He looked at Thomas, then back at Cole. You won’t You won’t tell anyone we’re here. Not unless you want me to. Danny’s shoulders sagged, and for the first time, he looked like what he was, a terrified kid holding on by a thread. He nodded just once. Cole bent down and scooped Thomas up as gently as he could.
The boy was light, too light. All sharp angles and fragile bones and fragile bones. His head lulled against Cole’s chest and a soft whimper escaped his lips. “Come on,” Cole said, glancing at Dany. “Let’s get him inside.” Dany followed close enough that his shadow touched Cole’s heels. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes never left his brother. Not once.
As they crossed the yard toward the house, the wind picked up, carrying with it the smell of distant rain. The sky was bruised and swollen, the kind of sky that promised a storm. Cole glanced up at it, then down at the boy in his arms. He didn’t know their story yet. Didn’t know what they were running from or why.
But he knew enough to recognize the look of hunted things. And he knew enough to know that whatever came next, it wasn’t going to be simple. The house was dark when they stepped inside, save for the dying embers in the hearth. Cole kicked the door shut with his boot and carried Thomas straight to the back room, laying him down on the narrow bed with as much care as he’d ever handled anything.
The boy’s head sank into the pillow, his eyelids fluttering, but never fully opening. Danny hovered in the doorway, arms wrapped tight around himself, watching every move Cole made. “Sit!” Cole said, nodding to the chair in the corner. You look like you’re about to fall over. Dany shook his head. I’m fine. You’re not.
Cole moved to the wash basin and soaked a rag in cool water, ringing it out before pressing it gently to Thomas’s forehead. The boy stirred, murmuring something incoherent. When’s the last time you ate? Dany didn’t answer. Cole glanced over his shoulder. I asked you a question. Yesterday, Dany muttered. Maybe. Cole set the rag aside and stood, crossing to the small cabinet near the window.
He pulled out a tin of salted crackers and a jar of preserves, setting them on the table beside Danny. “Eat!” Dany stared at the food like it might vanish if he blinked. “Go on,” Cole said, his voice softer now. “I’m not going to take it back.” Slowly, cautiously, Dany reached for a cracker.
He bit into it, chewing slowly, and then his composure shattered. He grabbed another and another, shoving them into his mouth so fast he nearly choked. Cole turned away, giving the boy what little dignity he had left. While Danny ate, Cole rummaged through the cabinet for his medical supplies. What little he had, a bottle of willow bark, tincture, clean bandages, a tin of sal.
He brought them back to the bed and set them on the nightstand, then pulled a chair up beside Thomas. The boy’s breathing was still shallow, his skin clammy and pale beneath the fever’s flush. Cole uncorked the tincture and measured out a careful dose, tilting Thomas’s head back and coaxing the liquid past his lips. The boy coughed weakly, but swallowed.
Will he be all right? Dan<unk>s voice was small, almost childlike. He will if the fever breaks, Cole said. He didn’t add the rest. If it doesn’t, there’s nothing I can do. Dany set the crackers down, wiping crumbs from his mouth. Why are you helping us? Cole glanced at him. Why wouldn’t I? Because nobody does.
Danny’s voice was flat. Matter of fact, not without wanting something. Cole leaned back in his chair, studying the boy. I don’t want anything. Everyone wants something. Maybe, Cole said, but not from you. Danny’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. You don’t even know us. No, Cole agreed. I don’t.
They sat in silence for a long moment. The only sound the crackling of the fire and Thomas’s labored breathing. Outside the wind howled rattling the shutters. Where are you from? Cole asked finally. Danny’s jaw tightened. Nowhere. That’s not an answer. It’s the only one I’ve got. Cole let it go. For now he could see the walls the boy had built around himself thick and high.
And he knew better than to try and tear them down all at once. Trust wasn’t something you demanded. It was something he earned. You can sleep in the other room. Cole said standing. There’s a cot by the window. I’ll stay with Thomas tonight. Dan<unk>y’s eyes darted to his brother, then back to Cole. I’m not leaving him.
I didn’t say you had to. Cole moved toward the door, pausing in the threshold. But if you’re staying, you might as well get some rest. He’s going to need you strong when he wakes up. Danny hesitated, then nodded slowly. He pulled the chair closer to the bed and curled up in it, tucking his knees to his chest.
Within minutes, exhaustion claimed him, and his head drooped forward, his breathing evening out. Cole stood in the doorway for a long time, watching them, two boys alone in the world, running from something they wouldn’t name. He didn’t know their story yet, but he could guess enough of it. He turned and walked to the front window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to peer out into the night.
The yard was empty, the barn, a dark silhouette against the horizon. But beyond that, in the distance, he thought he saw something. A flicker of light, faint, brief, gone. Cole’s hand moved instinctively to the revolver on his hip. He stood there for a long time, watching, waiting. But the light didn’t return.
He let the curtain fall and moved back to the bedroom, settling into the chair opposite Danny. He didn’t sleep. He just watched the boys and the door and the window because he knew deep in his gut that whoever those boys were running from wasn’t far behind. Thomas woke just before dawn, his eyes fluttering open with a soft, confused whimper.
Dany was at his side in an instant, gripping his brother’s hand so tightly his knuckles went white. “Tommy!” Danny whispered, his voice breaking. “Tommy, can you hear me?” The younger boy blinked slowly, his gaze unfocused. “Danny?” “Yeah, yes, me.” Danny’s shoulders shook and he pressed his forehead to Thomas’s hand. You’re okay. You’re okay.
Cole stood from his chair, moving to the wash basin to give them space. He rung out the rag again, soaking it in fresh water, and brought it back to the bed. Here, he said, handing it to Dany. Keep his forehead cool. Dany took it without looking at him, his attention holy on his brother. Thomas’s eyes drifted to coal, wide and weary.
Who’s that? He asked, his voice barely a whisper. He’s Danny hesitated. He’s helping us, helping us. Helping Thomas’s brow furrowed. Why? I don’t know, Dany admitted. But he is. Thomas’s gaze lingered on Cole for a long moment. Then he closed his eyes again, too weak to stay awake. Dany kept the rag pressed to his forehead, murmuring soft reassurances until his brother’s breathing evened out again.
Cole waited until Thomas was asleep before speaking. “He needs food, something with substance. I’ll make broth.” Danny nodded, still not looking at him. Cole left the room and moved to the kitchen, setting a pot of water on the stove, he added salt, dried herbs, and a few strips of salted beef, stirring it slowly as it heated.
The familiar routine steadied him, gave his hands something to do while his mind worked. He didn’t know what these boys were running from, but he knew it was bad. The bruises, the fear, the way Danny had begged him not to send them away. Whatever they’d left behind, it was worse than the unknown. When the broth was ready, he carried it back to the bedroom on a tray along with a piece of bread.
Dany was still sitting by the bed, his head resting on the mattress beside his brother’s hand. “Danny,” Cole said softly. The boy stirred, lifting his head, his eyes were red rimmed and hollow. “Eat first,” Cole said, setting the tray down. “Then we’ll get some into him.” Dany picked up the bowl and sipped the broth slowly, his hands trembling.
After a few mouthfuls, he set it down and turned back to Thomas. Can you wake him? Gently. Gently. Cole moved to the other side of the bed and touched Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas. Hey, son. I need you to drink something. Thomas’s eyes opened, blurring confused. I don’t I don’t feel good. I know, Cole said, but you need to drink this. It’ll help.
He lifted Thomas’s head carefully, tilting the bowl to his lips. The boy drank a few sips, then turned his head away, coughing weakly. That’s enough for now, Cole said, lowering him back down. We’ll try again in a bit. Dan<unk>y’s gaze stayed fixed on his brother, his expression tight with worry. Worry.
How long until he’s better? Depends, Cole said. If the fever breaks, a few days. If it doesn’t, it will, Dany said quickly, as if saying it aloud would make it true. Cole didn’t argue. As the morning light crept through the window, Thomas fell back into a fitful sleep. Dany finally allowed himself to rest, curling up in the chair again, his hands still wrapped around his brothers.
Cole sat by the hearth, staring into the flames. He didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into. Didn’t know what kind of trouble these boys carried with them. But he knew one thing for certain. He wasn’t going to let anyone take them. Not without a fight. By midday, Thomas’s fever had begun to break.
His skin was still warm, but the terrible burning heat had faded, and his breathing came easier. Dany sat beside him, feeding him small spoonfuls of broth, his movements careful and deliberate. Cole stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the horizon. He hadn’t seen anything since the flicker of light the night before, but the unease hadn’t left him.
It sat heavy in his chest, a weight he couldn’t shake. “Danny,” he said without turning around. “I need you to tell me the truth.” The boy’s spoon paused halfway to Thomas’s mouth. About what? About who’s looking for you? Danny set the spoon down slowly. I don’t know what you mean. Yes, you do.
Cole turned to face him, his expression hard. You didn’t just run away from home. You’re running from someone. Someone who hurt you. Denny’s jaw tightened. It doesn’t matter. It does if they come here looking for you. They won’t. How do you know? Danny didn’t answer. He picked up the spoon again, focusing on his brother.
Cole crossed the room, his boots heavy on the floorboards. He crouched down beside the chair, bringing himself to Dany<unk>y’s level. “Listen to me. If someone’s coming, I need to know. I need to be ready.” “No one’s coming,” Dany said, but his voice wavered. “Danny,” I said. No one’s coming. The boy’s voice cracked and he stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “We left. We got out.
They don’t know where we are. Who’s they?” Dan<unk>s hands clenched into fists. “It doesn’t matter. It matters to me.” “Why?” D<unk>y’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Why do you even care? You don’t know us. You don’t owe us anything.” Cole held his gaze. “Because I’ve been where you are.” The words hung in the air between them heavy and raw.
Dan<unk>s breath hitched, and for a moment, the walls he’d built around himself cracked just enough for Cole to see the terrified child beneath. “You don’t understand,” Dany whispered. “You can’t. Try me.” Dany looked down at his brother, then back at Cole. His lips trembled. They’ll kill him,” he said so quietly. Cole almost didn’t hear.
“If they find us, they’ll kill him.” Cole’s stomach turned. “Who will?” Danny shook his head, stepping back. “I can’t I can’t tell you. Danny, please.” The boy’s voice broke and tears spilled down his cheeks. “Please, just let us stay. Just until he’s better. Then we’ll go. I swear.
” Cole stood slowly, his chest tight. He wanted to press to demand answers, but he could see the terror in the boy’s eyes. He was at his breaking point. All right, Cole said quietly. You can stay. Dany<unk>y’s shoulders sagged with relief and he sank back into the chair, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.
Cole moved to the door, pausing in the threshold. But if someone comes looking for you, he said his voice firm. I need to know. Understood? Dany nodded, not looking at him. Looking at him. Cole stepped outside, closing the door behind him. The air was cool, the sky overcast. He stood on the porch for a long moment, staring out at the empty yard.
He didn’t know what he’d just agreed to. Didn’t know what kind of danger he’d invited into his home. But he knew one thing for certain. He wasn’t going to let those boys face it alone. The storm came in slow, the way it always did before something bad. The sky darkened to a bruised purple. Clouds rolling in from the west like smoke from distant fire.
The wind picked up, carrying with it the smell of rain and something else. Something Cole couldn’t name but recognized in his bones. Trouble. He spent the afternoon reinforcing the barn, checking the locks on the doors and making sure the horses were calm. Danny stayed inside with Thomas, barely leaving his brother’s side.
The younger boy was improving, his fever down to a faint warmth, but he was still weak, still fragile. Cole carried another load of firewood into the house just as the first drops of rain began to fall. They hit the roof like pebbles, slow at first, then faster, harder, until the sound became a roar. Dany sat by the window, staring out at the storm.
His face was pale, his jaw tight. “You’re right?” Cole asked, setting the wood by the hearth. Dany didn’t answer. Cole moved to stand beside him, following his gaze. The rain was coming down in sheets now, turning the yard into a muddy swamp. Lightning flickered in the distance, silent and ominous. “You ever seen a storm like this before?” Cole asked. Dany nodded slowly.
“Once, when? The night we left.” Cole glanced at him. “Where were you?” Dan<unk>y’s hands tightened on the windowsill. “A place we should have left a long time ago.” Before Cole could respond, Thomas called out from the bedroom, his voice weak and trembling. “Danny?” Dany was up in an instant, crossing the room and disappearing into the back. Cole followed.
Standing in the doorway. Thomas was sitting up, his eyes wide and frightened. Danny, I heard something. It’s just the storm, Danny said, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking his brother’s hand. You’re okay? No. Thomas shook his head, his breathing quickening. I heard horses. Cole’s blood ran cold.
Dan<unk>s head snapped toward the window, then back to his brother. You’re sure? Thomas nodded, his eyes filling with tears. They found us. Dany stood abruptly, his face going pale. No, no, they couldn’t have. Cole moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside. At first, he saw nothing but rain and darkness.
Then, through the downpour, he saw them. Three riders moving slowly toward the house. “Get away from the window,” Cole said, his voice calm but firm. “Danny didn’t move. They found us. Danny, get away from the window.” The boy stumbled back, his hands shaking. Thomas let out a soft whimper, pressing himself against the headboard.
Cole let the curtain fall and turned to face them. “Who are they?” Danny’s lips moved, but no sound came out. “Danny,” Cole said, his voice harder now. “Who are they?” “His name is Garrett,” Danny whispered. “He he owns the ranch we worked at. He his voice broke. He said we were his. That we owed him.” Cole’s jaw tightened.
“For what?” “For being born.” The words hit like a punch to the gun. Cole stared at the boy at the fear in his eyes, the bruises on his face, and something inside him hardened into steel. “Stay here,” he said, moving toward the door. “What are you going to do?” Danny asked, his voice rising. Cole didn’t answer.
He grabbed his rifle from the corner and stepped out into the storm. The rain soaked through Cole’s shirt in seconds, cold and relentless. He stood on the porch, rifle in hand, and watched the three riders approach. They moved slowly, deliberately, their faces hidden beneath wide-brimmed hats. The one in the center was taller than the others, broad-shouldered and solid.
Even through the rain, Cole could feel the weight of his presence. Garrett. The rider stopped a few yards from the porch, their horses stamping and snorting. Garrett tilt his head up, his face still mostly hidden, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and smooth like honey poured over gravel. “Evening,” he said.
Cole didn’t respond. Garrett’s lips curved into a faint smile. You must be the man of the house. I am. Name’s Garrett. He gestured to the men on either side of him. These are my associates. We’re looking for two boys. Thought they might have come this way. I haven’t seen any boys, Cole said. Garrett’s smile widened. That’s so.
That’s so. That’s so. The man on Garrett’s left shifted in his saddle, his hand moving to rest on the gun at his hip. Cole’s grip tightened on the rifle. Now, I don’t mean to call you a liar,” Garrett said, his tone still pleasant. “But I’ve got it on good authority that two boys matching their description were spotted near your property.
” “They’re authorities wrong.” Garrett’s smile faded. “Mr. Brennan, Mr. Brennan,” Garrett leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what those boys told you, but they belong to me. They’re runaways, thieves, and I have every right to take them back. They’re children,” Cole said, his voice flat. They’re my responsibility.
Not anymore. The words hung in the air heavy and final. Garrett’s expression darkened, and for the first time, Cole saw the violence beneath the veneer. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” Garrett said quietly. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” Garrett stared at him for a long moment, then let out a soft laugh. “All right, Mr.
Brennan, have it your way.” He pulled his horse around, his men following suit. But when those boys bring trouble to your don’t say I didn’t warn you. They rode off into the storm, disappearing into the rain and darkness. Cole stood on the porch, rifle still raised until the sound of hoof beatats faded completely.
Only then did he lower the gun. Dany was standing in the doorway when Cole stepped back inside, his face pale and his eyes wide. “They’re gone,” Cole said, setting the rifle by the door. “For now,” Dany whispered. Cole didn’t argue. He moved to the hearth, stripping off his soaked shirt and draping it over the back of a chair.
His hands were steady, but inside his mind was racing. “Why did you do that?” Danny asked, his voice small. Cole glanced at him. “Do what?” “Yeah, for us.” “I didn’t lie,” I said. “I hadn’t seen any boys.” Cole pulled on a dry shirt, his movements deliberate. “Didn’t say there weren’t any here?” Dy’s lips twitched almost a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
He’ll come back. I know, and he won’t come alone. I know that, too, Dany<unk>y’s hands clenched into fists. Then why? Because it’s the right thing to do, Cole said, his voice firm. And because I’m not handing two kids over to a man who treats them like property. Danny’s eyes filled with tears, and he looked away swallowing hard. You’d understand.
He owns half the county, the sheriff, the judge, they all answered to him. “You can’t win.” “Maybe not,” Cole said. “But I can sure as hell try.” Danny wiped at his eyes. with his shoulders shaking. Why would you do that for us? Cole moved to stand in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Because no one did it for me when I needed them to. The words settled between them, heavy and raw. Dany looked up at him, his expression caught between disbelief and something that might have been hope. From the bedroom, Thomas called out again, his voice weak but insistent. Dany! Dany turned and hurried back to his brother, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking his hand.
I’m here, Tommy. I’m here. Cole stood in the doorway, watching them. Two boys alone in the world, holding on to each other like it was the only thing keeping them afloat. And maybe it was. The storm raged through the night, but inside the house, a fragile piece settled. Thomas drifted in and out of sleep, his fever finally broken, and Dany stayed by his side, keeping watch like a sentry.
Cole sat by the hearth, cleaning his rifle. The familiar motion steadied him, gave his hands something to do while his mind churned. Churned. He thought about Garrett, about the men who would come, about the fight that was inevitable now. But he also thought about the boys, about the way Dany had stood between him and Thomas that first night, smalled and terrified, but unwilling to back down.
About the way Thomas had looked at his brother like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. Mr. Brennan. Cole looked up. Dany was standing in the doorway, his arms wrapped around himself. “Call me Cole,” he said. Dany nodded slowly. “Cole. Can I Can I ask you something?” “Go ahead.” “Why did you help us?” “Really?” Cole set the rifle down, leaning back in his chair.
“You want the truth?” “Yeah, because I was you once.” Danny’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” Cole was quiet for a long moment, staring into the When I was about your age, I ran away from a place that wasn’t much better than the one you left. Man who ran it treated us like we were nothing, less than nothing.
And when I finally got the courage to leave, I had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. What did you do? Kept running for years until I found a man who gave me a chance. Taught me how to work the land, how to build something, how to be more than what I came from. Co looked at Dany.
He didn’t have to help me, but he did, and it changed everything. Dany<unk>y’s eyes glistened. What happened to him? He died. About 5 years back, Cole’s voice was quiet. But I think about him every day about what he gave me. Dany was silent for a long time. Then so quietly, Cole almost didn’t hear. He said, “Thank you.” Cole nodded. “Get some rest, Danny.
Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.” Dany turned to go, then hesitated. “Cole? Yeah. If we make it through this, if we survive, where will we go? Cole met his gaze. You’ll stay here, both of you. Danny’s breath caught. What? You heard me. You’ll stay long as you want. Tears spilled down Danny’s cheeks and he wiped at them quickly, nodding.
Thank you, he whispered again. He disappeared into the bedroom and Cole turned back to the fire. He didn’t know if they’d survive what was coming. Didn’t know if he could protect them from Garrett and his men, but he was damn sure going to try. They came at dawn. Cole heard them before he saw them.
The thunder of hoof beatats, the jangle of spurs, the low murmur of voices. He moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside just enough to see. Six men this time. Garrett in the lead, flanked by his associates and three others. Cole didn’t recognize. They were armed, their expressions hard and determined. Danny, Cole said, his voice low. Get Thomas.
Take him to the cellar. Dany appeared in the doorway, his face pale. What’s happening? They’re here. Move now. Danny didn’t argue. He disappeared into the bedroom, and moments later, he emerged with Thomas in his arms. The younger boy was awake, but weak, clinging to his brother like a lifeline.
Cole opened the trap door in the kitchen floor, revealing the narrow cellar below. Get down there. Don’t make a sound, no matter what you hear. Dany hesitated, his eyes wide with fear. What are you going to do? But I have to. Danny nodded and descended into the cellar, carefully luring Thomas down before following.
Cole closed the trap door and dragged a rug over it, then grabbed his rifle and stepped outside. Garrett was waiting on his horse, a smug smile on his face. Morning, Mr. Brennan. Cole didn’t respond. I’ll give you one more chance, Garrett said. And over the boys, and we’ll forget this ever happened. No, Garrett’s smile faded. You’re making a mistake.
Maybe, Cole said. It was mine to make. Garrett sighed, shaking his head. I was hoping we could do this the easy way. He gestured to his men. But if you insist. The men dismounted, spreading out across the yard. Cole’s grip tightened on the rifle. Last chance, Brennan. Go to hell. Garrett’s expression darkened and he nodded to his men. Take him.
The first man moved forward and Cole fired. And Cole fired. The shot rang out, echoing across the yard, and the man dropped. The others scattered, drawing their guns, and chaos erupted. Cole took cover behind a water trough, firing steadily, methodically. He hit another man, then another, but there were too many of them, and they were closing in.
A bullet grazed his shoulder, and he grunted, stumbling back. Another hit the trough, splintering the wood. He reloaded, his hands slick with sweat and blood, and kept firing. Then, from behind him, he heard a voice. Cole, he turned. Danny was climbing out of the cellar, his face set with determination.
In his hands was an old revolver. Cole’s backup, the one he kept in the cellar. “Danny, get back down there,” Cole shouted. “No, Danny fired.” The shot wild but enough to make the nearest man dive for cover. “Cover! I’m not hiding anymore!” Cole swore under his breath, but there was no time to argue.
He turned back to the fight, and together they held the line. Garrett, seeing his men fall, finally dismounted, he drew his gun, his face twisted with rage, and advanced on Cole. “You should have walked away,” Garrett snalled. So should you, Cole said, and pulled the trigger. The shot hit Garrett in the chest and he staggered, his eyes wide with shock.
He fell to his knees, then collapsed face first into the mud. The remaining men froze, their eyes darting between their fallen leader and Cole. Then one by one, they mounted their horses and fled. Cole lowered the rifle, his chest heaving. Danny dropped the revolver, his hands shaking, and collapsed to his knees.
It was over. The days that followed were quiet, too quiet, as if the land itself was holding its breath. Cold buried Garrett and the men who’d fallen in unmarked graves at the edge of his property. He didn’t speak over them, didn’t pray, just drilled in the earth, and walked away. Dany and Thomas stayed in the house, recovering.
Thomas’s strength returned slowly, his laughter tentative, but real. Dany remained cautious, watchful as if waiting for the next storm. But it didn’t come. One evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, Cole found Dany sitting on the porch, staring out at the fields. “You all right?” Cole asked, settling into the chair beside him. Dany nodded.
“Yeah, I think so.” “Good.” They sat in silence for a while. The only sound the chirping of crickets and the distant lowing of cattle. “Cole,” Danny said finally. “Yeah, do you really mean it? That we can stay?” Cole looked at him. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” D<unk>y’s lips twitched into a small smile. Okay, okay, okay.
Thomas appeared in the doorway, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Danny, are you coming in? Yeah, Tommy, I’m coming. Danny stood, but before he went inside, he turned back to Cole. Thank you, he said, for everything, Cole nodded. You’re w Danny disappeared inside and Cole stayed on the porch watching the sunset.
For the first time in a long time, the quiet didn’t feel empty. It felt like home. Years later, Dany would remember that night on the porch, the way the sky had burned red and gold, the way Cole had sat beside him like he’d always been there. He’d remember the weight of the revolver in his hands, the fear that had gripped him, and the moment he’d chosen to fight instead of run.
Thomas would remember less, the fever, the fear, the voice of a stranger who’d become something more, but he’d remember Cole’s hand, steady and sure, and the way his brother had held him through the worst of it. And Cole Cole would remember the way Dany had begged him not to take his brother away, the desperation in his voice, the trust in his eyes.
He’d remember stepping forward, opening his arms, and embracing them both. Because in the end, that was all that mattered. Not the fight, not the blood, but the choice to hold on, to protect, to love. And in the quiet of the ranch, as the years rolled on like thunder across the plains, the three of them built something Garrett could never take away.
Disclaimer : This content may be created by AI for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.
