Chapter 247: Pack It Up, Princess

DOVE’S POV

Ash had kept the three armed men out of the clinic road until the remaining guards joined him. They withdrew toward the office, taking their threats with them. By morning, nobody mistook that small retreat for the end of the trouble.

The old employees brought a real offer this time: a guarded convoy, a checked northern route, and room for Thorne’s father.

They also brought the familiar hope that Thorne would get into the lead vehicle and become the man who made their frightening decisions easier.

Dove listened beside the clinic kitchen while breakfast was being served. The room smelled of toast and fried potatoes. Outside, drivers called load counts across the courtyard, keeping the path to the treatment rooms clear. This was not a rumor about a rescue somewhere else. Trucks were standing there, and people were getting into them.

"You should come now," the older employee told Thorne. "We can use you with us."

Thorne looked at Dove, then toward the yard where their pickup waited. "We’re getting our things and leaving together."

"We can wait a few minutes."

"Then use them to load the people who can’t go on foot."

Dove wanted to kiss him and hurry him along at the same time. She settled for touching his hand while they checked what the convoy could actually carry.

His father agreed to go with the clinic residents. He did not pretend he liked leaving before his son, but he understood the roads could change again before everyone finished being comfortable with the choice.

"You follow," he told Thorne.

"We will."

Dove saw how hard those two words were to say after finally finding him. She moved close enough that Thorne could lean into her if he needed to. He did, briefly, then helped his father climb into the shaded passenger space.

Dove had touch-stored the cooled generator and emptied cooler before coming over. In a private corner she brought them out again for Iris’s husband and the older employee. This was a loan she chose: cold food and a working fan would help at the passenger stop, where Thorne’s father would be waiting. Both pieces stayed clearly marked as hers.

She climbed onto the convoy truck long enough to check the cooler lid was secured and the generator could not slide into a passenger’s legs. Iris’s husband showed her the straps and repeated where they would stop. Then she got down. She could not inspect the road with her worry, and climbing back up again would not make the fastening stronger. She made herself leave it alone and turned to something she could still improve: the food they would carry in their own bag.

Dove disliked letting useful things out of her reach. Keeping her father-in-law comfortable mattered more than keeping them hidden while he sweated in a truck.

"I will ask about every scratch," she told the older man.

He nodded gravely. "I’ll warn the generator."

She laughed, surprised into it, and felt better for a moment.

Back at the shop, Edrik put the tool bag in the pickup. Dove kept the ready bag over her shoulder. Their other belongings were already stored; they were waiting on the road, not another load. A clinic driver checked the narrow side lane. A delivery truck had stalled while turning through it; their pickup could not safely pull out until its crew got it moving. The driver promised to signal rather than leave them guessing. Edrik checked fuel, tires, and the current northern-route report from the workshop convoy; Cal’s earlier repair road now had the armed checkpoint. Thorne stayed close while Dove made one last decision with Sprout.

"Clothing," she said. "We need clean changes that don’t weigh half a person."

The day’s finite stock appeared in six packs of three cotton shirts, with sizes large enough for the men around her. She checked the labels, kept all six packs for twenty-four Favor, and packed the cleared storefront again. No sale target was worth leaving clean clothes behind while she tried to impress an invisible progress bar.

"A costly personal allocation," Sprout observed.

"Eighteen shirts for people I actually want smelling decent. I’ll survive the luxury."

"Your retained stock is recorded."

"Good. Record that I was right while you’re at it."

Edrik caught her expression and lifted a brow. "Arguing?"

"Winning. Very different activity."

He kissed her cheek and took the physical shirt packs she handed him. The cabinet had packed away; the retained goods had not. She put some into their bags and stored the rest by touch while the room was clear enough for her to concentrate.

The sandwiches were already wrapped, the fruit washed, and the safe cooked meat divided between three proper portions. They ate with the tool bag in the pickup and the ready bag beside Dove, keeping water close while they waited for the driver’s signal. Dove wanted them ready to drive the moment the lane cleared, with full stomachs and water in reach.

Thorne sat beside her on the bed to retie a boot, watching the room as if memorizing it. The new netting hung above the mattress. Their owned supplies were stored; the nearly bare shelves belonged to the room. Sunlight fell across the place their cooler had stood.

"We’ll come back if we can," she said.

"I know."

"And if we can’t, we’ll make somewhere else annoying and comfortable."

He laughed softly, then kissed her hard enough to make her hand tighten in his shirt. When he drew back, she touched his cheek and let him see that she meant it.

Edrik stood at the curtain, unusually quiet. Dove reached for him too. He came readily, bending to rest his forehead against hers for a moment before straightening.

"Lane’s clearing," he said, hearing the clinic driver outside. "Let’s go."

Edrik went ahead to the pickup while Dove lifted the ready bag and Thorne opened the rear door. The separate bag at the clinic would wait for them if they had to use the stairs; Dove kept their food, drinking water, and two treatment bottles in the ready bag that stayed with her. A runner came past the side gate with confirmation that the early convoy had cleared the northern route. Thorne’s father, the clinic residents, and their equipment were through the first staffed stop.

Dove let herself breathe. One part of the plan had worked. It did not have to stop mattering because another part remained uncertain.

Then an engine roared at the far end of their street.

Edrik moved to the gate and looked through without opening it. Another truck answered from the opposite direction, its brakes squealing as it stopped across the road.

Thorne stopped beside the open rear door.

Dove could hear men climbing out, several voices calling the same orders, the sound of metal dragged over pavement. This was not a delivery arriving late.

Edrik came back from the gate, his face stripped of every trace of teasing.

"Both ends of the block," he said.

Dove looked toward their pickup, then toward the side-building route she had walked yesterday.

From the front of the building, a loudspeaker crackled.

"Open the fox woman’s door first."