Gage’s brows shot up. “Since when do you vouch for assets?”
“Since I watched her put down three Hydra men before they could put a bullet in any of us,” I snapped back.
The room went quiet. River’s eyes cut to mine, weighing, measuring. Then to Elara.
“She’s useful,” River said finally, his tone giving away nothing. “But useful doesn’t mean trustworthy. Hydra trained her to be what they needed. Don’t forget that. Just because she fought with us, doesn’t mean she isn’t undercover.”
Elara’s chin lifted a fraction. She didn’t flinch, didn’t argue. Just sat there, letting the weight of the judgment press against her like it couldn’t touch her.
I knew better. I’d seen the cracks.
River straightened. “Cole, she’s yours to protect. They’ll be coming after her. Stay at the safehouse. Watch your back.”
My jaw tightened. “I will.”
Elara’s eyes flicked to mine, calm on the outside, storming underneath. I didn’t look away.
Because no matter what River said, no matter what I repeated—I already knew I’d bleed out before I let Hydra touch her again.
And that was the part I could never say out loud.
24
Beckett
The debrief broke with the scrape of chairs and muttered curses. Oliver and Gage filed out first, Cyclone already lost in the data streaming across his tablet. River lingered long enough to give me one last look—a warning and a reminder all at once. Then he was gone too, leaving the room colder than when we’d walked in.
That left me and her.
Elara hadn’t moved, not once, through the whole grilling. She sat with her back straight, shoulders squared, hands folded neat and steady on the table. Like she’d been carved from marble. But I’d learned to read people under fire, and I knew stone from steel. Stone cracked. Steel bent. She was steel, but Hydra had put enough pressure on her to make her brittle in ways the others couldn’t see.
“Let’s go,” I said, voice low.
She rose gracefully, every movement deliberate, the bandage peeking from her collar the only sign she’d been human once. She fell into step beside me as I led her down the hall, my boots echoing too loud against the concrete floor.
“You didn’t have to defend me in there,” she said quietly.
I glanced at her. “I wasn’t defending you. I was defending what I saw. You held your ground. You fought. That’s a fact.”
Her lips curved faintly, something bitter behind them. “Facts don’t matter when people already know the story they want to tell.”
I didn’t answer. Because she wasn’t wrong.
We reached the end of the corridor where the lights dimmed and the shadows stretched long. I stopped, turning to face her fully. “River was clear. If you falter, if you make one wrong move…” I let the silence carry the rest.
Her eyes locked on mine, steady, unflinching. “You’ll release me. I’ll have to find someone else to protect me.”
I didn’t move, didn’t breathe. The words should’ve been easy—cold, final. But when I tried to make them sharp, they dulled on my tongue.
“I won’t let Hydra take you back,” I said instead. My voice came out rough, like gravel dragged over steel. “Whatever that means. You stay with me. No one else will be protecting you.”
Her breath caught. Just a flicker, but I saw it. And for one dangerous second, the mask slipped—the woman underneath staring back at me, raw and unarmored.
Then it was gone. She straightened, chin lifting, armor snapping back into place. “Then I guess we’re both prisoners of circumstance, Cole.”
I turned away before she could read me, before she could see just how much I’d already given up.
Because the truth was simple and damning: I wasn’t guarding her because of orders anymore.
