“No.” I cut her off, my voice rougher than I meant. “I told you already. Not while I’m breathing. They don’t get you back.”
The room went still. River gave a low whistle, Oliver muttered something under his breath, but none of it mattered. My world narrowed to the woman in front of me and the war we were about to drag her through.
“Cyclone,” I barked, breaking the silence, “pull up every feed on the west side. That’s where we’ll hit first. Oliver, Gage—check the trucks. Fuel, ammo, spares. River—” I smirked despite myself, “—try not to talk us to death before we get there.”
They moved without question, the rhythm of the Team sliding into place.
Elara’s hand brushed mine as she passed, subtle, fleeting, but enough to anchor me. Enough to remind me what this was really about.
This wasn’t just war anymore.
This was personal.
54
Elara
The city wasn’t home. It wasn’t sanctuary. It was a labyrinth of shadows where Hydra had carved its initials into every street corner and back alley.
From the back of the truck, I watched neon lights blur past—market stalls closing for the night, vendors dragging tarps over their wares, faces turning away too quickly. Some out of fear. Some out of loyalty. Hydra had taught me long ago: in this place, those two things were the same.
Beckett sat across from me, rifle balanced on his knee, every line of his body taut and ready. His eyes swept the streets like they could peel back walls and see every Hydra informant lurking behind them. But sometimes, I wondered if he saw me too clearly. If he knew I wasn’t just afraid of Hydra. I was afraid of what I might become if they caught me again.
The Team kept their voices low, trading clipped updates over comms. Cyclone muttered about feeds. Oliver kept checking his sidearm like the steel itself reassured him. River cracked a joke no one laughed at. But beneath it all, I felt the pulse of something unspoken—anticipation laced with the certainty that we were walking into the fire.
My hand tightened on the pistol resting in my lap. Not out of confidence. Out of necessity.
Beckett’s gaze caught mine. Just for a moment. And in that moment, the city noise, the hum of the engine, the stench of diesel—it all faded.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” he said, voice pitched low, just for me.
I almost laughed, bitter and sharp. “I’ve been afraid every day since Hydra took me. Fear is the only thing that’s kept me alive.”
His jaw clenched, but his eyes softened, that impossible mix of steel and fire. “Then use it. But don’t let it own you.”
The truck slowed. My heart lurched. We were near the western market, the first choke point. Hydra would know. They always knew.
Cyclone’s voice crackled through the comms. “Movement on the east side. Multiple signals. Too clean to be civilians.”
Beckett’s hand flexed around his rifle. The others snapped into motion, weapons ready, eyes sharp.
I forced my breath steady, even as dread coiled tight in my chest. Hydra had turned cities into cages before. This one was no different.
Except this time, Beckett was here. And I wasn’t sure if that made me stronger—or more breakable than ever.
The truck rolled to a stop. Engines idled. Shadows shifted.
Hydra was waiting.
55
Beckett
The truck doors rattled as we killed the engine. Outside, the night was too quiet. No dogs barking. No vendors shouting. Just the hum of electricity from flickering street lamps, and the whisper of something I’d felt too many times before.
An ambush.
I lifted a fist. The Team froze instantly, every man snapping into silence. Gage slid off the bench, rifle ready, River covering him without needing to be told. Cyclone had his tablet clutched to his chest, eyes darting at the flickering feeds.
