Elara’s gaze locked on the red dot over Tunisia. “That’s where he’ll run when we hit him again.”
I nodded slowly. “Then that’s where we go.”
Cyclone looked between us. “You’re serious? We just crawled out of a war zone.”
“Yeah,” I said. “And we’re going to walk right back into another one.”
Elara’s hand brushed mine under the table—steady, certain.
Because this wasn’t just a fight anymore. It was personal.
74
Elara
The safehouse had gone from quiet recovery to mission mode in less than an hour.
Coffee cups were replaced with rifles. The hum of Cyclone’s tablet gave way to the sound of metal being loaded, boots tightening, the familiar rhythm of soldiers preparing to step back into hell.
I stood by the window, tying my hair back, watching the gray morning melt into sunlight. The city outside looked almost peaceful again—almost—but I could still smell the smoke in the air. Hydra’s fire hadn’t burned out. It had only moved.
Beckett’s reflection appeared behind me in the glass, silent and solid. He’d changed into combat gear again—black shirt, tactical vest, rifle slung across his back. The bruises along his jaw had darkened overnight, and there was a new cut above his brow, but he still looked unshakable.
“You’re not coming,” he said quietly.
I didn’t turn around. “We both know that’s not true.”
“Elara—”
“No.” I faced him then, chin up, heart pounding. “Don’t start that ‘stay behind where it’s safe’ speech. There’s nowhere safe anymore, not while Hydra’s still breathing.”
He exhaled, slow and hard. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
He took a step closer, his voice low, steady in that dangerous way that said he’d already decided something. “The point is, you’ve been running on fumes for days. You barely slept. You’re still healing, even if you won’t admit it. You go out there again, and you’ll push until you break. And I can’t—” He stopped, jaw clenching. “I can’t lose you because I didn’t tell you no.”
The room felt smaller. My pulse hammered in my throat.
“I’ve been fighting Hydra since before you found me,” I said softly. “You didn’t pull me out of that world just to lock me away from it.”
His eyes found mine—stormy, raw, too full of everything he didn’t want to say. “You think this is about control?”
“It’s about trust,” I whispered. “You trust everyone else on this team to have your back. You have to trust me too.”
He stared at me for a long time, like he was weighing the cost of that trust against the battlefield ahead. Then, finally, he looked away, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Cyclone, how long until we move?” he called toward the kitchen.
“Thirty minutes,” Cyclone replied without looking up from his screens. “River’s packing ammo, Gage is tuning the comms, and Oliver’s… well, being Oliver.”
Gage’s voice boomed from the next room. “You’re just jealous I travel light, brother!”
River answered with a laugh. “You mean you lost half your gear again.”
Beckett’s lips twitched. “You hear that? That’s what trust sounds like.”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Then let me earn it.”
