He glanced at me, eyes steady, burning with that same fire that terrified me and anchored me all at once. “Not nearly enough.”
The words cut deeper than Hydra’s bullets ever could. Because he meant it. Every single one.
My throat tightened, a knot of fury and fear fighting for space. “You can’t keep doing that. You can’t keep throwing yourself at them like your life is disposable.”
He stopped short, spinning me to face him. His grip was still iron, but his voice came low, rough, like gravel ground into steel. “My life is mine to give, Elara. And I’ll spend every last breath if it means they never put their hands on you again.”
Tears burned hot behind my eyes, but I blinked them back, forcing my chin up. “And what am I supposed to do if they take you from me? What then, Beckett?”
His jaw flexed, something raw flickering in his eyes, but before he could answer, River’s voice cut in.
“Save the lover’s quarrel for later. Hydra’s regrouping.”
The Team surged forward again, weapons up, eyes scanning the shadows. But Beckett didn’t move right away. His hand stayed locked in mine, his stare holding me in place.
“Then don’t let them take me,” he said softly.
And just like that, the world tilted. Because the truth slammed into me harder than any blast—this wasn’t just about Hydra anymore. It wasn’t about survival.
It was about us.
And the closer Hydra pressed, the more I knew—if I lost him, I’d never forgive myself for what I hadn’t told him.
67
Beckett
The city didn’t sleep—it hunted.
Every alley we passed was another mouth waiting to swallow us. Hydra wasn’t chasing anymore. They were steering us, narrowing our path block by block, until the only direction left would be the one Grand wanted.
I could feel it.
“Cyclone,” I barked. “Talk to me.”
“Feeds are bad—too much interference,” his voice cracked through the comms. “But it looks like patrols ahead, three streets over. Heavier weapons. They’re herding us into the industrial zone.”
Exactly where I didn’t want to be.
“Not happening,” I growled.
River snorted. “Good to hear you still hate orders, Beckett. What’s the play?”
I scanned the street—collapsed balconies, burnt-out cars, shattered windows. Every shadow moved like it had teeth. But Elara’s hand brushed mine again, subtle, quick, grounding me even here.
“The play is simple,” I said. “We don’t let them dictate the ground. We take it back.”
Oliver raised a brow. “And how exactly do you want to flip an ambush in the middle of Hydra’s backyard?”
I chambered another round, shoulders tight, pulse hammering steady. “By being louder than the sons of bitches chasing us.”
Before anyone could argue, I stepped out into the open, rifle raised, and cut down the first Hydra soldier creeping from the alley. His body hit the ground with a thud that cracked the silence. Then the street erupted again—gunfire, shouts, shadows spilling from the dark.
“Push forward!” I roared. “We bleed them here before Grand tightens the noose!”
The Team surged with me, a storm unleashed in the heart of Hydra’s city.
Elara stayed on my flank, pistol snapping sharp, steady even as bullets carved the stone around her. She wasn’t just surviving anymore. She was fighting. With me.
