We came to take over your spot

/̵͇̿̿/'̿'̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿

𝕋ℍ𝔼 cold had teeth. It bit through the morning air, sharp enough that even the glow of the building's floodlights felt distant, almost cruel. They sat outside, huddled against the wind—Rosita close to Blue's side.

Blue's disguise was clumsy but necessary: a cap pulled low over his head, baggy clothes draped over his lean frame, the fabric heavy enough to obscure the shape of him. But it was his hand—warm, steady—resting on Rosita's thigh that tethered her to the earth. Without it, she felt she might unravel entirely.

Franklin sat across from them, tablet in his lap, posture stiff and wary. The glow of the screen painted his face in shades of steel and fatigue. He looked like a man who had seen far too much and learned to expect even worse.

"That him?" Franklin asked at last, tilting the tablet so the picture came into the light.

Rosita's gaze snapped to it. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. The man in the photo—the face that had torn her world in half—stared back. Rainn Delacourt.

Owen's jaw tightened. His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of a storm. "That's him."

Franklin swiped across the screen, muttering as if to himself. "Name's Rainn Delacourt. Real piece of work." His eyes lifted, sharp now. "What'd he take?"

Rosita's arms folded tightly across her chest. It was the only thing that kept her hands from shaking. "Our children."

The words burned like fire as they left her lips, harsh and heavy in the morning air.

Franklin stilled. He blinked, exhaled, then gave a low whistle. "Oh, shit." His gaze cut to Claire, almost accusing. "I told you somebody would come looking for them. You can't just take a person, Claire."

Claire's eyes glimmered with something fierce, a shadow of regret tangled with defiance. "I had no choice."

"Not in the eyes of the law." Franklin shook his head, eyes darting about the lot like he expected shadows to start moving.

Blue's voice cut through, sharp and low, the edge of a blade drawn across stone. "This guy is not the law. He took our niece. My son. Tell us how to find him."

Franklin looked at Blue—and for a heartbeat, the world went still. Blue's stare carried weight, something primal, unblinking. Franklin's throat bobbed as he swallowed before looking back down at his tablet.

"Where'd you guys call me from?" he asked, trying for casual.

Claire handed over her phone. Franklin cracked it open, pulled the battery with nimble, practiced fingers. "We've got a man on the inside of Delacourt's operation," he said, words clipped, mechanical. "There's an exchange in Malta tomorrow. Cash for cargo."

Owen leaned forward, eyes locked. "Was she with him?"

Franklin shook his head. "There's no mention. But we've already got people on the ground." His thumb danced over the tablet. "One of 'em you know. A lot of us got recruited after the park went down."

The screen shifted, revealing a familiar face.

"Barry. French intelligence now."

Rosita's heart twisted, some small flicker of hope warming her chest even as her knuckles ached from clenching so tightly.

Owen looked at her, searching, then nodded. "I need to talk to him."

"You can't just call him," Franklin replied sharply. His sigh was heavy, a man who'd repeated the same warning too many times. "He's deep cover. Look—once we make the bust in Malta, our people will see if Delacourt knows where the kids are. Our people. Not you." Blue scoffed, the sound sharp as flint striking steel.

Franklin's eyes shifted between Rosita and Owen, narrowing slightly. "Promise me you won't go in there with your vest and mess everything up."

Owen's mouth curved into the ghost of a smirk, dry and humorless. "Why would we do that?"

Franklin groaned under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. "You two are insane." His eyes softened despite himself, lingering on Rosita, then Blue. "But... you seem like good parents. The kids are lucky to have you." He leaned in, voice low, sincere. "Don't get killed, okay?"

Rosita finally unfolded her arms. Her voice was calm—but the calm of deep water, hiding the riptide beneath. "They took my niece. Took my son. Hit my husband with their car. If anyone is going to die, I'll make sure it's them—not my family." Her eyes hardened to steel. "I'll even feed them to the carnivores myself."

Franklin stared, speechless, as if he'd glimpsed the abyss within her. He nodded once, slowly.

The four of them rose, the cold gnawing at their coats. Blue's hand pressed against the small of Rosita's back, steady, grounding, a silent vow.

They didn't look back.

The night stretched long ahead, heavy with promise. And in Rosita's heart, a single flame burned hotter than the cold could ever snuff out.

𓆌

The hum of the plane was constant, low, and steady, yet it did little to soothe Rosita's nerves. She sat rigidly against the seat, her gaze fixed on the world passing by outside the small round window. Clouds drifted like pale ghosts across the night sky, the moonlight catching on their edges, making them silver, fleeting, untouchable. The view blurred and sharpened with every tilt of the aircraft, but she barely noticed; her body betrayed her more than her thoughts did.

Her leg bounced, restless, an anxious rhythm she couldn't seem to stop. Her hand clutched the armrest as if it might anchor her to something, anything solid. She barely realized the tremor in her breathing until Blue's hand slid across the space between them and came to rest on her thigh.

Firm, warm. Steady.

The bouncing slowed, stuttered, then stopped completely, as though her body recognized something her mind had not yet caught up to—that she was not alone.

Rosita turned her head, her dark eyes finding his. Beneath the brim of the cap, Blue's gold eyes glowed with quiet intensity. They were gentle now, soft as dusk light, yet behind them lay the same feral fire that once commanded a pack. That same fire burned now, but it was tempered, shaped into care. "We're going to get our son back, flower," he said, his voice low, almost reverent. "I promise."

The promise wasn't just words—it carried the weight of something primal, something unbreakable. A vow carved into bone and blood.

Rosita exhaled, a shaky breath that seemed to release some of the storm inside her. She leaned sideways, letting her head rest against Blue's shoulder. The fabric of his jacket was rough against her cheek, but his warmth beneath it was what she needed most.

Blue drew his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side with care that was both protective and tender. His touch wasn't just comfort—it was a fortress, wrapping her in the certainty that she would not be facing this terror alone.

"Our son is strong," Blue murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. "And stubborn. He'll be okay."

Her eyes fluttered shut, drinking in the cadence of his voice, the steadiness of it like the pulse of the earth.

"Sleep, my dear," he whispered, resting his head lightly against hers. "We'll be there soon."

Rosita nodded faintly, her body giving in to exhaustion. Within moments, her breathing evened, slow and gentle, her weight softening against him as sleep pulled her under.

Across the aisle, Owen and Claire were already dozing, their heads tilted in uneasy slumber. The cabin was quiet save for the steady drone of engines and the occasional crackle of turbulence.

Blue kept still, holding Rosita against him, but his gaze drifted back to the window. The clouds outside had parted, revealing the endless dark expanse of the Atlantic beneath, its surface invisible but ever-present, a reminder of the distance they were crossing.

His mind wandered where he wished it would not. To Delta. To Charlie. To Echo. His pack. His family. Torn from him, scattered, broken by the hands of others who thought themselves powerful. He remembered the way they had moved as one, the way they had trusted him, depended on him. And how he had failed them—not by choice, but by the cruelty of circumstance.

And now his son was out there, taken, threatened. The same hollow ache stirred in his chest, but it hardened quickly into something sharper. His eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as he pulled Rosita closer against his side.

Not this time.

He would not lose another pack. Not his blood. Not his son and wife.

Blue's hand tightened slightly on Rosita's shoulder, as if anchoring both of them in that vow. She stirred faintly but did not wake, and he pressed another kiss to her temple.

He kept watch as she slept, the gold of his eyes catching the dim light. Outside, the stars stretched endless and unblinking, silent witnesses to his promise.

They would find him. They would bring him home. And anyone who stood in their way would learn what it meant to threaten a raptor's family.

/̵͇̿̿/'̿'̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿

By: SilverMist707

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