"I'm going with him."
"Agent Brennan?—"
"I'm going with him." I meet Harlow's gaze directly. "You can question me at the hospital. You can post guards if you need to. But I'm not leaving him."
Something shifts in Harlow's expression. Understanding, maybe. Recognition that some things matter more thanprotocol. "Agreed. But you'll have an escort. Rhys will accompany you on the flight."
The helicopter arrives and the medical crew swarms Finn, getting him loaded and secured within minutes. I climb in beside him, Rhys taking position across from us, and we lift into cold morning air.
Below, the hunting cabin becomes small and distant. Montrose's body is a white shape stained with blood, that taints the white snow. The forest stretches endlessly in all directions, beautiful and deadly and indifferent to the violence that just played out in its shadow.
Finn's hand finds mine despite the medical equipment and personnel crowding the small space. His grip is weak but present. Alive.
"Stay awake," I tell him. "Keep talking to me."
"About what?"
"Tell me about flying. You love it. Tell me why."
"Freedom." He pauses, gathering strength. "Up there, nothing else matters. Just the sky and the controls and knowing exactly where you are in three-dimensional space. It's pure."
His eyes drift closed.
"Finn. Stay with me."
"M'here. Just tired."
The medical crew works around us, monitoring vitals, adjusting equipment, doing everything possible to keep him stable until we reach the hospital. But I watch his face, watch the grey pallor that speaks to serious blood loss, watch crimson seeping through bandages despite their best efforts, and fear crawls up my throat.
The evidence is transmitted. Montrose is dead. My name will be cleared.
But watching Finn's blood seep through my fingers, all I can think is that I'm losing him. Losing everything that matters.
The helicopter banks toward Anchorage. Mountains give way to coastline. The city appears in the distance, sprawling along the water, civilization after days in the wilderness.
Below us, the world continues turning. The task force reviews evidence. Media outlets prepare stories about corruption in federal law enforcement. Congressional oversight committees call for hearings. The machine of justice begins grinding forward, slow and inexorable and finally pointed at the right targets.
Tom Rearden's death will be avenged. The agents who died in Stormwatch will get justice. Julian Montrose's network will be dismantled piece by piece.
But right now, none of that matters as much as the man beside me fighting to stay conscious. None of that matters as much as making sure he survives to see what comes next.
Finn's grip on my hand weakens. The medical crew moves faster, voices sharp with urgency. We're still five minutes from the hospital.
"Don't you dare," I whisper. "Don't you dare leave me now. Not after everything."
His eyes open slightly. "Not going anywhere. Told you I'm hard to kill."
"Then prove it. Stay with me."
"Always."
The city rushes up to meet us. The helicopter descends toward the medical center's landing pad. Trauma team waits below, ready to receive the patient.
The helicopter touches down with a jolt. Trauma team swarms us before the rotors stop spinning. They pull Finn from the aircraft on a stretcher, medical personnel shouting vital statistics and treatment protocols I barely understand.
I try to follow but Rhys's hand on my arm stops me. "Let them work."
Through the chaos of personnel and equipment, I catch one last glimpse of Finn being wheeled toward the emergency entrance. His eyes find mine across the distance. Conscious. Fighting.
