Something inside me cracked at that—something Hydra had tried to chain and bury. For a moment, the chase, the gunfire, the whole night blurred, and all I saw was him choosing me over himself.
The roar of an engine jerked us back to reality. One of Hydra’s trucks crested the ridge above, headlights blinding. Beckett shoved me flat into the sand, covering me as the vehicle slowed, men shouting.
His mouth brushed my ear, words a whisper of steel. “When I tell you to run, you don’t look back.”
“And leave you?” I hissed.
“Better me than you.”
I turned my head, meeting his eyes in the dark. “No. We run together.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Then his jaw clenched, and he gave the smallest, sharpest nod I’d ever seen.
“Together,” he said.
The truck engine revved above us. Beckett raised his weapon. My knife gleamed faint in the moonlight. And with the desert stretching endlessly around us, we prepared to fight our way free.
28
Beckett
The truck’s spotlight burned across the gully like a scalpel, slicing shadows away. Shouts rained down in a language I knew too well. Hydra. Hunting. Closing in.
I flattened Elara against the rock, shielding her body with mine. The air tasted like iron and dust.
“They’ve got numbers. We’ve got ground,” I whispered. “Use it.”
She didn’t nod. Didn’t argue. Just tightened her grip on the knife and waited for my signal.
The first boots hit sand above us. I fired twice—clean, sharp. A body tumbled down the gully wall, crashing at our feet. More followed, the glow of muzzle flashes turning night into hellfire.
“Move!” I shoved her forward, firing over her shoulder. We scrambled up the far side, lungs burning, bullets chewing stone around us.
At the ridge, another shadow lunged. Elara spun fast, knife catching the moon. One slash, one guttural cry, and the man dropped. She didn’t pause. She didn’t shake. She just ran, braid whipping over her shoulder as she kept pace with me.
Pride cut through the adrenaline like a blade. She wasn’t breaking. She was surviving.
Engines roared closer—two trucks now, circling wide. Headlights swept, pinning us in beams like prey. I grabbed her arm, yanking her down just as the sand exploded in a spray of lead.
“We can’t outrun them,” she hissed.
“Don’t need to outrun.” I scanned the terrain—an old ravine cut the desert in half less than two hundred meters ahead. Deep. Black. If we made it, we’d vanish. If we missed… we’d break on the rocks below.
Her eyes followed mine. “You’re insane.”
“Probably.” I grabbed her hand, every muscle coiled. “On three.”
“One—” Bullets screamed past.
“Two—” was shouted, closing in.
“Three.”
We ran. Sand slipped, trucks roared, the night pulsed with fire. I didn’t look back. Couldn’t. My world narrowed to the weight of her hand in mine and the dark mouth of the ravine rushing closer.
At the edge, I didn’t hesitate. I pulled her with me and leapt.
For one suspended heartbeat, the desert fell away. Then we hit hard, tumbling down stone and sand, pain tearing at our skin, air ripping from our lungs. We landed in a cloud of dust, half-buried but alive.
