Nobody sat back down right away.
Not after Thiago dropped the bomb about the docks.
Ashley leaned back against the granite counter, sliding her chef's knife flat against the surface. It was still in arm's reach, but she wasn't gripping it like a murder weapon anymore. Ebony stayed frozen at the dining table, her silver spoon pinched between shaking fingers. She watched Raphael's hard profile, trying to read whatever he wasn't saying out loud.
Raphael didn't tell her not to worry. He didn't offer that fake, sugary comfort guys usually throw around when they want a woman to just calm down and let them handle it.
Instead, he gave Thiago a sharp nod and said, "Sit. Eat first."
Mateo opened his mouth, looking geared up to argue tactical priorities, but caught the dead-eyed stare Raphael shot him. The youngest shifter clearly decided he actually enjoyed breathing. He slid smoothly into a chair at the island and grabbed his bowl like it might get confiscated.
Ashley pointed a stiff finger at the wall of muscle crowding her space. "Y'all are gonna eat. I didn't slave over a stove for an hour just to let this get cold while you give me a horror movie debrief."
Thiago gave her a quick nod. "Yes, ma'am."
"Don't 'yes ma'am' me. I'm twenty-two."
Thiago's stoic mouth twitched, fighting a smirk. "Got it, Ashley."
"Much better."
Isaías sat down quietly, immediately digging in like a man who hadn't seen real food in three days. Dante took the chair with the absolute best, unobstructed view of the front windows—muscle memory. Raphael stayed standing a second longer, his golden eyes sweeping the deadbolts, the glass side door, and the front hall before finally anchoring on Ebony.
Ebony raised her eyebrows a fraction. You good?
Raphael finally sat, choosing the chair directly beside hers. He was close enough that the heavy, localized heat of his body radiated against her arm.
Ashley watched the silent exchange. She didn't say a word, just filed it away in her fiercely protective brain.
Mateo took a massive bite of the soup and let out a loud groan. "Oh, damn. This hits."
Ashley crossed her arms, smirking. "I know."
Thiago took a slower, more analytical bite, then nodded firmly. "This is legit."
Ebony's tight shoulders eased a fraction of an inch. "Told you."
Ashley leaned back, a bit of her normal swagger returning. "I run a spot downtown. If it sucked, I'd have to fight myself."
Mateo perked up. "Bet. What's it called?"
"Baptiste's," Ashley said, stating it like it was an internationally known fact.
Mateo snapped his fingers. "Oh, that new spot right by—"
"Don't name the location, idiot," Thiago cut in, his voice a low whip crack.
Ashley stared at him. "Are y'all seriously like this 24/7?"
Thiago's grim expression didn't shift. "Yeah. We are."
Ebony jumped in, needing to brag about her sister to cut the tension. "She uses mostly what I grow out back. Heirloom tomatoes, basil, mint, the ghost peppers. Her seasonal menu basically shifts depending on what my garden feels like doing that week."
Isaías looked up from his empty bowl. "You garden?"
"It's my thing."
Ashley waved her spoon at Isaías. "When she modestly says 'garden,' she means she's running an entire unregulated farm operation out there. It's not normal."
"It is completely normal," Ebony argued, though a genuine smile finally broke through the trauma haze.
Raphael didn't comment. He just threw a casual glance toward the backyard, trying to convince his hyper-vigilant brain that he hadn't seen her flora literally shifting to follow her heartbeat earlier.
Ashley caught that look. She shot Ebony a heavily loaded glance that screamed: See? He knows you're weird too.
Ebony ignored her. An old, deeply ingrained reflex.
Thiago set his ceramic spoon down on the table. The sharp clink caused an immediate shift in the room's atmosphere. The break was over.
"Alright," Ashley said, pointing her spoon at him. "Talk. But talk to me like a normal person, not a classified military brief."
Thiago nodded, respecting the bluntness. "We hit the docks. Warehouse seventeen. It wasn't empty, it was scrubbed. Bleached. Like somebody with deep pockets swept a massive crime scene before we even got our boots on the ground."
Dante leaned his elbows on the table. "Fresh water marks all over the concrete. Heavy-duty chemicals. Someone tipped them off."
"Drag marks on the loading bay, too," Isaías added grimly. "New. Heavy."
Ebony's damaged stomach knotted. "People."
Thiago looked right at her, refusing to sugarcoat the ugly truth. "Yeah. People in cages."
Ashley's face fell, the older-sister jokes completely vanishing. "So they were actually there. Like, recently."
"Very," Dante said flatly.
Mateo leaned forward, his energy restless. "There was a blacked-out SUV rolling the perimeter before we even got close. Not an Uber, not a lost tourist. They were watching the ashes."
"So they knew you were coming," Ashley said, her voice dropping.
Thiago nodded. "Or they assumed somebody would eventually show up to ask questions."
Raphael's jaw flexed, a dangerous, rhythmic tick. "Any sign of our missing?"
Isaías shook his head. "Not at seventeen. Nothing breathing."
"But," Dante said, reaching into his jacket. He tossed something small onto the center of the wooden table. "We found this."
It was a tiny, torn scrap of heavy paper—part of an industrial shipping label, deeply creased and covered in soot.
Ashley snatched it up first, examining it before sliding it over to Ebony like she was trying to keep her sister from spiraling.
Ebony stared at the fragment. Two interlocked, black triangles. A partial, alphanumeric route code. Not enough data to plug into a search engine, but enough to feel terrifyingly real.
"Got torn off a wooden pallet," Thiago explained. "Missed the fire. Could mean nothing. Could mean a lot."
Ebony swallowed hard, pushing the scrap away. "So what happens now?"
"We lock down and tighten up here," Raphael answered instantly.
Ashley's dark eyes narrowed. "Here as in… my house."
Raphael met her fierce gaze evenly. "You two are close. That makes this address the X, whether you want it to be or not."
Ashley opened her mouth, closed it, and blew out a loud breath. "Hate that. But fine."
Raphael looked at his men. "You can talk openly in front of them. About the docks, the shipping ports, the threats. If it affects Ebony, they hear it."
Ashley gave a sharp nod, deeply appreciating the lack of bullshit.
Raphael's intense gaze stayed on Thiago, but his voice threaded seamlessly through the shifter mind-link, hitting the pack as quietly and dangerously as a drawn blade:
[Keep your mouths shut about what we are. Do not tell her she is my mate. Not a single word.]
Thiago's dark eyes flicked once. [Copy that, Alpha.]
Mateo's reckless mental voice brushed against the link, sounding annoyed. [So we're seriously not telling her anything fun?]
[No. Shut up,] Raphael snapped mentally.
Mateo instantly killed his connection.
Out loud, Thiago kept the briefing moving. "Commercial shipping ports are a logistical nightmare. If the syndicate is moving people through international containers, the paperwork hides a lot of sin. They load them onto a freighter and they're ghosts in an hour."
Ashley stared blankly at her empty bowl. "That's sick."
"It's the reality," Isaías said simply.
Ebony's voice came out soft, trembling slightly. "So… they'll definitely send someone else for me."
Raphael didn't flinch. "Yes."
Ebony looked at him, her silver eyes wide. "Just because I got away? Because I ruined one plan?"
"Because you're an incredibly high-value target," Raphael corrected, refusing to let her minimize her worth.
Ashley's head snapped toward him. "Valuable how? She's a grad student."
Raphael paused, calculating how to drop the truth without dumping the entire horrifying reality of the "Permanent Collection" onto Ebony's fragile lap.
"Your specific work," he said, speaking directly to Ebony. "Your access to the lab. Your mind. You."
Ebony's cheeks flooded with sudden, intense heat. She dropped her gaze to the wood grain, her heart doing a frantic stutter-step. He's just managing the asset, she told herself viciously, building the walls back up. It's a tactical assessment. Don't be an idiot.
Ashley caught the blush. Of course she did.
She didn't tease her sister, though. She just took a deep breath. "Alright. Let's talk cameras."
Thiago slipped right back into logistics mode. "We need eyes on the front porch, the back garden, and the side gate. High-def motion sensors. Local hard drive storage only. We are not hooking anything up to the cloud where they can hijack the feed."
Ashley blinked. "Okay, nerd."
Dante deadpanned, "Nerd shit keeps you breathing."
Ashley raised both hands. "Fair play."
Isaías stood up, his massive frame blocking the light. "I'll walk the outside perimeter."
"Do not step on my sweet mint," Ashley called out automatically.
Isaías paused at the back door, glancing over his shoulder. "I won't."
"Thanks."
Dante grabbed his empty bowl and headed for the sink, already calculating blind spots and sniper angles. Mateo intentionally lingered near the island, clearly wanting to stay close to Ashley just to irritate Thiago.
Ashley pointed a finger at him. "You are not helping by hovering in my kitchen."
Mateo flashed a brilliant grin. "I'm supervising the op."
"You're being annoying."
"Same difference."
Thiago didn't even look up. "Mateo. Move."
Mateo sighed heavily, acting deeply oppressed, and finally went out to the yard to help Isaías.
Raphael stayed firmly seated next to Ebony, but his attention never settled. He tracked his men moving through the old house, listening to the glass back door, tracking the soft scrape of heavy boots on the hardwood.
Ebony forced down two more bites of her soup through sheer willpower. She set her spoon down and began rubbing her thumb rapidly against her index finger—a nervous tic she didn't even realize she was doing.
Raphael caught it instantly.
"You good?" he asked quietly, his voice dropping so only she could hear.
Ebony nodded, offering a small, tired smile. "Trying to be."
Ashley walked back into the kitchen, vigorously wiping her hands on a towel. "Okay, so—while the cartel documentary is filming in my backyard, I have a quick update."
Ebony looked up.
"Mom and Dad are flying back tonight," Ashley said. "They're trying to land directly in New Orleans, but if there are weather delays, they might get pushed to early tomorrow morning."
Ebony's rigid shoulders finally dropped. A wave of profound relief washed over her. "Okay. Good."
Raphael's golden gaze sharpened. "Your parents know what happened in the alley?"
"They know enough," Ashley said firmly.
"And they're coming straight here." It was not a question.
"Yep. So, I need everyone in this house to please try to look slightly less like you're planning a black-ops assassination before my mama walks through that door."
Thiago's mouth twitched. "We'll do our best."
Ashley snorted. "Try harder."
A heavy car slowly rolled up outside on the street.
Slow. Creeping.
The headlights swept sharply across the sheer curtains of the front window, then abruptly cut off.
Every head in the room turned toward the front of the house.
Raphael rose from his chair so fast it barely made a sound.
Thiago was already moving from the hallway back toward the front door. Dante seemingly teleported into the living room. Isaías' deep voice drifted in from the backyard, low and urgent: "Vehicle Front."
Ashley froze, her hand tightening on the towel. "That's them. It has to be."
Ebony's heart started hammering against her ribs again—a chaotic, dizzying mix of relief and lingering panic.
A heavy car door shut outside.
Rapid footsteps hit the brick walkway.
A metal key slid roughly into the deadbolt.
"Yeah. That's Mom," Ashley breathed.
The heavy front door swung open, and Dr. Marjorie Baptiste stepped inside. She looked like a woman who had been holding herself together with duct tape for a twelve-hour international flight and was finally done pretending.
She wore wrinkled travel clothes. Her dark hair was pulled back haphazardly. Her eyes were exhausted, but fiercely sharp.
She saw Ebony standing in the kitchen, and her entire face broke.
"Baby," Marjorie said, her strong voice cracking.
Ebony stood up from her chair so fast it scraped loudly against the tile.
Marjorie crossed the room in three strides and grabbed her daughter, holding her like she was making sure Ebony couldn't physically vanish again. Ebony's breath hitched, and she held on tight, her forehead pressed to her mother's shoulder, finally letting the wall crack.
Right behind Marjorie came Dr. Charles Baptiste. Quieter, vastly more contained, but exuding a solid, protective presence. He immediately locked the heavy door and slid the deadbolts into place on pure instinct. His dark eyes quickly swept the room—checking Ebony, scanning Ashley, then assessing the massive men.
His gaze landed squarely on Raphael.
And stayed there.
Marjorie pulled back just enough to cup Ebony's face in both hands, scanning her features with the calculating eye of a trauma doctor and the desperate terror of a mother.
"Are you physically hurt?" she demanded, her thumbs brushing Ebony's cheekbones. "Tell me where it hurts."
Ebony swallowed hard, fighting back the tears. "I'm okay, Mom. Just… so tired."
Marjorie's sharp eyes flicked to Ashley. "And you?"
Ashley shrugged, acting like she wasn't about to start crying too. "I'm fine. Running on iced lattes and sheer spite."
Marjorie's mouth tightened into a formidable line. She finally turned around, facing the heavily armed men standing silently in her daughter's home.
Her voice went dead calm. The scary kind.
"Who the hell are you?"