Three days after the Provo incident
Marcus first heard about it through a news notification on his phone.
He was sitting in the kitchen of David's house in Pasadena, California, drinking coffee that had gone lukewarm an hour ago. The morning sun was already turning the kitchen too warm, and he hadn't bothered to close the blinds. David was somewhere in the house, probably in his study, working on something that required intense focus and solitude. Marcus had learned not to interrupt him before noon.
The notification came at 10:47 AM.
Breaking: Woman threatened by fugitive Ken Blake in Idaho. FBI issues new warning.
Marcus's hand went still. The coffee cup froze halfway to his lips.
He clicked the notification before his brain could fully process what he was reading. The article was sparse—Emily Washburn, victim in the ongoing Ken Blake manhunt, had been threatened during an incident in Provo. She was safe. The FBI was investigating. They believed Crane was still in the region and warned the public to remain vigilant.
Emily.
The name hit him like a physical blow. Not because he didn't expect Blake to target her—he'd known that was always a possibility, always a danger hovering at the edges of this entire nightmare. But knowing something abstractly and reading about it happening were two completely different things.
He set the coffee cup down carefully, afraid his hands would shake and spill it.
"David," he called out, his voice steadier than he felt. "Come here."
David appeared within seconds, which told Marcus that he'd been monitoring his own news feed too. His friend's face was tight, controlled in that particular way that meant David was processing something significant.
"You saw it," David said. It wasn't a question.
"Just now." Marcus held up his phone. "Emily. Blake threatened her."
David moved into the kitchen and took the phone from Marcus's hands, reading the article with quick, efficient movements. His jaw clenched slightly—the only visible sign of whatever he was feeling.
"It says she's safe," David said, handing the phone back. "That's what matters."
"What if it's a lie?" Marcus heard the edge in his own voice. "What if they're just saying that to keep the panic down?"
"Or," David said, moving to the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water, "it's actually the truth. Blake is still running. Emily is protected. The FBI is doing their job."
Marcus wanted to believe that. He wanted to be the kind of person who could hear bad news, note that everyone involved was alive, and move on with his morning. He had tried very hard to be that person ever since he left Sarah and James. He'd relocated his life to California, set up new routines, created distance. He'd told himself that distance meant safety, meant detachment, meant he could finally breathe without Blake Crane's shadow stretching across everything.
Apparently, that was harder than he thought.
"I need to call James," Marcus said. "Or Sarah. Someone who actually knows what's happening."
David nodded and leaned against the counter, drinking his water. He didn't try to talk Marcus out of it, which Marcus appreciated. David understood the difference between moving forward and abandoning people.
Marcus found James's number in his phone. He'd stored it three months ago and had been careful not to delete it. The phone rang twice.
"Hello?" James's voice was cautious. He didn't recognize the number.
"It's Marcus." The words felt strange. They hadn't spoken since Marcus left them. "I saw the news. About Emily. Is she—is everyone okay?"
There was a pause. Marcus could almost hear James's mind working, recalibrating the conversation to include him.
"She's fine," James said finally. "Physically fine. It was... it was an incident, but the FBI was prepared for it. They've been preparing for something like this for weeks."
Weeks. So the FBI had anticipated that Blake might make a move against Emily. That meant they'd been planning, strategizing, putting contingencies in place. That was either very reassuring or very terrifying, depending on how you looked at it.
"How is she?" Marcus asked.
"Shaken. But Emily's strong." James paused. "And she's not alone. Sarah's been staying with her. My parents are there too. She has support."
Marcus felt something in his chest ease slightly. Emily wasn't isolated. She was surrounded by people who cared about her.
"What about you?" Marcus asked. "Are you safe?"
"For now." James's voice dropped. "But things are moving faster now. The FBI thinks this incident accelerated their timeline. They're going to make a move soon. Very soon."
"What kind of move?"
"I can't get into specifics over the phone," James said carefully. "But... the situation is coming to a head. They think they know where Blake is headed. They're preparing to intercept him."
Marcus closed his eyes. He'd known this was coming. All of them had known. But there was a difference between abstract knowledge and concrete action. Concrete action meant risk. Concrete action meant people could get hurt.
"Is there anything you need?" Marcus asked. "Anything I can do?"
"No," James said, and Marcus heard the genuine gratitude in his voice. "Just... just know that we're handling this. The FBI has a plan. It's solid. We're going to get through this."
Marcus wanted to ask what the plan was, wanted to demand details, wanted to feel like he had some kind of control over the situation. But he also understood why James couldn't tell him. Phone lines weren't secure. Distance wasn't secure. And Marcus had made the choice to leave. He'd chosen safety over proximity, comfort over involvement.
He didn't get to demand details he wasn't entitled to.
"Call me when it's over," Marcus said. "Whatever happens, call me."
"I will," James promised.
After James hung up, Marcus stood in the kitchen for a long moment, phone in his hand, staring at nothing.
David waited. He was good at waiting.
"The FBI's moving fast," Marcus finally said. "James says they're preparing something big. An interception, I think. They're going to try to catch Blake."
"That's what they should be doing," David pointed out. "That's their job."
"I know." Marcus set his phone down on the counter. "But James is involved. Somehow, James is part of their plan."
"He wanted to be," David said quietly. "You remember. He was willing to cooperate with the FBI specifically because he wanted to help end this."
Marcus did remember. He remembered James's determination to do something useful, to transform his guilt into action. It had seemed noble at the time, in the safety of discussing hypotheticals. It seemed different now that the hypothetical was becoming real.
"I should be there," Marcus said. "I should be in Salt Lake City."
"Should you?" David asked, not unkindly. "Or do you think you should be?"
It was a very David question—the kind of question that separated what Marcus thought he was supposed to do from what he actually needed to do. Marcus had come to California partly because James had told him to go, partly because the FBI had suggested it, and partly because he needed to escape the suffocating intensity of everything that had happened. He'd needed air. He'd needed to remember what his life looked like outside of Blake Crane and murder and guilt.
But Emily had been threatened today, and all Marcus could think about was that he wasn't there.
"I don't know," Marcus admitted. "I thought I was done. I thought moving here meant I could actually move on."
"You can," David said. "But moving on doesn't necessarily mean moving away. Sometimes it just means moving through something and coming out the other side."
David set down his water bottle and moved closer to Marcus. "You're emotionally invested in this. That doesn't change just because you're three states away. That's not a weakness. That's being human."
Marcus looked at his friend. David had taken him in without question, had given him space to process, had never once made him feel like a burden for needing to exist somewhere that wasn't the epicenter of a tragedy.
"I think I need to go back," Marcus said slowly, feeling his way toward the words. "Not immediately. But when it's over. When the FBI finishes whatever they're doing, I think I need to be there. To see everyone. To actually process this instead of just... running from it."
David nodded. "That sounds right. That sounds like the kind of thing that might actually help you move forward."
They didn't talk much for the rest of the day. Marcus tried to work on some freelance projects David had lined up for him, but his concentration was scattered. Every time his phone buzzed, he checked it obsessively, hoping for an update. Every news alert sent his heart rate spiking.
By evening, he'd moved to David's living room and was refreshing news websites like an addict.
"You should try to rest," David said around eight o'clock, setting a plate of food next to Marcus. "Nothing's going to happen tonight."
"You don't know that," Marcus said.
"No," David agreed. "But you're not going to change anything by sitting here refreshing news feeds. Whatever James and the FBI are planning, whatever's going to happen—it's going to happen whether you're watching or not."
Marcus knew David was right. He also knew that knowing David was right wouldn't make it any easier to stop watching.
But he did eventually close his laptop. He did eventually eat the food David had prepared. He did eventually drag himself upstairs to the guest room and lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the strange disconnect of being emotionally present in a situation that was physically miles away.
He thought about Emily, trying to reconstruct her face, trying to imagine what fear looked like on her. He thought about Sarah, who had always been the calm center of chaos. He thought about James, who had decided to use himself as bait in some FBI operation that Marcus didn't fully understand but absolutely didn't like.
And he thought about Blake, somewhere out there, cornered and running, knowing that the walls were closing in.
By tomorrow, James had said. Or the day after. Very soon.
Marcus pulled out his phone one last time and opened the conversation with James. He typed out a message: Whatever happens, whatever you're planning, be careful. Everyone's counting on you to come back alive.
He almost deleted it. It seemed too vulnerable, too invested. But then he thought about moving forward, about actually processing instead of running, and he sent it.
James didn't reply until three hours later, and Marcus was already half-asleep when the notification came through: I will. And thank you for caring. It means more than you know.
Marcus read that message three times before he fell asleep. He read it again when he woke up at 3 AM, unable to stay unconscious. He read it one more time in the morning, holding onto it like a lifeline while he waited for the next call, the next update, the next confirmation that everyone he cared about was still alive.
Distance, he was learning, didn't actually protect you from anything. It just made everything take longer to reach you.