Luke slipped the diary into his jacket pocket. It was solid evidence now, sothing to hand over once they got back to civilization.
Brando was still hunched over his notebook, scribbling and scratching out notes like a kid who'd just discovered fire. Lionel, on the other hand, looked ready to crawl out of his skin. He poked at the slow-healing hole in his chest and shot Luke a look.
"I'm starving, man. Body feels like it got hollowed out. We gonna eat or what?"
Luke ignored him and headed downstairs without a word.
The kitchen was a tomb. Rayne was digging through empty cabinets like a man sleepwalking. Heather sat at the table staring at nothing, eyes glassy. Nikki was curled in the corner under a blanket, shaking so hard the fabric trembled.
Blood and dirt streaked all three of them. They looked like they'd survived a war.
Rayne spotted them first. His voice ca out raw.
"What the hell do we do now? Kenny's—"
He couldn't finish. Heather buried her face in her hands, shoulders jerking.
"First thing," Luke said, voice flat, "we eat. Fill our stomachs."
Rayne repeated the words like they tasted bad. Nobody moved to cook. A couple of opened cans sat on the table, already heated.
Lionel dropped into a chair like it was any other Tuesday, popped open a can of beans, and started shoveling.
"Sweet. Chow ti."
Heather's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Who are you people?"
Luke leaned against the doorfra.
"Miami PD."
Lionel didn't even look up.
"Just a mama's boy."
Brando grinned like he'd been waiting for the question.
"The greatest scientist of the century."
Rayne and Heather stared at the three of them like they'd grown extra heads.
The only sound was Lionel scraping the bottom of the can with his spoon. He licked it clean, tossed the empty can aside, and poked his still-bleeding wound again.
"Still hungry. That barely touched the sides."
That was the last straw.
"Enough!" Rayne slamd both palms on the table and shot to his feet. His eyes were bloodshot, chest heaving. "Kenny's downstairs in pieces! That monster chopped him up like at! And you're just sitting there eating?"
Lionel glanced up, calm as ever.
"You're still breathing. Worry about staying that way first. Can't get revenge on an empty stomach."
Rayne's whole body shook. He looked ready to swing.
Brando cut in, matter-of-fact.
"He's right. Biologically speaking, grief and rage dump adrenaline like crazy. You need protein and carbs right now or you'll crash hard."
"Everybody shut up," Luke said.
The room went dead quiet. He set his can down and looked at each of them in turn.
"I know this is a lot to swallow. Your friend's dead. Chopped into pieces by a cult-built monster. And that cult? They're not just here. They're probably all over Texas. Maybe the whole damn country. They grab people, run experints, suck out souls, turn folks into freaks. Now you get what you're up against?"
Heather's face drained of color. She pressed her hands to her mouth.
"What do we do?"
Luke didn't sugarcoat it.
"You leave. Right now. Go ho."
Rayne's head snapped up.
"We're not running! Kenny's still down there! We have to make them pay!"
"Pay?" Lionel tapped the hole in his chest. "That big bastard put a chainsaw through earlier. If I wasn't built different, I'd be down there with your buddy in a body bag. You think you can take a hit like that?"
Rayne opened his mouth, then closed it. No coback.
Luke turned to Heather. She was the key.
"That letter makes you the heir. You really think the people pulling the strings are just gonna let you walk? They'll co for you. And when they do, you want to end up like your grandmother? Dried out, soul ripped out, stuffed in a wardrobe?"
Heather jerked like she'd been slapped.
"No… I don't want that!"
"Then your only job is staying alive," Luke said. "Get out of here. Drive as far as you can. Big city. New phone. Cut every tie to this place until we clean it up."
He let the words land.
"I get it. You want revenge. But revenge isn't blood and guts. Your friend's gone. I don't want to see any of you in a body bag next. That's my job as a cop. And my promise."
The fight drained out of them. Anger, grief, and helplessness swirled together until only exhaustion remained.
Rayne finally unclenched his fists.
"When do we leave?"
"Now," Luke said. "Your car's still running. Gas is fine. Head east on the highway. Don't stop in any small towns. Don't look back. Keep driving until you hit Miami. You'll be safe there."
He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket, scribbled a number, and handed it to Rayne.
"Trouble you can't handle, call this. Tell them my na."
Rayne took it with shaking fingers.
Heather pushed herself up on unsteady legs. She looked around the house that had gone from inheritance to nightmare in one night, then at Luke.
"Thank you."
Luke waved it off.
"Don't ntion it. And keep your mouths shut about everything that happened here. Talking gets people killed."
They nodded, silent.
Luke herded them toward the door. The three young people grabbed what little they had and walked to their car without looking back. The engine turned over. Headlights cut through the dark.
Then they were gone, taillights fading down the long driveway.
Luke stood in the doorway watching until the night swallowed them.
One less thing to worry about.
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