Maya sat hunched over the table, the bluish glow of the screen painting shadows across her tired face. Brooklyn paced the room like a caged predator, the storm inside her refusing to quiet.
Ryan stood behind Maya, leaning over her shoulder, scanning the lines of data she pulled up on Langston Corp. Tyrone had claimed the couch, sprawled back with his pistol resting on the coffee table, flipping through a few documents Ryan had passed him earlier.
"There's nothing here." Maya muttered, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Langston Corp is squeaky clean on paper."
Ryan frowned. "There's no way that they bankrolled military projects without leaving a trail."
Brooklyn stopped pacing. "So where's the trail?"
Maya sighed. "It's probably buried. Every lead loops back to a front office or dummy shell company."
Brooklyn slammed her hand on the back of Maya's chair, making her flinch. "Dig deeper. I don't care how long it takes."
Ryan gently touched Brooklyn's arm, grounding her. "Hey... don't push her too hard." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "I'll call in some few favors too."
"Good." Brooklyn's voice was iron. "Because I'm not stopping until I put Langston Corp in the ground."
Tyrone, bored of the tension, grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV. "While you geniuses burn your brains out, I'll see if the world has anything good to offer."
The room lit with the sudden brightness of the screen. Static, then a news anchor's voice, calm but grim.
"Breaking news. A brutal home invasion has left two people dead tonight in what authorities are calling one of the most violent crimes in recent memory."
Tyrone froze mid-laugh, the smirk sliding off his face. "...Whoa."
Brooklyn, irritated, turned toward the screen. "Turn that off. We don't need..."
"The victims have been identified as Richard and Grace Hale. The parents of the former Airforce Captain Brooklyn Grant, who's been reported to be on the run."
Maya sat in stunned silence, her hand covering her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes. She whispered, brokenly, "Oh my God…"
Brooklyn's knees buckled slightly. Her hand shot to the arm of a chair to steady herself.
Ryan's head whipped to the screen, his face blanching. He whispered it before anyone else could.
"Uncle…"
The report cut to a wide shot of the living room. Broken furniture. Blood smeared across the walls like paint.
Brooklyn's heart stopped.
On the wall, in crude, jagged letters drawn with blood:
IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT.
The breath left her lungs in a strangled gasp. Her throat closed, vision blurring. She stumbled back, shaking her head like she could erase what she just saw.
"No…" she whispered. Then louder, harsher, like a plea. "No… no, no, no!"
She collapsed against the wall, fists hammering against it until her knuckles split. "This is my fault. This is my fault!"
Ryan moved toward her, but Brooklyn shoved him back, her tears blinding her. "Don't! Don't you touch me!"
"Brooklyn..."
"They killed them because of me!" she screamed, her voice cracking into a sob. "Mom and Dad... they're dead because..." Her body shook violently, sobs tearing through her chest like shrapnel.
Ryan stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides. His face was stone but his eyes glistened, his jaw trembling as he whispered, almost to himself: "Dammit…" He turned suddenly and drove his fist into the drywall, the crack splitting the silence with violent finality. Dust rained down from the impact.
Tyrone, just sat there... remote slipping from his hand, staring at the screen with a hollow expression. He muttered under his breath, low and deadly serious for once: "They sent a message."
Brooklyn staggered to her feet, heading for the door, wild-eyed, frantic. "I'm going there. I have to.... I have to see them!"
Ryan grabbed her wrist, his grip firm but shaking. "Brooklyn, no."
"Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing against him. Her nails dug into his arm, tears streaking her face. "I need to see them... I need to see my parents!"
"If you got out there you'll get arrested." Ryan growled, his voice breaking with emotion he couldn't hold back anymore. "You think that's what Richard would want?"
Her fight collapsed all at once. She crumpled against him, sobbing into his chest, her screams muffled but raw.
Ryan's arms tightened around her, his own tears falling silently into her hair.
Across the room, the TV kept playing, the anchor's voice a cruel, distant drone. "Investigators are still piecing together what happened inside the Hale residence but neighbors report seeing masked men leaving in a black van after the home was riddled with gunfire…"
Maya finally slammed the laptop shut, unable to take any more. The echo of it seemed to snap the group out of the paralysis.
Brooklyn pulled away from Ryan, her face streaked with tears, her voice hoarse but filled with venom. "This bastards... they just signed their own death warrant." She wiped her face with shaking hands, rage igniting behind the grief. "I'm gonna make the pay."
Ryan stared at her, torn between pride and dread.
Tyrone picked up his pistol, sliding a fresh magazine in with a hard click. "Guess the game just turned personal for all of us."
Maya swallowed hard, wiping her eyes, forcing steel into her voice. "They know she's on them now, it's only a matter of time before they pin us too."
Brooklyn turned back to the screen one last time, the words painted in blood still burned into her vision.
IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT.
Ryan's chest heaved, and his voice came out as a broken whisper: "We'll have to take them down before they hurt anyone else we love."