I clipped the boy to the cable with shaking hands, signaled the lift, and watched them both disappear into the floodlit night.
The house groaned again, walls bowing inward. We had seconds—maybe less.
And Adam was still standing there, rope taut, refusing to move.
“Together,” I whispered, grabbing his vest. “I said we go together.”
His hand closed over mine, strong and certain, even as the roof gave way beneath our boots.
The roof split under us with a scream of nails tearing loose. The farmhouse lurched sideways, water exploding through the windows in a violent rush. For one sickening heartbeat, I thought we were going under with it.
Adam’s grip tightened, iron around my hand. “Jump—now!”
We launched off the collapsing roof together, the rope snapping taut and wrenching us upward. My body slammed into his, his arms locking me tight against his chest as the house disappeared into the river below. The noise was deafening—crashing timber, roaring water, the shrieks of metal torn apart.
For a moment, we spun wildly, dangling over the chaos. My breath caught, my heart slamming into my ribs. Then Adam’s voice was at my ear, raw and steady all at once.
“I’ve got you.”
The words seared into me, grounding me in the madness. I clung to him, fingers fisting in his vest, refusing to let go.
The cable jerked again, hauling us higher. The flood raged beneath, swallowing the last of the house, but we were clear. Alive. Together.
We hit the landing zone hard, knees buckling as boots struck wet asphalt. Russ and Boone rushed in, unclipping us from the line. The rescued kids were already being carried to the medics, their mother sobbing as she held them both.
But all I could feel was Adam’s hand still gripping mine, knuckles white, as if letting go meant losing more than just the rope.
“Raine,” he said, voice rough.
I turned, ready to snap, ready to put the wall back up—but the look in his eyes stopped me cold. Not just anger. Not just fear. Something deeper. Something that made my chest ache.
Then he blinked, the shutters slamming back into place, and his hand dropped from mine.
“Check on the family,” he said, already turning away. “We’ve got more sectors to clear.”
And just like that, the moment was gone.
But the echo of his words—I’ve got you—stayed, burning in my chest long after the floodwaters swallowed the farmhouse whole.
11
Adam
The command tent smelled like wet canvas, stale coffee, and fear. Maps covered in red grease pencil curled at the edges, damp from the constant humidity. My boots squelched mud onto the dirt floor as I stepped in, but no one seemed to notice. Everyone was too busy chasing ghosts. These floods were worse than ever recorded.
Russ had the casualty board in front of him, methodically crossing out names of the rescued. Boone lounged against a crate with his headset askew, tossing a water bottle in the air like this was a ball game. Hawk muttered to himself while pacing the edge of the tent, and Blade sat sharpening that damn knife again—steel rasping against stone, steady and unnerving.
But my eyes weren’t on them.
They were on the list.
Sector Echo. Four names still circled. Two were children—the ones Raine and I had just dragged out of a collapsing house. The mother’s name was crossed off, too. But the fourth…
“Where’s Merritt?” I asked, tapping the name.
Russ frowned, double-checking his notes. “Fifty-six years old. Last seen at his property line yesterday. Neighbors swore he was alive. Never came through triage.”
I scanned the intake logs stacked nearby. No Merritt. No body. No evac transfer. Just… gone.
