Then Beckett’s hands were on me, dragging me back to my feet, his face fierce, his voice a growl I could finally hear over the ringing.
“I told you,” he said, steady even as chaos burned around us. “They don’t get you back.”
And for the first time, I believed him.
57
Beckett
Smoke clung to my throat, acrid and thick, every breath laced with fire. The street was littered with Hydra bodies, trucks smoldering, market stalls collapsed into blackened skeletons. But it wasn’t over. Not even close.
I kept Elara tight to my side as the Team regrouped, my rifle sweeping every shadow, finger tight on the trigger. She was still standing, pistol steady in her grip, eyes fierce despite the blood streaked across her cheek. She’d fought like hell back there—scared, yeah, but unbroken.
And God help me, I’d never been more afraid of losing anyone in my life.
“Clear left,” River called, moving along the wall with his rifle up. “But I don’t like it. Too easy.”
“Cyclone?” I barked.
His voice came sharp through the comms. “Heat signatures retreating—north alley, east rooftops. They’re pulling back, but… Beckett, I don’t like this either. Feels staged.”
My gut twisted. He was right. Hydra never fought sloppy. Not unless they wanted you exactly where they put you.
“Fall back to the truck?” Oliver asked, wiping sweat and grit from his brow.
I scanned the rooftops, the alleys, the street still crawling with smoke. Hydra’s bodies were scattered like broken teeth, but the silence pressing down on us wasn’t victory. It was a snare waiting to snap shut. Where were the police?
“No,” I said. “We move forward. If we turn back, we run straight into whatever Grand’s got waiting behind us.”
Elara shifted closer, her shoulder brushing mine. “And if we move forward, we walk into his trap anyway.”
Her words cut sharp, but her eyes stayed locked on mine. Not afraid. Just honest.
I lifted my rifle, chambering a round with a sound that cracked through the silence. “Then we walk in with our teeth bared.”
Gage grinned like the lunatic he was. “Now you’re talking.”
The Team slid into formation, weapons up, eyes sweeping every corner. Elara kept pace beside me, pistol steady, her chin high despite the weight pressing down on her.
She didn’t belong in this war. She never should’ve had to claw her way through Hydra’s hell. But she was here. And she was mine to protect.
The street narrowed as we pushed deeper into the market district, shadows closing in, rooftops looming like watchtowers. My grip tightened on the rifle. My pulse pounded steady, brutal.
I could feel Roger Grand’s hand in every inch of this city.
And I swore on everything I had left—he’d bleed for it.
58
Elara
The deeper we moved into the city, the tighter the walls seemed to press. Narrow alleys cut like scars through the market district, shadows stretching long and sharp beneath flickering lights. Every window felt like an eye. Every rooftop like a waiting rifle.
Fear crawled over my skin, whispering with every step:Hydra is here. Hydra owns this place.
But beside me, Beckett walked like he owned it more.
His rifle swept the dark with mechanical precision, shoulders squared, every muscle locked into the rhythm of war. The others moved in sync around us—River muttering into comms, Oliver covering the rear, Gage cracking his knuckles like he was itching for another fight. Even Cyclone, face washed pale blue by his tablet’s glow, looked more like a hawk than a man.
