5. Hunter

FIVE

HUNTER

M om always loved the sunrise. On those brief visits when I’d stay with her at Amelia Manor, she’d make sure to take me down to that hidden lake and sit with me on that stupid log overlooking the water.

It was the same place where I took Winter all those months ago when she was so fragile.

Fragile…because of me.

I crush the rose bloom in my palm. I intended to help myself to Misha’s garden and bring a bouquet to Winter—just like our first date. His garden holds several species of plants, but where Amelia Manor features gentle architecture that moves around the natural structure of the green space, Misha’s layout is uniform with military precision. Rows on rows of roses, lilacs, and peonies stretch from the courtyard down to the other end of the encampment.

Still, this space feels alive. It’s as if I’m walking into another dimension.

Leaving Winter to rest in the medical bay felt like the right thing to do for the first few hours. But as dawn morphed into daytime and I was no closer to figuring out how to get out of this mess while keeping everyone safe, my feelings of inadequacy tripled.

I’m doing what Winter begged me not to: I’ve shut her out. I’ve told her to sit down and heal, which, on paper, sounds like a loving, supportive thing to say.

But when looking through the lens of our relationship and what Winter needs, I realize that it’s just another power play.

Control. Be in control.

But how can I when literally every single thing in my life is out of my hands?

I gather a dozen roses in my bare palms and turn to make my way back into the house when I run across Rio. He’s propped up on one of the seats near the entrance, and while he doesn’t look that great, he seems better than one could expect for surviving a gunshot.

From what the report told me, he suffered a pretty nasty hit to the collarbone. Not that the injury itself was terrible, but he’d lost a lot of blood.

So the fact that he’s sitting here, albeit looking like he’s gone several rounds with Floyd Mayweather, gives me pause.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him. I’m cautious. I haven’t had a chance to ask him any questions, like how the hell he got involved in all this, how long he’s been spying on me.

I haven’t had the chance to determine if I can really trust him.

Rio grunts as he sits up straighter. He wears a black button-down shirt with several of the top buttons open and long basketball pants with snaps down the sides.

“I figured you’d have questions,” he says in his gruff, direct tone.

I raise my eyebrow in response. Taking a step toward the tree across from his seat, I lean against it and say, “Who sent you to talk to me?” My voice is flat.

He lifts one corner of his mouth. “Do you really want to know?”

Honestly, no. Because if it’s Misha who sent him, then that will piss me off, especially since he spent way too much time trying to convince me to give my sister over to The Legion.

But if it’s Amelia who sent him, that just might piss me off more. Because if she thinks she can pretend to care about me by sending someone to help me wade through all the shit that’s been set in my lap, well….

Fuck her.

“Actually, it was Luna,” Rio gives me.

“Ah,” I say. “Well, she’s right. I do have questions. My first one is: Will you answer any questions I have truthfully?”

I stare at him hard, and he quirks his mouth again.

“Hunter, I understand why you might not be in the most trusting spirit, but believe me, I—more than anyone—want you to know what’s going on,” he says.

“Why?” I throw back at him.

He looks away for a second and stares at the ground as if he’s collecting his words.

“Well first, it’s because I’ve seen you over the past year. I’ve seen you. And I know that the things Misha and Amelia were concerned about aren’t actually real. You’re not like that. You’re not like him.”

The air seizes in my chest at the mention of my mother, and he doesn’t have to clarify that “him” means my father.

“How are you here?” I say.

He lifts his eyebrow. “Meaning?” he asks.

“I mean, you just suffered a near-fatal gunshot wound. How are you ambulating around the garden right now?”

He chuckles. “Ah, that,” he replies. “Besides the fact that Veronica acted quickly to save me, I was in a trial.”

At my look of confusion, he sighs. Leaning forward but grunting at the movement, he says, “All the shit Misha and Luna and Amelia told you earlier is true. I am one of The Legion’s experiments too. Like Luna.”

“So you got the serum?” I ask.

“No,” he says with a dark laugh. “I came after that’d fallen out of favor. I was in the first round of gene therapy.”

With Panacea?

“When?” I ask.

“Don’t worry, you’re not responsible for making me a freak,” he says. “I went into the military at eighteen.” He rubs a hand over his stubble. “I was so fucking hype to wear the uniform, you know? I was the first in my family to leave Bayridge Heights. In the military, I was more than the half-Dominican, half-Black kid with no father around. My work meant something. I was in for three years and coming up for reenlistment when I was approached by my CO for an ‘opportunity.’ So I signed up. Went on an assignment and came out like this.”

Rio shrugs.

“So you have super healing like Luna?”

He shakes his head. “Not quite. I can be killed quite easily, actually. That is, if I allow myself to be killed. I’ll heal if given the time and space, but it takes me a quarter of the time to heal compared to a regular person, rather than minutes for Luna. At least, Luna a few years ago. If someone were to slice Luna’s neck, she’d bleed and probably pass out, but she’d be back in minutes. If someone slit my throat, if I weren’t on supportive care for at least a few hours, I’d die like anyone else.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very useful benefit,” I reply.

Rio shrugs again.

“Our fast healing was a side effect.”

“What was their main goal, then?”

“Mind control.” His face shuts down as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. A butterfly lands on the wrought-iron bench next to him, and he stares at the monarch.

“How did you end up here?” I ask him.

He blows out a breath and I watch as the tension leaves his body. “That’s a really long story,” he says.

“Enlighten me,” I throw back.

He grins again. “The short answer is: Misha.”

He doesn’t add more, and I feel myself beginning to shut down at the mention of my…the pakhan’s name.

“Why should I trust you, Rio? Why should I trust anyone here?”

He nods as I speak, and his face turns so serious it takes me back a bit. “Do you really want to face the alternative?”

The alternative being that we’re out here alone and with a target on our backs.

And in that moment, I realize that no, I don’t. I won’t, for my family.

“I’m sorry, Hunter.” Rio’s words surprise me.

“For what, exactly?”

“For not preventing the raid. For not protecting Winter.” His face looks pained—but not necessarily from his rapidly healing wound. “Believe it or not, I care.”

Lies. I put my guard up, standing up straight and preparing to walk away from Rio and this conversation. “Why?”

“Because you matter to Amelia,” he says simply.

I exhale, forcing myself to keep my frustration from spilling out onto Rio.

“I’m going to trust you, Rio.”

He smiles.

When he stands, moving much easier than his earlier movements, I prepare to leave the garden.

“Misha is rough around the edges, but he’s as good of a man that can exist,” Rio says.

“What does that even mean?” Not far away, the crunch of the pea gravel on the path distracts me.

“It means that all men have some evil in them. Some more than others. I’ve gotten very good at figuring out the people behind their masks.”

I catch a glimpse of long, dark hair. Ella. I return my focus back to Rio.

“And what do you see behind my mask?”

Rio smiles, a genuine one this time, and he unbuttons his shirt. In a quick jerk, he rips the bandage from his shoulder.

Instead of the raw wound that should be present beneath his collarbone, the skin is smooth and unblemished.

This can’t be real.

When Rio re-buttons his shirt, he says, “You’re someone who has been profoundly hurt, but you’re trying like hell to be good.”

And with that sage wisdom, Rio returns to the house.

He’s right. After all the shit I’ve done and all the shit I’ve been through…I didn’t used to care about what I did and who I did it with.

But once I became fully responsible for August, things changed. And then Winter came into my life, and things changed even more.

I run my finger along one of the dozen roses in my hands, pausing to take in their aroma.

Then, the smell of marijuana smoke blends with the floral notes.

Turning toward the scent, I take the steps necessary to reach Ella. It takes me ten minutes to find where she’s run off to. She sits on the short step of a cedar gazebo with her knees pulled to her chest. She holds a joint in one hand, watching me with a hint of wariness as I approach.

“Sharing is caring, Ella.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s alone, but I am surprised to find her sitting under a gazebo in the middle of Misha’s garden, smoking a joint.

A thin rivulet of smoke comes from the end of Ella’s blunt, and she raises an eyebrow as she inhales. The cherry at the end of the spliff glows bright.

“I don’t want to test your sobriety, H,” she says after blowing out a lungful of smoke.

“If there’s ever a time to indulge, it’s now, don’t you think?” I place the roses on the bench near my hip.

I haven’t smoked in quite a while, definitely not since August became my full focus. And while my sobriety coach might shake their head at my indulgence, the fact is we all almost died less than twenty-four hours ago, and taking the edge off is warranted.

Ella hums. “Touché.” She hands me the J, and I don’t hesitate to bring it to my lips and inhale deeply.

“Where did you get this?” I ask, holding in the smoke.

When I exhale, she says, “Max.” Then she shrugs.

Ah. Of course.

“Hm,” I say, taking another hit before passing it back to her. It’s been more than a year since I last smoked, and the buzz starts to flow in my blood. I feel the wash of relaxation ride down my face before hitting the roadblock of my overly tense neck muscles.

“We need to come up with a plan,” I say, leaning against the gazebo post marking the entrance. Ella takes one hit and then another before passing the joint back to me.

“Wait, you want me to help you?” Her eyes sparkle, and when she turns to me, she looks like a kid again.

She is a kid. Barely an adult.

“Yeah,” I say. “I do. You know how this world works. Where we can go.”

“You want to run?” Ella stops the press of her words by grabbing the blunt from me and drawing hard on the smoke.

After holding the air in her lungs, she exhales as if releasing the thought. She hands it back.

“I have some ideas. Ideas that will keep us safe,” I say.

I think.

Another hit, one I take my time holding in. I exhale through my mouth and nostrils. As the smoke floats up into the sky, I stare as it dissipates.

“Do tell,” Ella says. “Don’t keep me in suspense.” She’s edgy, and I take a moment to really look at her.

“So. The big elephant in the room. Oh, elephants, I guess. Mom is alive and well. Misha the Mafiya Boss is our half brother,” I say, changing the subject.

Ella rocks back to balance her weight in a crunch for a moment before moving straight again.

“Yeah, that’s a mindfuck,” she draws out.

To say the fucking least. I pass her the blunt.

“I…” she begins, but when I look at her, she snaps her mouth shut.

“What’s up, Ellie?” I ask.

She takes a deep breath. “The biggest question I have is ‘how?’ How could she stay away for this long—nearly twenty years—and not try to come to us? I mean, I’m happy she’s alive. I think. But I was a baby, barely two when she died. I can’t imagine how…” She takes a hit and passes it back to me without meeting my gaze.

“The how doesn’t matter, Ella. All that matters is what’s happening right now. Feel what you feel about it,” I say. I sense Winter’s effect on me as I talk about emotions.

“And what do you feel, H?” Her eyes are big as she stares up at me like I might have all the answers.

I don’t. I wish I did.

“I feel that we’re in a weird place right now. It’s difficult to know what’s real and what’s fake. I feel paranoid, but I’m trying not to be…but then another part of me feels very strongly that my paranoia is protection. For me. For us.”

I scratch the side of my nose, uncomfortable with the rising stress that nullifies the effects of the pot.

“What matters at this exact moment is that our family is safe,” I say.

“And does that include Mom? Or Misha too, I guess.”

I shake my head, my response immediate. “Not at all. At least, not for me.”

Ella nods slowly and stares at her feet. “And if I want it to include them?” she asks.

My throat tightens. “I don’t trust them, Ellie.”

I won’t live if anything happens to anyone else in my family either way. I won’t survive it.

There’s another passing of the joint.

“Do we really have the luxury not to trust them?” she asks in a smaller voice.

I know what’s at stake here. We’re really facing wholesale extermination if The Legion succeeds. When I left the war room, I took the provided tablet with me and sat on the bed in the foreign room. I read how The Engineers lead The Legion, controlling The Directors who do their bidding and still operate across the globe.

This shit runs deep and wide; it’s a cancer that will take over the world without a doubt if given the right fuel.

BwP’s technology is that fuel.

“The people who raided Amelia Manor weren’t looking for August. They were looking for you,” I say. That part of the information was hazy—their motivations behind wanting Ella. But I have my suspicions.

Her eyebrows go up and her hand shakes as she rushes to bring the smoke to her mouth.

“They wanted…me? Why?” She pats her pockets, likely looking for a sugar fix to help her stabilize.

“I don’t know. But what I do know is that to end this and get us back to some sense of normalcy, I have to do something.”

Because fuck if I’ll let them use Ella.

Ella stares at me, a curious look in her gaze. “What aren’t you telling me, Hunter Brigham?”

But before I can respond with a lie, Leo’s voice comes from the vicinity of my left shoulder.

“Mind if I join you?” Leo says. When I turn toward him, I notice his gaze on Ella’s hand and the joint she holds between her delicate fingertips.

“Might as well,” Ella mutters. She points the smoke in Leo’s direction. “Want some?”

Leo gives her a disapproving look.

Ella shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She takes another hit.

I suck in the smoke deep when Ella hands it over to me.

“And what will you do with Winter and August? Hide them away and play the martyr? Or are you planning on us all living in hiding forever? If I recall correctly, running hasn’t done you much good in the long term,” Ella says, her tone grave.

With that statement, all my anxiety comes rushing back to the surface. She’s right. I’ve kept away from her and August because of my fear of putting a target on their backs.

And I was right.

Now, I have August and Ella and Winter…and we’re bringing another life into the mix.

But that was your plan, right?

I shrug. I want to seem casual, aloof, but the action is more to shake off the guilt.

“Hunter, you can’t go off on a suicide mission. Let’s think of anything else,” Ella says.

Leo’s head swings toward me. “What, H?”

I take another hit and pass it back to Ella.

I inhale slowly, letting the morning air soak into my lungs. I shrug.

He grunts in response.

I focus on the sounds of crickets in the distance.

“So, BwP,” Leo says, changing the subject. “We have to do something about Panacea.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Fuck if I know,” he says, running an agitated hand through his hair.

“BwP doesn’t matter right now. Especially if these fuckers are about to pull an Enders Game ,” I reply.

Leo takes up space on the pillar opposite mine, but it’s Ella who says, “What matters the most right now is figuring out a way to get out of this that doesn’t include anyone being put in direct danger. I don’t want you to die, H. Believe it or not, I’m rather partial to having you around.” She tries to deliver the words as a joke, but her chin trembles shortly before tears start running down her cheeks.

“Shit, sorry,” Ella says. “I shouldn’t be crying right now.” She wipes her eyes with her wrists, and my heart clenches.

“Ellie,” I say, my voice soft. I open my arms, and she hops up to run into them. “It’s okay to cry.”

She lets out a choked chuckle, then says, “Yeah, you’re one to talk.”

I run my knuckles back and forth on the top of her head like I did when we were kids.

“Hey!” she says, laughing.

“That’s better,” I add. “No one is going to die.”

Please. Please, God.

“You’re really not thinking of running, are you?” The look in her eyes shows she’s on the brink of emotional devastation.

I sigh, clapping a hand on each of her shoulders. “I’ll figure out another way. For now, go do something to boost your serotonin.”

She rolls her eyes and says, “Veronica said she found a massive bag of Extreme Sour Patch Kids in the pantry, soooooo see ya later.”

She begins to walk away but stops short. Pivoting on her heel, she crushes me in another hug.

“I love you, H.” And then she’s gone.

Leo and I rest in silence for a moment, breathing the air as the marijuana smoke dissipates.

“We have to destroy Panacea.” Leo’s words couldn’t have stunned me more, not because I don’t know it’s the inevitable end for our key technology, but because he actually said them.

“Are you sure?” My throat burns.

He nods slowly, his gaze far off. “Even with them having it, we can’t let anyone else have it either,” he says.

I drop my head to the pillar. “I know.”

More silence.

“Listen, H. You have a family now. You have August and Winter to think about.”

Yes. Winter and August and Ella and Veronica and fuck, even Kitty.

And another life is growing every day in Winter. An uneasy feeling swells within my chest as I realize that in the craziness of everything, I never did get around to telling Leo about the pregnancy. Winter doesn’t want too many people to know for the next few weeks, but Leo is my best friend, and he should know.

Winter would understand; she’s told Veronica, and I’ve told Ella.

I tilt my head in Leo’s direction.

I don’t know why I haven’t confided in him.

Maybe it’s because you know he’ll ask hard questions that you don’t want to answer.

“Winter’s pregnant,” I blurt out, and if circumstances were different, I’d choke with laughter at the look of shocked confusion spreading across his face.

“Did you…plan that?” he asks, his words careful.

Did we plan this?

A distant part of my brain realizes that while we may not have exactly planned to create a new life…I certainly did.

And why is that, Hunter?

Veronica’s accusations ring in my ears, so I shrug in response to Leo’s question.

“Well, this makes my point even more, H.”

“What the fuck do you expect me to do, Leo? I’m not going to let them use Ella. She’s gone through enough.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t fucking know, Hunter. All of this is so incredibly fucked. I just…I don’t want anything to happen to anyone.”

I let out a breath.

“Oh. I didn’t expect to see anyone else here.” Leo and I both turn to watch my mother as she approaches us. The sun reflects off her dark, wavy hair.

I turn away and stare hard at the side of Leo’s face.

“Amelia,” he says, stepping down from the gazebo until he’s a foot away from her.

“How? I…” He’s flustered, and for a man who uses so few words, it’d be comical if this situation weren’t so enraging.

“Leo, it’s so good to see you again. You’re all grown up now!” She lets out the delicate laugh that I’ve heard in my dreams for the last two decades, and the sound of it is like sandpaper over my deepest wounds.

“Yeah, growth is what happens in the span of twenty years, Mother.” My tone is biting, and when she looks down at the pavers beneath her feet, kicking a piece of gravel, I feel a slight jolt of remorse.

I’m likely not being fair to her. I haven’t heard her out. Maybe she had reasons…reasons for leaving us behind.

Reasons for leaving me behind.

But do her reasons really fucking matter?

“H, c’mon, man,” Leo says. “Your mother is alive. That’s a miracle. I’d give anything to have my mother back from the grave.”

He keeps his words light, but I hear the grief behind them. As the statement lands, I feel guilt hit me from another angle.

“No,” I grind out. I turn to look her in the eye. “She made a choice. She chose to stay away.”

The three of us stand in awkward silence.

“Hunter, I know you’re angry,” she says. “But can you give me a chance to explain? There’s so much you need to know—so much you should know.”

My eyebrows drop over my hard gaze. “More than there being a genocidal secret society who wishes to use my sister— your daughter —as part of some fucked societal cleansing? Let’s not forget that they wanted me to fuck Blair to produce some kind of genetic jackpot.”

She releases a humorless chuckle. “Yes, there’s more to explain than that.”

“Well, in your explanation, will you tell me why you abandoned us to a fucking psychopath? Will you explain why you left me to suffer?”

“Son,” she says, her voice choked.

“You don’t get to call me that. Don’t call me that, ever. ” My voice is a shout, and nearby birds sing and flap their wings at the echo of my rage.

Leo steps closer to my mom, placing an arm around her shoulder.

I have a flash of August in our kitchen in Amelia Manor when he said the same words to me.

“H, you’re being really unfair.” Leo pulls my mom closer to him, and she sniffles but squares her shoulders.

“No, Leo, he’s right to be livid. He really is. And I’m sorry, so—Hunter. I’m so, so sorry.”

I stare at her hard, but I don’t see her. All I see are the people who hurt me, who tortured me at the command and blessing of Benjamin Brigham. I see her dying and the devastation her death caused. I see how I ran away from all the things that terrified me and hurt me, and I see her here…standing tall…having lived a life without those terrors.

While I was stuck in Hell.

I swipe the forgotten roses off the bench, crushing them a bit in the process. One rose hangs at a nearly ninety-degree angle, pointing downward and signaling its soon-approaching death.

“I wish you would have stayed dead,” I say. Taking in Leo’s disapproving stare and my mother’s teary face, I walk away from both of them.

Sure, she wants to explain. But it will be on my terms when I allow it.

Control. I’m in control of this.

Even in control of silencing the dead.