“They’re circling back,” he breathed against my ear. His voice was steel, but I could feel the way every muscle in him tightened, coiled for war.
I shoved down the ache in my chest, forcing my hands to release him, forcing my mind to slam the armor back in place. Hydra had no right to this moment. Tous.But they were taking it anyway.
He reached for his rifle, movements silent, efficient, the soldier snapping back into place as if he hadn’t just broken everyrule to touch me. His other hand still brushed my hip, a fleeting anchor in the shadows.
“Stay low,” he whispered. “We move when the lights pass.”
The spotlight swept again, closer this time. Voices echoed down, sharp and foreign, calling to each other. I could make out at least four men above, maybe more.
“They’ll find us,” I murmured.
His eyes cut to mine—dark, unyielding. “Not tonight.” He pushed his lips to mine one last time.
And just like that, the fire between us was forced into something sharper. Not soft, not tender. Survival.
He slid in front of me, rifle raised, scanning the ravine’s edge with a predator’s calm. I gripped my knife tighter, blood still thrumming with the echo of what we’d almost had. What Hydra had stolen from me before. What Beckett had given back, even if only for a breath.
The engines idled closer. Boots scuffed rock. And I knew with chilling certainty: this night wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
34
Beckett
Engines idled above us, gears grinding low. A spotlight carved across the ravine again, bleaching stone to bone-white. Voices carried—short, clipped orders, Hydra searching. Hunting.
Elara pressed into the rock beside me, knife glinting faintly in the slice of light. Her breathing was even, controlled, but her eyes—those gave her away. Wide, sharp, waiting for the blow.
I touched her wrist, just a brush of my fingers, enough to anchor her. “Follow me,” I mouthed.
She gave one quick nod. No fear. Just fire.
We stayed low, moving along the ravine wall, our shadows stretching and vanishing with every sweep of the lights. Sand crunched under my boots, no matter how carefully I stepped. Too loud. Too exposed. I wanted to lift her in my arms, carry her silent over stone, but stealth demanded precision, not brute force.
Above us, a man barked something guttural, the tone unmistakable:search deeper.
Elara’s hand found mine, grip like iron. She was small beside me, but that touch steadied me more than the rifle at my shoulder.
We slid into a cut in the rock, narrow enough that I had to angle my shoulders. The dark swallowed us whole, the sound of our pursuers dimming under stone. I pushed her ahead, my chest brushing her back, the space tight, suffocating.
The rumble of trucks shifted, tires grinding closer to the ravine edge. Pebbles rattled loose, pattering down near where we’d been seconds ago.
Elara froze. I leaned close, my mouth at her ear. “Keep moving.”
Her breath hitched, but she obeyed, stepping through until the cut widened into another drop. The ravine floor fell away five, maybe six feet. Not far, but enough to jar our bones.
I crouched, hands gripping her waist. “Jump. I’ll catch you.”
For a second, she hesitated, eyes searching mine. Not for the ground—for me.Then she leapt.
I caught her clean, pain sparking up my side where we collided. I set her down gently, rifle already raised, scanning the shadows. She touched my chest, briefly, grounding me the way I’d steadied her.
Above, Hydra’s voices moved on, engines fading. For now.
We weren’t safe. Not yet. But with her hand in mine, pressed tight in the dark, I believed we could be.
35
