[DYLAN]
It had been almost twenty-four hours.
That was how long they had been waiting in the safe house since Max was arrested by the FBI. And that didn't even account for the travel time to get to the safe house.
Dylan felt like he was going to explode if he stayed inside for a minute longer.
Phoenix was now immersed in something on her phone, a glazed over look on her face. At least it was better than the near-hysteric state she'd been in when they had made it to the safe house.
Danny stood on the loft's window seat. He stared out of the giant window at the city beyond, his hands shoved into his pockets. One of his legs bounced, but that was the most motion Dylan had seen from him for upwards of ten minutes now. Dylan knew that at some point he had asked Reznor to check in on Team Grimm, to see if all was well since the incident in Romania, but that had only been a temporary distraction at best.
Alexei hadn't stayed at the safe house for long. Unfortunately, when he left, he had offered no explanation about where he was going or what he was planning on doing. He just disappeared.
Dylan and Reznor had had a brief back and forth, for just long enough to establish what Dylan had already suspected: the FBI had taken Max's phone, and without it, she couldn't communicate with Reznor. And Reznor didn't feel comfortable trying to help her out without communication because he couldn't be sure what Max had planned or what she was going to do. If he tried to help and ended up countering something instead, Max could end up in an even worse situation.
After he communicated with Reznor, Dylan had reached out to the Fugazis. Max's conspiracy theory resounded in his head, even with everything else going on. Without offering too many details (or really much of an explanation at all) he warned his guys to stay on high alert and remain under the radar until he reached out again.
Each of the three of them had eaten at least twice — once because Phoenix had made a ton of breakfast food in an effort to distract herself; the second courtesy of frozen meals — and each had tried to nap at one point or another, with varying degrees of success.
So now they were at a standstill.
Dylan had cleaned just about every weapon he could get his hands on while they had been waiting, and once that was done, he turned to dart throwing.
He was out of practice for the game. His aim needed work.
He was getting gradually closer to the bullseye, though. He had the fleeting thought that Griffin would've kicked his sorry behind if they'd been playing together.
And then the door swung open.
All three of them turned to see a miracle walk in.
And she didn't look near as bedraggled as Dylan had expected for being interrogated by the FBI for who-knew-how-long. In fact, she was in her own clothes — a leather jacket that had miraculously survived a number of her excursions, a gray tank top that fit her, and black jeans with a taller pair of combat boots. He didn't miss the backpack straps on her shoulders, either. His brow furrowed.
After about five seconds of stunned silence, said miracle's name was proclaimed in three different voices, in three different tones. Phoenix was thrilled, Danny relieved, and Dylan was, well, inquisitive.
But what else was new?
Max stood there for another ten seconds in silence. Her eyes were the closest to black that Dylan had seen in a while. Her gaze skipped from Phoenix — who was now just within arm's reach of Max — to Danny, then stopped on Dylan.
