Page 75 of Illusionist
“While ensuring Malachi pays for every child he ever hurt,” Silas finishes with dark satisfaction.
The energy in the room shifts from frustrated planning to focused determination. Now we have a path forward that doesn't require sacrificing innocent children for revenge.
“There's something beautiful about this,” Marek observes, still shuffling cards. “The children he tried to break growing up to dismantle everything he built. The scattered family reuniting to protect the next generation.”
“Justice served by the people who understand it best,” Jonah agrees, his eyes holding that quiet satisfaction that makes him so dangerous despite his gentle nature.
I lean back in my chair, feeling proud to be part of this twisted family, proud to contribute meaningfully to their mission. These men have spent years hunting monsters, and now I've helped them find a way to do it without creating new victims in the process.
As the meeting breaks up and we begin executing the next phase, I catch Silas watching me with pride.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, but his smile is soft. “Just thinking about how lucky we are to have found you.”
“I'm the lucky one,” I reply, meaning every word. “I finally found a family that understands what justice really means.”
27
TEDDY
The motel room feels foreign now—too empty. I've been living in Silas's trailer for the past few days, wrapped in the warmth of their bodies, their acceptance, their complete upending of everything I thought I knew about myself. Being here alone, surrounded by case files and the detritus of my old life, feels like putting on clothes that no longer fit.
But I need my laptop and files for what comes next. To be honest, a part of me is surprised by how easily they let me go. No shadowing, no demands for constant check-ins. Just Silas pressing a kiss to my temple and Nova squeezing my hand before I headed out.
Trust. They trust me not to run, not to betray them, not to revert to the federal agent who stumbled into their world a week ago.
The realization is warm in my chest as I boot up my laptop, spreading the Sanctum files across the questionable bedspread. Time to prove that trust isn't misplaced.
I work methodically for two hours, cross-referencing survivor databases with professional credentials. Educational backgrounds, career trajectories, current positions in childwelfare organizations. The parameters are specific—advanced degrees, leadership experience, and most importantly, a childhood that ended abruptly when they were removed from the Sanctum.
My phone buzzes. A text from Nova:
Miss you already.
She attached a picture of her naked breasts, her free hand playing with one nipple.
Growling, I type back:
Just you wait until I get home.
Home.The word feels natural, right. Because somehow, in the span of a few days, I've started thinking of their space as home. Their mission as mine. Their family as the place I belong.
While the thought should terrify me, it makes me work faster, more determined to find the key to their plan. I want to speed this up, want to get back to them and the strange new life we're building together.
Time to call in a favor.
I scroll through my contacts until I find Ethan Kane's number. We've stayed in touch since the stalker case—professional courtesy that evolved into an almost friendship. If anyone can help me find a Sanctum survivor with the right credentials, it's him.
The phone rings three times before his familiar irreverent voice comes through the speaker.
“Coleman. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Ethan. I need your help with the Sanctum of Ash case.”
His tone sharpens immediately. “What kind of help?”
“Remember all that research you did on survivors? The ones who went legit, built respectable careers?”
