“Get a grip,” his companion mutters. “I’m checking in.” A radio emits static. “Section clear,” he reports.
“Proceed to next checkpoint,” comes the reply.
The footsteps move away. I wait for the longest minute of my life, counting each beat of my heart, then slip out and continue toward the exit.
The maintenance door appears ahead, identical to the one I entered through. I press my palm against the scanner, praying my luck holds.
The lock clicks open.
Thank God!
Something is definitely helping me.
Cold mountain air greets me as I step outside. I don’t pause, just run, desperate to put distance between myself and the facility. I don’t stop until I’m deep in the trees, lungs screaming, legs shaking.
I collapse behind a fallen log, gasping for breath, adrenaline still surging through my system.
I did it. I actually did it. And all in under half an hour.
Relief and terror mix in equal measure. The intelligence I’ve gathered could save countless lives—if I can get it back to Aurora. If I can make it to the extraction point. If Luke doesn’t kill me first himself.
I check my bearings. The extraction point is northeast. My legs feel like rubber, but I force myself upright and start moving.
Every step takes me closer to safety. Closer to Luke’s fury. Closer to having to explain why I risked everything.
The forest seems alive with shadows. Without Luke’s presence, without his steady confidence and quiet strength, it feels overwhelming. I find myself missing him with an intensity that catches me off guard, not just his protection, buthim. His solid presence. The way his body felt against me. The memory of his mouth on mine, hungry and certain.
I shake the thoughts away. I need to focus on survival now. On getting this information back. On facing the consequences of my choice.
He’ll understand. Eventually.
He has to.
Because I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Chapter 22
Luke
I return to our campsite, rabbit in one hand, a fistful of foraged berries in the other. The small clearing looks exactly as I left it, my pack in the same place, our gear stacked against the fallen log.
Except for one thing.
Ember’s gone.
At first, I don’t register the wrongness of it. My mind is still scanning the periphery, checking sight lines, noting potential threats. It takes four full seconds before the absence hits.
The hollow space where she should be sitting. The missing pack she’s carried since the cabin. The too-neat arrangement of the supplies I left behind.
I drop the game and scan the treeline. “Ember?”
Nothing. Not even disturbed earth where she should have been pacing, restless as always.
That’s when I see it: a folded scrap of paper placed deliberately on top of my pack.
Something cold slides down my spine.
I know what it says before I read it. Know it with a certainty that makes my hands almost too numb to unfold the paper. The words blur before my eyes, refusing to resolve into meaning on the first pass.
