The details blur past my untrained eyes—minor inconsistencies I would never notice become glaring signals to Cooper. He reads the urban landscape like I read linguistic patterns, identifying anomalies that reveal hidden threats.
Cooper guides me toward a narrow alley between buildings. “They’re establishing a perimeter from the safe house. Standardprocedure—identify an area of interest, place watchers at all exit points, then sweep inward.”
“How do you know all this? How can you spot them so quickly?”
A ghost of a smile touches his mouth. “Because it’s what I would do.”
He pulls me deeper into the alley, away from our planned path. The detour takes us through narrower passages, dirtier corridors where rats scurry away from our approach. Cooper’s breathing grows labored, each step heavier than the last.
“Cooper—”
“I’m fine.”
The lie hangs between us. Blood seeps through his bandage, leaving a trail any trained operative could follow. His skin has gone ashen in the weak moonlight.
The route becomes a blur of brick walls and concrete floors, service entrances and loading docks. Cooper navigates with certainty despite his condition; sheer determination and force of will carrying him forward when strength fails. My hand stays against his back, offering support he refuses to acknowledge.
When his knees finally buckle, an hour into our journey, I’m there to catch his weight. He sags against me, face pressed into my neck, breath hot against my skin.
“Just need—a minute.”
“Take all the time you need.”
The abandoned storefront offers temporary shelter—broken windows covered with plywood, the door hanging off rusted hinges. Inside, it smells of old cigarettes and forgotten dreams. Dust swirls around our feet as Cooper slides down the wall, head dropping back against peeling paint.
“How far?” My voice breaks the silence.
“Mile and a half.Maybe two.”
His eyes close, lashes dark against pale skin. The bandage needs changing—red has soaked through completely now, tacky and dark in the dim light filtering through cracks in the plywood.
“Let me check your shoulder.”
“Later.”
“Cooper.” My tone drops, becomes commanding in a way that surprises us both. “That’s not a request.”
Something flickers across his face—respect, maybe, or the simple recognition that stubbornness won’t stop blood loss. He unzips the tactical vest with his good hand, allowing me access to the wound.
The bandage peels away with a wet sound that turns my stomach. The entry wound looks angry—red and swollen around the edges, though not yet showing the telltale streaks of infection. Fresh blood wells up as I clean it with supplies from the medical kit.
“Fucking Phoenix,” Cooper mutters through gritted teeth as I press a clean bandage against torn flesh. “Turning a simple extraction into this shitshow.”
“Simple extraction?” The laugh bubbles up unbidden. “Is that what I was supposed to be?”
His eyes open, finding mine in the darkness. “You were never simple, Eliza.”
The words carry weight beyond their syllables. Something shifts between us—acknowledgment of the complexity we’ve become to each other. More than protector and protected. We defy tactical categories.
His good hand catches mine as I secure the fresh bandage. Fingers curl around my wrist, thumb pressing against my pulse point.
“We need to move.”
Phoenix won’t stop hunting. The knowledge hangs betweenus like inevitability—they have resources, manpower, technology. All we have is Cooper’s tactical knowledge and my decoded intelligence. It doesn’t feel like enough.
Outside, the city sleeps fitfully under a cloud-smeared sky. Cooper moves more deliberately now, each step calculated to preserve energy. The gun stays ready in his good hand, eyes constantly scanning for threats.
My academic brain tries to process everything—the danger, the mission, the complexity of Phoenix’s operation that I’ve uncovered—a financial web and corporate takeovers. But physical reality keeps intruding—the sharp pain in my feet from miles of walking, the sweat cooling against my skin, the weight of the flash drive pressed between my breasts.
