I cross the room in three strides and crouch in front of her.
“Talia.”
She looks up. Her eyes are wide, glassy. “We’re trapped. They have too many resources. The probability of escape is?—”
“Hey.” I reach out, cupping her face with my good hand. Her skin is ice cold. “Look at me.”
Her gaze locks onto mine.
“We’re safe here. For now.”
“For now isn’t a strategy.” Her teeth chatter. “It’s a delay.”
I move closer, settling onto the floor beside her. I pull her into me, tucking her against my side, wrapping my good arm around her shoulders. She stays stiff for a second, vibrating with tension, and then she collapses. All the fight goes out of her at once. She buries her face in my neck, her hands clutching the front of my vest.
“I’m cold.”
“I’ve got you.” I rub her arm, generating friction, sharing heat. “I’ve got you.”
She smells of dust and ozone and vanilla. Even here, covered in the grime of the underground, she smells like something worth saving.
“My arm,” I murmur, shifting slightly so the wound doesn’t press against her.
She pulls back instantly, eyes dropping to the blood-soaked bandage. “You’re bleeding again. I need to check it. I need to?—”
“It’s functional.” The word slips out, automatic. My shield.
She freezes. Her eyes search mine, reading the lie. “No. You use that word when you don’t want anyone to know you’re hurt. You use it when you’re trying to turn yourself into a machine.” Her fingers ghost over the bandage. “You’re not a machine, Jackson. You’re bleeding.”
“I’ll survive.”
“That’s not the standard.” She leans her forehead against my shoulder. “Surviving isn’t the same as living.”
She’s right. She’s always right.
I rest my chin on top of her head, closing my eyes for a second. The weight of her against me grounds the room. It stops the spinning.
“Vargas is right.”
“About what?”
“The math. It doesn’t work. Two people against an army.”
She pulls back enough to look at me. “So what do we do? The kill switch is useless if we can’t get it to the server.”
“We change the equation.”
I gently untangle myself from her and stand. The loss of her warmth is immediate, a physical ache. I walk to the metal desk and reach into my tactical vest, pulling out the satellite phone.
“Who are you calling?” Talia wraps her arms around herself, the shivering returning.
I power on the phone. The screen glows green as it searches for a satellite lock in the concrete bunker. One bar. Two.
“Family.”
I punch in the number. It rings once. Twice.
A click.
