Gage grinned through the smoke, charging ahead with Oliver covering his flank. River cursed but followed, bullets ripping Hydra down in brutal rhythm. Cyclone shouted coordinates from behind, his drone marking clusters with flashes of red on the tablet.
The ground shook as a Hydra truck roared into the street, headlights blinding. Men poured from the back, rifles raised.
I yanked a grenade free, thumbed the pin, and hurled it straight into the cab. The explosion tore through the night, fire swallowing the vehicle whole. The shockwave rattled my teeth, heat blasting across my skin. Hydra screamed as the truck collapsed in a bloom of fire.
Elara fired from beside me, her pistol sharp, precise—dropping a man who tried to flank left. Her hand shook, but her eyes stayed locked, steady. She wasn’t breaking. Not tonight.
More boots pounded from the alley. More shadows spilling closer. Hydra never ended—they just kept coming.
And through the roar, through the fire and fury, one truth anchored me, unshakable.
They could throw an army at us.
They could burn this city to ash.
But Hydra would not take her back.
Not while I was still breathing.
60
Beckett
The fight swallowed the street whole.
Hydra pressed from every angle—rooftops, alleys, side doors of shuttered shops. Gunfire lit the night like lightning, muzzle flashes strobing across walls painted in dust and blood.
I pressed tighter against the wall, Elara tucked at my side, firing controlled bursts into the shadows. She moved like a survivor, not a soldier—but survival was sometimes meaner, sharper. Her pistol barked twice, and two Hydra men dropped before they cleared the corner.
“Reloading!” River barked, ducking behind a half-collapsed stall.
“I’ve got you,” Oliver answered, popping two shots over his shoulder to cover.
Gage charged ahead like a battering ram, kicking a Hydra soldier straight back into his buddies before putting three rounds through their chests. “That all you got?” he roared, his grin savage in the muzzle flash.
But it wasn’t all they had. Not even close.
Cyclone’s voice came sharp in my ear. “More heat signatures coming from the south—at least another squad, maybe two. They’re trying to push us into a kill box.”
No. Not a kill box. A snare. And I knew who the bait was.
“Elara,” I growled, cutting a glance at her. Her braid clung to her face, eyes fierce, pistol steady. But Hydra wasn’t spraying the street like amateurs. They were firing in patterns—pinning us, herding us, every movement angled toward her.
“They want her alive,” I said, low but certain.
River cursed. “Makes it easier for us. They’ll hold back just enough to give us an opening.”
“Or box us in until they can drag her out,” I snapped.
A Hydra man broke from cover, rushing with a taser wand sparking blue. I stepped into him, rifle butt snapping into his jaw, then put a round through his chest before he hit the ground.
I glanced back, locking eyes with her. “Stay close. Don’t let them separate you from me. You understand?”
She opened her mouth to argue—I saw it coming—but then something flickered in her expression. Not fear. Resolve. She just nodded once.
“Together,” she said.
The word cut through the smoke and chaos like a blade.
