"And until then?"
"Until then, I fortify this house and pray the Committee's search protocols are slower than Tommy thinks they are." I move back to my duffel, pulling out the rest of the security equipment. "I need to install these tonight. Every window, every door, every possible entry point."
Rachel nods, already shifting into survival mode. "Tell me what you need."
We work in silence for the next hour. I mount cameras at strategic angles while Rachel holds the ladder steady, install motion sensors on every window while she tests each one to make sure they're functioning, reinforce the locks on both doors with portable security bars that can withstand significant force.
Professional and efficient.
But when I catch her watching me as I adjust the final camera angle, something shifts in her expression. Not trust, exactly. But maybe the first fragile acknowledgment that we're on the same side again, at least for now.
"This won't stop them if they send a real assault team," I say, testing the camera feed on my phone. "But it'll give us warning. Time to grab Lucas and run."
"Where would we run?"
"Safe house near the border. Kane has it stocked and ready."
"Then why aren't we going there now?" Rachel's voice sharpens with the practicality I remember. "Why wait here for them to find us?"
"Because running now leaves a trail. Bank withdrawals, gas station cameras, hotel check-ins if something goes wrong. The Committee's watching for exactly that kind of movement."I pocket my phone. "The safe house is for emergency extraction only—if they find you before Tommy finishes building bulletproof new identities. But if we can hold position here while Tommy works, you disappear clean. No bread crumbs. No way to trace you."
"And after the safe house? If we have to run?"
"Then Tommy speeds up the timeline. Finishes the new identities while you're at the safe house, and relocates you from there. Either way, you end up somewhere the Committee can't find you. New identities, new city, new life."
"And you?" The question is soft, almost hesitant. "What happens to you?"
I should tell her I go back to Echo Base. Back to operations and missions and the life I chose over her eight years ago. Should maintain the professional distance I promised.
But standing in her living room, surrounded by evidence of the life she built and the kid who's already decided I'm someone worth looking up to, I can't make myself say the words that mean walking away again.
"I make sure you're safe first," I say instead. "Everything else comes after that."
Her eyes search mine for something I'm not sure I can give her. "You cared too much. That's what you said."
"Yeah."
"Then prove it." Her voice is steady now, challenging. "Stay alive long enough to get us relocated. Protect Lucas. And then we'll talk about what caring too much actually means."
Before I can respond, my phone signals an alert. Motion sensor triggered on the west side of the house. Echo Base will be seeing the same alert on their monitors. My hand moves to the weapon at my hip as I pull up the camera feed.
A neighbor's cat, slinking through Rachel's yard.
False alarm.
But my pulse still hammers. Every muscle stays tight, ready. Every alert from now on could be the real thing. Could be Committee operatives closing in on a target they've already decided needs elimination.
Fear shows despite her best efforts to hide it. Strength she's built from surviving things that should have broken her.
We need time.
Time to build bulletproof identities. Time for Tommy to create a relocation the Committee can't trace. Time standing between Lucas and the people who want him dead, between Rachel and losing the one thing in her life that still feels like hope, between me and the chance to prove that caring too much doesn't always end in walking away.
Camera feed shows nothing but empty yard and darkness beyond the reach of the porch light.
But somewhere out there, the Committee is hunting. Searching databases and running facial recognition and narrowing the grid with every hour that passes.
And when they find us, timelines won't matter.
