Adam’s head snapped up, eyes locking on mine. Pride. Fierce, raw, unshakable.
The world narrowed to the two of us for a breath—until Hawk shouted, “More incoming! East side!”
My lungs burned, my body shook, but I lifted my chin. “Then we finish it.”
I caught Adam’s faint smile before he turned back to the fight.
And for the first time, I knew—I wasn’t just surviving this war.
I was winning it.
104
Adam
Gunfire rattled the steel maze of containers, each shot a thunderclap in my skull. Hawk’s curses lit the communications, Blade’s knife flashed as he went hand-to-hand with a guard too close for a clean shot, and Logan’s rifle cracked steady cover from the flank.
But all I saw was Raine.
She stood in the open, pistol steady, fire in her eyes as if the bullets screaming past were nothing but noise. She wasn’t breaking. She wasn’t bending. She was holding the line.
I dragged another victim out of the trailer—barely more than a boy, his skin clammy, his eyes hollow—and shoved him toward Russ. Then I turned back, and my chest went tight.
Because Raine was still out there, wide open.
“Raine!” I roared, grabbing her shoulder, yanking her into cover against the container wall. She slammed into me, her breath ragged, her ribs trembling against my arm.
“I had it,” she snapped, eyes flashing.
“I know,” I said, my forehead dropping to hers, the world narrowing to the heat of her breath and the pounding of her heart. “But I’m not losing you. Not here. Not ever.”
Her eyes softened—just for a breath, just enough to cut through the thunder. She pressed her lips to mine, fast, fierce, like a promise ripped from fire.
Then Hawk’s shout tore us back to war.
“More trucks rolling out! We’ve got thirty seconds before this place turns into a slaughterhouse!”
I cupped her cheek, just once, just enough to burn the memory in. “On me.”
Her chin lifted, fire blazing again. “Always.”
We surged back into the storm together.
105
Raine
The SUV reeked of gunpowder and sweat. My hands still shook from the recoil, ears ringing from the firefight, but the silence inside the vehicle was louder than the gunfire had been.
The rescued victims filled every inch of space—slumped against seats, curled on the floor, their breaths shallow but alive. Alive.
Hawk leaned his head back against the window, rifle propped across his lap, eyes half-shut but twitching like he was still in the fight. Blade cleaned his knife with a rag, movements slow, deliberate, ritual. Logan muttered under his breath, checking and re-checking his mags, as if he couldn’t stop.
Russ scribbled notes with a trembling hand, the lines of his face heavy with what we’d seen. Boone’s laptop glowed faintly in the back seat, the only light in the hush, his fingers stilled for once.
And Adam—
Adam drove; Logan drove the other vehicle. Adam’s knuckles were white on the wheel, gray-blue eyes locked on the road, unfurling black in front of us. But every so often, his thumbbrushed mine where our hands were tangled together across the console. Steady. Fierce. Alive.
