I pressed Elara back against the wall, body shielding hers. My rifle came up steady, breath locked. The first man dropped into view, weapon first. I fired once. He folded before he hit the ground.
Two more followed. Elara’s shots cracked sharply beside mine, clean and ruthless. Both fell.
For a moment, there was silence. Then Hydra responded with fury—grenades hurled into the wash, explosions shaking the ground, and sand choking the air. Elara’s hand tightened around mine as the earth buckled, rocks collapsing around us.
“Go!” I pulled her up, dragging us toward a break in the wash. We staggered through smoke, lungs on fire, the world a blur of fire and dust. Hydra didn’t stop. They never stopped.
We broke free onto another stretch of open desert, the sun climbing higher, heat already brutal. Trucks swerved to cut us off. Engines roared like predators scenting blood.
Elara’s voice was ragged, fierce. “They won’t stop coming, Beckett.”
I glanced at her—dust streaked her face, blood at her temple, eyes alive with defiance.
“Neither will I,” I said.
And with Hydra closing the circle tighter, we ran again. No backup. No way out. Just the two of us, against an army that would rather see us buried in the sand than free under the sun.
43
Elara
The desert spun with chaos—dust clouds rising, engines snarling, Hydra tightening the noose. Beckett’s rifle was nearly dry, my pistol heavy and hot in my hand. Every breath tore at my lungs. Every step felt like the last we had left.
“Beckett—” I started, voice ragged.
“Don’t stop,” he cut me off, dragging me behind a jagged slab of rock as bullets shredded the sand where we’d been seconds before. His jaw was set like stone, eyes blazing with the kind of resolve that made my chest ache. He’d die here before he let Hydra take me.
And maybe that was what broke me—
The realization that he meant it.
Engines roared closer. Trucks boxed us in. Shouts rose in Hydra’s tongue, sharp, certain. A spotlight swept over the rocks, locking us in its blinding white circle.
No way out.
Beckett raised his rifle anyway, teeth bared, body angled in front of mine. “When I tell you—”
A new roar split the air. Not Hydra. Lower, heavier, familiar.
The first explosion ripped through the lead truck, fire chewing the dawn apart. Shouts turned to screams. Gunfire erupted—not from Hydra’s line, but from the ridge above. Precise. Lethal.
I froze.
The emblem I’d seen on Beckett’s teammates’ shoulders blazed clear in the sunlight as men spilled over the ridge, rifles cutting down Hydra with brutal efficiency.
The Golden Team.
River’s voice reached us, carrying over the chaos like a blade through smoke. Cyclone’s drone buzzed overhead, targeting Hydra positions. Oliver and Gage pushed forward with suppressing fire, corralling the enemy into the open.
Beckett didn’t hesitate. He grabbed my hand, yanking me upright. “Move!”
We sprinted as Hydra’s lines collapsed, the Golden Team slicing through them like they’d been born for this desert. Beckett fired his last rounds into the stragglers, his movements perfectly in sync with his brothers.
I stumbled once, heat and exhaustion dragging me down. Beckett’s arm locked around my waist, hauling me with him until Oliver broke from cover, reaching us with his rifle still smoking.
“You always pick the scenic routes, Beckett?” Oliver said, slapping him on the back. “You two okay?”
“We are now.Shut up and keep shooting,” Beckett growled, shoving me behind the cover of their line.
