I leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in weeks, the images behind my eyes weren’t straps, or needles, or shadows closing in.
They were Adam’s eyes.
His voice in the middle of fire, telling me I wasn’t alone.
His lips against mine, brief and fierce, like a vow.
My ribs ached with every breath, my muscles screamed for rest, but under all of it, something else pulsed.
Peace.
For one breath, one heartbeat, the war wasn’t everything.
Adam glanced at me then, just for a second, and the steel in his gaze softened. “We got them out,” he said quietly. Not to the team. Not even to himself. To me.
I squeezed his hand. “Together.”
The SUV rolled on through the night. And for the first time, I believed we might actually make it.
106
Adam
We holed up in an old fishing warehouse three miles outside the port. Rusted tin walls, concrete floor, the smell of salt and damp wood thick in the air. It wasn’t much, but it was shelter—and for the moment, it was ours.
The victims huddled together near a stack of pallets, wrapped in blankets Russ had scrounged from digging around. Boone placed his laptop on an overturned crate, the glow casting shadows across his tired face as he sent encrypted files to a dozen secure channels. Hawk prowled the perimeter, restless energy coiled tight, while Blade leaned against the wall, knife balanced on his palm as if he didn’t know how to breathe without it.
Logan lowered himself to the floor, back against the wall, running a hand through sweat-damp hair. His rifle rested across his knees, but his shoulders sagged, the first sign of exhaustion I’d seen on him all night.
Nobody spoke at first. The silence wasn’t heavy—it was survival. A fragile exhale after fire.
Finally, Hawk broke it with a mutter. “Some damn welcome to Corpus.”
Boone snorted, not looking up from the screen. “You’re the one who said you liked the ocean.”
Russ shook his head, scribbling one last note before tearing the page free. He folded it, slid it into his pocket, then exhaled long and low. “We saved thirty-two tonight. Don’t forget that.”
The number hung there, a fragile spark against the dark.
Raine moved through the space with quiet precision, handing out water bottles, crouching beside a woman with a bloody lip to murmur something low and steady. Her face was pale, her ribs still tight under the bruises, but her chin stayed high.
When she finally sat beside me, her pistol still in her hand, I reached over and brushed my thumb across her knuckles. She didn’t look at me, didn’t need to. Her fingers tightened around mine anyway.
For a moment, the world outside—the blood, the shadows, the endless war—fell away.
We’d fought, we’d bled, and we’d survived.
Tomorrow, the fight would start all over again.
But tonight, in this broken-down warehouse, with my team breathing and Raine’s hand in mine, I let myself believe we’d already won.
107
Raine
The warehouse had gone quiet. Boone’s keyboard finally stilled, Hawk’s restless pacing slowed, Blade sank deeper into the shadows, and even Logan’s eyes had slipped shut. Russ kept one last watch over the rescued victims, but the fight had wrung every ounce of strength from all of us.
Adam caught my hand without a word, tugging me toward a side door. My ribs ached, my body screamed for sleep, but the heat in his grip erased every thought of rest.
