“Copy.” I turned to Gage and Oliver. “Get them to the truck—double time.”
Oliver grabbed one of the rescued and pulled them toward the dock gate. Gage helped the others. Their footsteps slapped the wet pavement, the sound too loud but too alive.
I held the line long enough to cover them, then ducked behind a smoking van as bullets shredded the air. One ricochet clipped the edge of my vest, another sparked off the door frame.
“Cyclone, gate’s open?”
“Open!” he shouted. “Move it!”
I sprinted, diving into cover behind the evac truck as it rolled forward. The civilians tumbled inside, shaken but safe. Gage slammed the door shut.
Oliver looked over his shoulder toward the fire blooming in the distance. “That’s our last good deed for the night.”
“Yeah,” I said, watching the smoke twist skyward. “Now it’s Beckett’s turn.”
Cyclone’s tone shifted—low, urgent. “He’s inside the central warehouse. Signal’s solid. Elara’s with him.”
Gage checked his rifle, eyes bright even through the grime. “Guess we better make sure he’s got a clean exit when this is over.”
“Damn right,” I said. “Golden Team holds until the boss walks out.”
And as the truck carrying the rescued tore into the night, we turned back toward the flames—ready to give Beckett every second he needed.
83
Elara
The world outside was all fire and fury, but inside the warehouse, the silence was deafening.
We slipped through the service door, our boots whispering over concrete littered with shell casings and broken glass. The air smelled of oil and smoke, sharp and heavy. Somewhere beyond the walls, gunfire echoed like distant thunder—but here, for the first time in what felt like forever, there was only the two of us.
Beckett swept his rifle across the corridor, then lowered it. “Clear,” he murmured.
I pressed a hand against the wall to steady my breathing. My pulse hadn’t slowed since the first explosion, but it wasn’t fear anymore—it was anticipation. I could feel the fight waiting, like a shadow crouched just ahead.
Beckett turned, his face streaked with soot, sweat glinting along his jaw. “You holding up?”
“Ask me after we’re done,” I said, forcing a shaky smile.
He huffed a quiet laugh, just a breath of sound. “That’s fair.”
The dim emergency lights flickered, painting everything in red and shadow. He moved closer, scanning me the wayhe always did—like he was counting the seconds I was still standing.
“You don’t have to go in there with me,” he said.
“Don’t start.”
“Elara—”
“No.” I stepped closer, my hand on his chest, the warmth of him cutting through the chill. “We started this together. We end it together.”
His eyes caught mine in the red light, and for a moment, the war outside didn’t exist. There was just the sound of our breathing, the thud of his heartbeat under my palm.
He lifted a hand to my face, brushing away a streak of ash with his thumb. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not.”
“I know.” He smiled faintly, the kind that reached his eyes just enough to break something open inside me. “But it’s the only way I know how to live anymore.”
