Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Ozzy studies me for a long beat. Then, like he’s decided I’ve earned it, he exhales and nods. “Okay.”
I wait, my heart oddly tight.
“Arrow,” he starts, voice steadier now, “is the one who keeps the chaos from turning into a dumpster fire. He’s always been a steady presence. Straight as an arrow kind of guy. If that makes sense.”
I snort. “That sounds like a full-time job.”
Ozzy’s mouth quirks. “It is. He’s… solid. The kind of guy who doesn’t say much, but when he does, you listen. He took point when this whole thing started—helping Juno. It turned into… all of this.”
I nod, absorbing it. “Juno’s his girlfriend, right?”
Ozzy’s eyes soften. “Yeah. She’s smart as hell. Funny. Deadly in a way that’s mostly digital but still terrifying. And she loves him. Like—real love.”
Something warm tugs at my chest.
Ozzy continues, “Gage… is family. Loud. Annoying. Loyal. The kind of guy who acts like everything’s a joke until it isn’t, then he turns into a beast.”
I smile without meaning to. “He sounds… safe.”
Ozzy’s gaze flicks to me. “He is.”
“And Knight?” I ask.
Ozzy’s mouth curves. “Knight is… an idiot.”
I choke on a laugh. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the best answer,” Ozzy insists, then relents. “He’s stubborn. Too sharp for his own good. Acts like he’s got it all under control when he’s one bad day away from lighting the world on fire.”
I blink. “That sounds like you.”
Ozzy gives me a look. “Don’t psychoanalyze me in bed.”
“I’m not,” I lie. “I’m observing.”
Ozzy huffs a laugh, then glances down at me, expression shifting into something quieter.
“You’ve met Arrow and Juno,” he says. “You’ve met Gage and River, technically. Knight and Lark too, but… that’s their own mess.”
My chest tightens again at the reminder that there’s a whole world outside this safehouse full of people who have each other. People with history. People who know how to belong.
I swallow. “And you?”
Ozzy’s brows lift. “Me?”
“Who’s your person?” I whisper. “Your best friend.”
Ozzy goes still for a second. Then his jaw softens, and something almost tender slips into his eyes. “Poe,” he says. The name feels like it matters the moment it leaves his mouth. “Poe Cameron,” Ozzy adds. “We grew up together.”
I blink. “You grew up with someone?”
Ozzy snorts softly. “Yeah. Believe it or not, I wasn’t born fully formed with a mohawk and a grudge.”
I laugh, and he smiles like he likes that sound coming from me. Then he looks toward the ceiling like he’s pulling a memory out of the dark. “Poe lived three houses down,” he says. “His mom worked nights. Mine worked whenever she felt like it. Which means… we raised ourselves, mostly.”
My throat tightens at the casual way he says it.
Ozzy continues, “We didn’t get along at first. He was quiet. Angry. Kept to himself. I was—”
“A handful,” I supply.
Ozzy’s eyes flick to me, amused. “Yeah. A major handful.”
I grin.
His expression shifts again, softer. “There was this day… I was maybe twelve. I got jumped behind the gas station.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
Ozzy shrugs like it’s nothing, like boys getting jumped is just… childhood. “There were three of them,” he says. “Older. They didn’t like that I mouthed off to one of them earlier in the week.”
My chest tightens with anger.
Ozzy’s mouth curves faintly, like he can see it in my face. “I fought. Didn’t do great.”
I start to sit up. “Ozzy—”
He tightens his arm around me, keeping me close. “I’m fine.”
“I hate them,” I say immediately.
Ozzy’s laugh is quiet. “Me too.” He keeps talking, voice low and steady. “I’m on the ground, blood in my mouth, trying to decide if I can crawl or if that’ll just make it worse.”
My throat aches.
“And then,” Ozzy says, eyes distant, “Poe shows up.”
I hold my breath.
Ozzy’s mouth softens. “He didn’t yell. Didn’t make a big deal. He just… walked right in like he owned the alley.”
My pulse thrums.
“He had a baseball bat,” Ozzy adds.
I blink. “Wow, that’s intense.”
Ozzy smirks. “Yeah. He didn’t swing it. Not at first. He just… held it. I remember him being so quiet.”
I can picture it so vividly it hurts.
“Those guys looked at him like he was nothing,” Ozzy continues. “Like he was just another kid.” His jaw tightens slightly. “Poe didn’t flinch. He said, ‘Get off him.’”
My skin prickles.
“They laughed,” Ozzy says. “So Poe took one step forward and tapped the bat on the pavement. Just once.” He makes the sound with his tongue—tok.
My heartbeat stutters.
“And something about it,” Ozzy murmurs, “made them hesitate. Like they realized he didn’t care what happened next.”
I whisper, “That’s terrifying.”
Ozzy nods. “It was. In a good way.”
I swallow. “What happened?”
Ozzy’s gaze drops to mine. “They left.”
Just like that.
I stare at him. “Just because he told them to?”
Ozzy’s mouth twitches. “No. Because he looked like he’d gladly go to jail at twelve years old for it.”
A laugh escapes me, half shocked, half relieved.