Behind me, I heard Oliver reach the gap. Heard him try to follow. Rock scraped against fabric, against flesh.
“Son of a—” Frustration cracked his composure. He couldn’t fit. Couldn’t get through.
“That’s it. Just a little more.”
But the passage narrowed again. The rock pressed against my back and chest. I couldn’t inhale. Couldn’t expand my ribs enough to take in air. My vision went gray at the edges, then started to narrow. I was stuck. I was going to die here, wedged in this gap, just like Oliver had said.
I clawed at the stone. Dragged myself forward another inch. My fingers found the edge of the opening, the place where stone gave way to nothing?—
Hands grabbed mine. Strong and warm.
Coop pulled.
I slid through the last few inches of the gap, skin tearing, ribs screaming, and then I was falling forward into open air, into arms that caught me and cradled me against a chest I’d thought I might never feel again.
“I’ve got you.” His words flowed against my hair, in my ear, surrounding me. “You did it. You’re out.”
I couldn’t speak. My fingers twisted in his shirt, holding on like he might disappear. My whole body shook with sobs I couldn’t control.
He held me tighter. Let me fall apart.
I didn’t know how long we stayed like that. Long enough for my legs to give out completely, for him to take my weight without shifting his grip. Long enough for my sobs to quiet into shuddering breaths.
When I finally lifted my head, I made myself look at him. Needed to see him, to make him real.
He looked like hell. A gash above his eyebrow had bled down the side of his face, the blood dried dark against his skin. Dirt and scratches covered his arms. His clothes were torn in places, and he moved like his ribs were hurting him.
But his eyes—his eyes were fixed on me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
“You’re hurt,” I managed.
“I’m fine.” He gently took my face in his hands. “You’re the one who just crawled through a mountain.”
“Had some motivation. And a voice in my head that wouldn’t shut up.”
Something flickered across his face. He pulled me close again, his forehead dropping to rest against mine.
“When I heard Oliver had you—” His voice cracked. He stopped. Breathed. “I was afraid I was too late.”
“You weren’t.”
“Almost was.”
I pressed my palm flat against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath my hand. Alive. He was alive.
From inside the mine came the sound of shouting. Not just Oliver—other voices, the scuffle of boots on stone.
“I brought reinforcements. Hunter and Beckett went in through the main entrance after we took down Bishop,” Coop said, though he didn’t lift his head from mine. “They’ve got Oliver trapped between them.”
“I can’t believe you’re here.” I twisted my fingers in his shirt, afraid to let go.
“I was working on finding a back entrance to sneak in when I found this opening, heard Oliver talking. Knew you had to be close by.”
More sounds echoed from inside. A struggle. Then a voice crackled over a radio Coop wore on his vest—Hunter’s calm tone cutting through the static.
“Target secured.”
Coop’s arms tightened around me. I pressed my face into his neck and breathed. The setting sun fell across us, bronzed and clean. The mountain air was cold and sharp and perfect in my lungs as we walked back toward the mine entrance.
