Luther looked at Emmett.
"You good with this?"
Emmett looked at the house, at his aunt, at the porch with the door that was already open.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm good."
Luther reached out, shook Emmett's hand, the same way he had three nights ago in the clubhouse.
The handshake of equals.
"You call if you need anything," Luther said. "You hear me? Anything. Day or night. You've got family now. Blood and chosen both."
Emmett nodded.
Couldn't speak.
Luther pulled a card from his pocket, handed it to Nadine.
"My number, Diesel's number, Specter's number. Any problems? Housing, legal, medical, you call. We'll handle it."
"Thank you," Nadine said again.
Luther nodded once.
Then he walked back to his truck.
Before he got in, he turned.
"Emmett?"
The boy looked up.
"You did good, kid. Real good. Don't forget that."
Then he was in the truck, engine turning over, pulling away.
Emmett stood in the driveway and watched until the vehicle was out of sight.
Then he turned to his aunt.
She was smiling, crying and smiling at the same time.
"Come on," she said. "Let me show you your room."
Inside, the house was warm, clean, safe.
The room she showed him had a bed, a desk, a window that looked out on the backyard.
Emmett stood in the doorway for a long time.
"Is this really mine?" he asked.
"For as long as you need it," Nadine said.
Emmett walked to the bed, sat down carefully.
The mattress didn't sag.
The blankets didn't smell like rain or concrete.
He looked at his aunt.
"I haven't had a bed in 3 weeks."
"I know, sweetheart. I know."
She sat down next to him.
Didn't touch him.
Just sat there.
"You're safe now," she said. "You hear me? You're safe. And we're going to figure out the rest together."
Emmett nodded.
For the first time in 3 weeks, he believed it.
2 days later, the brothers came to say goodbye.
Not forever. Just transitioning.
Sandstone arrived first.
Crouched down so he was at Emmett's eye level on the porch.
"You settling in okay?"
"Yeah."
"Good. That's good."
Sandstone pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.
Phone number written in careful print.
"This is my number. You call me if you need to talk about anything. School, nightmares, whatever. I spent 10 years working with kids your age. I know what it's like when the system fails you. You're not going through that alone anymore."
He pressed the paper into Emmett's hand.