Bodies lie where they fell. Frozen. Aurora guards who died protecting a Syndicate defector they probably hated. The transport van is crushed. Lead vehicle overturned. Debris scattered across bloodstained snow.
“Aurora will send teams here,” I say. Breaking the silence before it crushes me. “For recovery. Investigation. It’s our best chance at intercept.”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Just surveys the wreckage with the same cool assessment I’m making.
“How long?” he asks.
“Hours. Maybe a day.”
He nods slowly. “We should approach carefully.”
“I know—”
“I’m not questioning your competence.” His voice stays even. “Just stating the obvious.”
I glance at him. His expression is neutral. Not condescending. Not challenging. Just careful. Like he’s trying not to provoke me. This should feel like control. Like winning.
But it makes me want to snap at him just to get a reaction that isn’t this measured calm. I start forward instead. Push through the tree line toward the wreckage.
“No survivors,” I murmur unnecessarily.
“No,” he agrees, taking in the scene. “Rear vehicle is largely intact.” He pauses. “They had my bag packed there. Can I get it?”
“No.” My response is immediate.
“It’s not a trick. You have my word.” His eyes are on mine. “It has things we may need. Clothing. Provisions.”
“Weapons,” I say flatly.
“No,” he responds. “Aurora wouldn’t allow that,” he adds. Makes sense. “But you can check it if it will make you feel any better.”
“Fine,” I say. “Make it quick.” I jerk my head to the vehicle, then watch as he moves toward it with that same economy of motion he applies to everything.
He’s back in seconds, extending a heavy duffel bag toward me unopened. I reach for it and sling it over my shoulder, still taking in our surroundings.
“It seems too quiet,” I mutter. My hand rests on my rifle. Eyes scanning for threats that should be gone, but—
His hand closes around my arm. The contact burns. Not pain. Something else. Something that floods my system faster than adrenaline and makes my wolf surge so hard I nearly shift.
I spin on him. “Don’t—!”
“Something’s wrong.” His voice drops. Urgent. “We need to move. Now.”
“What are you—?”
The shot cracks across the clearing. Sound reaches me before understanding. Before pain. Just that sharp report every combat veteran knows.
Sniper.
Shit!
Allon tackles me. We go down hard. His body covers mine. Snow explodes around us. More shots in rapid succession. Rock shatters where my head was. He’s heavy. Solid. His chest pressed against my back. Heat radiating through too many layers.
My wolf howls recognition.
What the fuck?
Wrong time. Wrong everything.
