Truly Theirs

Chapter 7

Michael’s POV

The fog never lifted in Devil’s Hollow.

It crawled like a living thing, thick and damp, curling under the cabin’s warped floorboards and seeping through the cracks in the old tin roof. Michael stood at the doorway, shotgun in hand, staring at the endless line of pines that guarded the clearing.

No birds. No wind. No movement.

He hated how quiet it was.

Behind him, Evelyn lit an oil lantern and set it on the battered table. She moved with mechanical precision, every task part of a routine drilled into her bones: sweep the perimeter, log the signal strength (zero), inventory supplies, prep fallback routes.

“We’re clear,” she said, not looking up. “No tracks. No drone hum. No satellites today.”

Michael didn’t answer. His eyes flicked to Ethan, swaddled in a wool blanket and sleeping in a drawer Evelyn had converted into a makeshift crib. His tiny chest rose and fell steadily.

“He’s getting heavier,” Michael mumbled. “We’ll need a carrier soon.”

Evelyn shot him a glance. “Focus on the now, not what you think comes next.”

“I am focused.”

“You’re spiraling.”

Michael turned sharply, voice tight. “They almost got us at the last cabin.”

“Because you hesitated.”

The silence snapped between them. Michael looked down, jaw clenched.

Evelyn took a breath. Calmer now. “They’re going to keep chasing. But they’re guessing now. That’s when they get reckless.”

She opened a battered case, pulling out a hand-drawn map and an old Army-issue radio receiver non-digital, untraceable.

“We’ll listen for activity from the state line forward posts. If they get close, we’ve got two fallback caches and an ATV trail out through the west ridge. But we don’t move until we’re sure.”

Michael sat heavily in the crooked chair beside Ethan’s drawer. “He’s gonna forget them. Liam. Noah. Nadyia.”

Evelyn didn’t blink. “Good.”

“No. It’s not.”

His voice cracked. “He deserves more than this.”

Evelyn stepped forward slowly, her tone like steel. “He deserves to live, Michael. That’s what you’re giving him. Not some half-life surrounded by liars and judges and state orders.”

“They’re not all bad,” Michael whispered.

Evelyn's voice turned to ice. “You owe him this. You owe me this.”

Michael looked at his son, quiet and dreaming, and said nothing.

Outside, the fog thickened again, erasing footprints, swallowing light. In Devil’s Hollow, there were no roads.

Only the silence.

And those willing to live in it.

Devil’s Hollow Safehouse – 1:03 PM after Latham is taken into custody:

The shadows here moved differently. Slower. Denser. Like the woods themselves were watching.

Michael stood near the boarded window, rocking Ethan gently in his arms. The baby had finally fallen asleep after hours of soft murmuring and milk warmed over a fire. He looked peaceful. Untouched by the panic, tightening Michael’s chest like a vice.

Evelyn moved silently behind him, sorting the next round of supplies. Weapons in one duffel. Documents in another. The final one for cash, medicine, formula whatever they couldn’t replicate off-grid.

“You’ve got maybe two more days before the signal goes dark,” she said without looking up. “After that, we stick to relays only.”

“Latham confirmed the Croft's Ridge patrol was deployed late,” Michael said. “So far, no counter-movement. They still think we’re moving east.”

Evelyn paused, one gloved hand resting on the duffel. “Don’t get cocky. We only have to be wrong once.”

Michael turned back to the window. “I know.”

His eyes scanned the thick trees outside, every rustle tightening his spine. Evelyn’s drills had trained him for this. Survive. Evade. Disappear.

But the dream was slipping. Ethan had whimpered in his sleep last night, and Michael had imagined sirens in the wind. His own breath had echoed too loud in the one-room cabin.

He thought about Nadyia and what she must be feeling. What she was doing.

No. That path led to doubt.

“We’re going to be free,” he whispered to the sleeping baby. “You and me. No more custody battles. No more strangers telling me what my son needs.”

“And no more lies,” Evelyn added. “This is your blood, Michael. You’re doing what weak men are too afraid to do, take back what’s yours.”

He nodded slowly. But something flickered in the pit of his stomach.

He hadn’t heard from Latham in over six hours.

Evelyn noticed his hesitation. “If you’re doubting him, don't. He’s lasted this long for a reason. We’ll pull the signal at dusk. He knows the protocols.”

Michael swallowed the rising unease. “Right.”

Evelyn zipped the last bag shut and stood. “We move at sunrise. Just past the state line, a pilot’s waiting with no questions asked. Once we hit Baja, we vanish.”

Michael looked down at Ethan, small hand curled against his chest. “We’ll have peace, little man. I promise.”

Outside, the forest exhaled as clouds rolled in, casting Devil’s Hollow in premature dusk.

But peace was an illusion.

And time was running out.

Later that night 3:47 PM

The last crate snapped shut with a metallic clack. Ammunition, freeze-dried packs, iodine, and baby formula stacked with militant precision. Evelyn slid the false floor back over the cabin’s root cellar, sealing away the evidence of their weeks on the run.

“Extraction window is 0500 sharp,” she said, pulling on a worn canvas jacket. “Fuel’s cached twenty clicks west. We reached the airstrip by 0700. If Latham’s ping comes through on time, we’ll be ghosts before they finish their coffee.”

Michael paced near the fireplace, baby monitor in hand. “He’s never missed a window.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “And if he’s dead, they’d already be here.”

“Unless they’re watching.”

“If they were, we’d be dead,” she snapped. “You need to stop spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling. I’m being careful.” He glanced toward the back room, where Ethan slept under layers of blankets in a makeshift crib. “He’s not just mine anymore. He’s ours. That changes the math.”

Evelyn’s expression softened barely. “It refines the math. Makes you sharper. You’d kill for that boy. Good. Use that.”

She loaded a field tablet with local topographic overlays and tapped the cracked screen. “Three ways out. Two are rigged with decoys. If we get even the hint of a tail”

“We blow them,” Michael finished.

“Exactly.”

He hesitated. “Do you ever think about what comes next? Like after Baja?”

Evelyn’s fingers paused. Her eyes lifted. “That’s where you lose people. Thinking ahead. There is no after until we win the now.”

Michael exhaled through his nose. He wanted to believe that. Needed to. But the silence of the woods didn’t feel peaceful anymore. It felt like someone was holding their breath.

Evelyn zipped the main duffel, then crossed to the fireplace mantle. She picked up an old analog radio the size of a lunchbox and turned it on. Static hissed, then resolved into a string of rhythmic beeps.

“Still on schedule,” she said. “Latham’s late, but not silent.”

“That’s something,” Michael muttered.

Evelyn handed him a burner phone. “Final check-in at 0200. If he doesn’t confirm the relay, we switch to Protocol Ash.”

Michael’s eyes flicked toward the nursery. “And Ethan?”

“He moves with us. Always. But if it gets bad we split.”

Michael’s jaw tightened. “That’s not happening.”

Evelyn didn’t argue. She didn’t need to. The plan was already in motion.

She glanced out the window as the treeline darkened, clouds pressing low and heavy overhead. “You want peace, Michael? This is the price.”

He stared into the fading light.

“I just want my son to have a life that wasn’t stolen from him before he could speak.”

Evelyn nodded once. “Then don’t hesitate when the fire starts. Because it’s coming.”