yours. Over you. No hesitation. No debate. You leave immediately, and we never speak again. Understood?"

"Understood," I said without hesitation. "That's more than fair."

"It's not fair at all," Elliot muttered. "It's insane. But…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I must be crazy too."

A voice called from deeper in the house. Female. Young. "Elliot? Who's here?"

My blood ran cold as footsteps approached. A girl appeared in the doorway—early twenties, light brown hair, curious expression.

Anika.

Instinct took over. I immediately covered my face with my hands, turning away from her. Every muscle tensed, waiting for the attack response. For her brain to recognize me and trigger the Cain Protocol's violent compulsion.

Elliot's laughter cut through my panic. But it wasn't cruel—it was the laugh of someone witnessing pure absurdity. He also facepalmed, the gesture both exasperated and amused.

"Reynard," he said, his voice thick with disbelief. "You showed up here without even knowing if Anika was cured?"

I kept my hands over my face, not willing to risk it. "I… assumed the cure had spread. But I didn't know for sure."

"You assumed," Elliot repeated flatly. "You risked bringing five people to a farm where someone might immediately attack you on sight, based on an assumption."

"It was a calculated risk," I said, still not uncovering my face.

"It was stupid," Elliot corrected. But his tone had shifted slightly—less anger, more resignation. "Anika was cured months ago. Alexis' method spread through Europe. Medical teams in France, Germany, Poland, everywhere. It's been replicated successfully. Something like ninety-nine percent of affected individuals have been treated and recovered."

Slowly, cautiously, I lowered my hands. Looked at Anika directly.

She smiled—warm, genuine, no hint of the violent compulsion that had once defined her interactions with me.

"Hi, Reynard," she said simply. "It's good to see you again."

"You too," I managed, relief flooding through me. "I'm… I'm really glad you're okay."

"Me too," she replied. Then, looking at the group of us, "Though you all look terrible. Have you been sleeping?"

"Not really," Camille admitted.

Anika's expression grew more serious. "I saw the news. The broadcast from that man—Subject 3834. Mark." She looked at me with concern. "Is it true? About your father?"

"Yes," I said quietly. "But the rest of it—the interpretation, the accusations—that's more complicated."

She nodded slowly. "I thought it might be. You don't seem like someone who'd do what they're saying you did."

"Thank you," I said, surprised by how much that simple statement of faith meant.

Elliot cleared his throat. "Alright. If we're doing this, we need rules. You stay out of sight. Don't go into town. Don't make phone calls that can be traced. Don't do anything that draws attention to this farm."

"Agreed," Evelyn said immediately.

"And you work," Elliot continued, looking directly at me. "This is a farm. We all contribute. That includes you."

He walked over to a closet near the entrance and pulled out a worn shovel. Held it out to me with an expression that was equal parts serious and slightly vindictive.

"This time," he said, a hint of humor breaking through, "I'll be the boss."

I took the shovel, feeling its weight. Appropriate, somehow. The former masked vigilante reduced to farm labor while hiding from the world.

But I was alive. We were safe, at least for now. And sometimes survival meant accepting whatever help came, on whatever terms were offered.

"Yes, boss," I said, managing a small smile.

Elliot shook his head, but he was smiling too. "You're all insane. Every single one of you."

"Probably," I agreed.

"Definitely," Camille corrected.

And for the first time since Anthony died, since Mark's broadcast destroyed everything we'd built, I felt something close to hope.

Not much. Not enough to fix everything.

But enough to survive another day.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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