She wasn’t wrong. And for reasons I didn’t understand, I didn’t want to lie to her.
“Armor keeps people alive,” I said.
Her gaze held mine, unflinching. “And when the weight of it crushes you?”
The question landed too close. I looked away, into the dark. “Then I keep moving. There’s no other choice.”
Silence stretched. I expected her to push, to pry—but instead she let the quiet linger before she spoke again, softer this time.
“Hydra made me into something I didn’t recognize. I thought if I played the part long enough, I’d forget who I used to be.” Her hands clenched tight on the knife, knuckles white. “Sometimes I think I have.”
My chest tightened, something hot and sharp tearing through me. “You’re not what they made you.”
Her eyes flicked up, searching mine like she didn’t believe me.
“You fought for us tonight,” I said, voice low, steady. “That wasn’t Hydra. That was you.”
For the first time since I’d met her, her mask slipped without being ripped away. I saw the woman underneath—the fear, the guilt, the fragile thread of hope she tried to smother.
“Why do you keep saying that?” she whispered. “Why do you keep looking at me like I’m worth saving?”
The answer was simple and damning. “Because you are.”
The air between us snapped tight. She stared at me like she didn’t know whether to believe me or run. Then, slowly, her grip on the knife loosened. The blade slipped from her fingers, clattering softly to the stone floor.
In that sound, I heard the truth: she was letting me see her. Not the weapon Hydra built. Not the mask. Justher.
And I knew I’d kill anyone who tried to take that away again.
37
Elara
The knife clattered against stone, echoing far louder than it should have. For a heartbeat, I almost reached for it again. But Beckett’s eyes held me steady.
No judgment. No suspicion. Just… belief.
It unraveled me faster than Hydra’s cruelty ever had.
I drew my knees closer, arms wrapping around them. My throat ached, the words fighting their way out before I could stop them. “I don’t remember who I was before Hydra. I try, but it’s like looking through fog. I see flashes—sunlight on water, someone laughing—but then it’s gone.”
His face tightened, as if my confession cut him too. “That’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it?” My voice cracked, brittle. “They told me every day that I was theirs. That I was nothing before them, nothing without them. And the worst part is…” I swallowed hard, hating the tremor in my chest. “Sometimes I believed them.”
Beckett shifted, closing the space between us. His hand rested lightly on mine, rough and warm. Not trapping. Not claiming. Justthere.
“They don’t own you, Elara.” His voice was low, certain, the kind of steel you could build a foundation on. “You’re here. You fought beside us. That’s you. Not them.”
I turned my hand, slowly, until my fingers slid against his. Our palms met, skin to skin. Simple. Shattering.
“You make it sound easy,” I whispered.
“It isn’t.” His thumb brushed over the back of my hand, steady as a heartbeat. “But it’s worth it.”
I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that nothing Hydra touched could ever be worth saving. But the heat of his hand against mine told a different story. For the first time in years, I felt tethered to something other than pain.
“You’ll regret this,” I said softly.
