Sinclair

I know the moment Roger arrives at the bunker. He's loud as hell, making sure we all hear him pounding through the metal hallways. I wince, groaning and reminding myself that while metal is secure, it's also loud.

Roger's angry footsteps pound down the hallway toward me, toward the conference room where I'm strategizing with my team. He knows we'll be here, and he slams the door open as he strides in.

"Where is she?" he snarls, looking around as if Cora might be at the desk with the investigative team.

"Oh hey, Roger," I say casually, crossing my arms. "How are you?" I shouldn't piss him off further—he's already on edge—but I can't resist needling him a bit. He's being a dick; he deserves it.

"Cut the shit, Dominic," Roger snaps, his chest heaving. His fingers curve like talons at his side. "Where is she?"

"She's in our room with the baby—"

"Cora!" Roger shouts, making us all wince. "Where is Cora!?"

"Damn it, Roger," I say, covering my ear. "Cool it! She's on her way."

"Where," he growls, advancing toward me, "where precisely is—"

But as he gets within a foot, I smack him on the back of the head as I used to when we were kids. He stumbles and gasps in outrage.

"Would you chill out?" I snarl, getting frustrated. "She's fine, she's safe, and she can't get here any faster just because you're freaking out."

Roger finds his feet and opens his mouth to retort when our father interrupts.

"Boys," Dad says, his voice low with the familiar warning. We both react instinctively, straightening and turning toward him as if caught in the act. "Enough of that," he continues, entering the room and looking at us sternly.

"Sorry, Dad," we both murmur, then look at each other.

"I'm sorry, Roger," I say brusquely, meaning it but eager to move on. "But she's getting here as fast as possible. The plan is working. Can we concentrate on other things? You panting by the door isn't helping."

Roger glares but nods, agreeing—and I think wanting a distraction.

"Good boys," Dad says, going to the head of the table. He focuses on me. "Roger updated me. I'm so sorry to hear what happened to your family today, and so grateful you came through it unscathed."

I nod. "Me too. But now we need to work. Are you ready?"

They both nod, and together we focus on our team, devising a plan to better defend against this cult and formulate a counterattack. Because after what they did today?

This is war.

Ella

I look up when my door creaks open, expecting Sinclair and hoping for food. My eyes widen when I see Cora peeking in.

"Cora!" I gasp, jumping up and almost leaping to her, Rafe still against my chest. Cora slides through the opening and shuts the door as I reach her.

"Oh my god," I say, hugging her. "I'm so glad you're safe. Are you all right?"

I pull back to assess her. Her body looks fine, but her face…

"What's wrong?" I ask, knowing something is deeply wrong—her absence for five days, her unwillingness to return Roger's calls.

"What's wrong with me," Cora gasps, bringing her hand to her face. "Ella—you're covered in blood!"

I look down and blink. "Oh," I say. I'd forgotten. "Well, none of it's mine," I insist. "But seriously, Cora, what's wrong? Don't say nothing. I can tell."

"Nothing," Cora lies, taking my face in her hands. "You were the one attacked today."

I frown, but her words and face are sincere, so I nod, reassuring her before asking my own questions.

I pull Cora to the bed and fill her in on the afternoon's events. I watch her eyes widen and her face pale as I tell her about the captured priest, the men who invaded my bedroom, how they took Rafe, Sinclair's intervention, and my participation in the gory scene.

"Then we came here," I finish. "Apparently, they already had an apocalypse plan; we just had to put it in motion. You were the only wildcard."

Cora nods, glancing away.

"Cora," I say, lowering Rafe into his carrier and taking her hand. "What's been going on with you?"

She won't look at me, but her shoulders shake with repressed tears.

"Oh, baby," I murmur, hugging her. "What's wrong? How bad can it be?"

"It's really bad, Ella," she whispers, her voice shaking. I hold her tight and feel tears on my arm. I shush and rock her. "I'm here," I promise. "Whatever happened, I'm here for you, Cora."

A few minutes pass. When she's ready, she pulls away slightly.

"I know you're here for me, Ella," she says, wiping her face. "But he—he'll never forgive me…"

"Who?" I ask. She can't mean Roger—he'd forgive her anything.

But when she looks at me, I know it's Roger.

"No, Ella," Cora murmurs, shaking her head. "Not for this. Not this."

"What?" I breathe, my stomach churning.

Cora releases a shaking breath and pulls a folded piece of paper from her pocket, handing it to me. I unfold it, staring. Then:

"I'm pregnant, Ella," Cora whispers.

My mouth falls open. She gives me a moment, and I'm like a gaping fish, trying to speak.

"How—" I gasp. "But if you—and Roger can't—"

She shakes her head. "No, Ella," she says, her lip trembling.

I snap my mouth shut, realizing that if Roger can't…

"Hank," she sighs, her voice quavering. "Hank is the father of my child."