Before anything else.
Ronan.
He doesn’t say it.
He doesn’t have to.
My chest tightens so hard it feels like something inside me is cracking open, but I don’t let it show. I don’t rush. I don’t run.
Because the fastest way to shatter a moment like this is to pretend it didn’t cost everything.
I stop three feet from him.
Close enough.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
His mouth trembles. Just once.
“Took you long enough,” he rasps.
The sound of his voice—raw, damaged, still him—hits harder than any blow Malenkov ever dealt.
Behind me, Delta Five moves in, silent and efficient. Aaron checks vitals. Miles scans restraints. Jase covers the corridor without being told.
No one looks away.
No one looks uncomfortable.
This is what we came for.
I crouch in front of him, eyes level.
“You still with me?” I ask.
A faint smile ghosts across his split lip.
“Never left.”
I swallow hard and turn to the second man.
He’s slumped forward, chin nearly to his chest. Blood stains the front of his shirt, I stop to wonder if it’s the same one he had on when he was captured. His breathing is shallow—butsteady.
Alive.
I step closer.
“Hey,” I say again, firmer this time.
His head lifts slowly, like it weighs a thousand pounds. His eyes find mine—and widen.
For a second, he just stares.
Then his shoulders shake.
Not sobs.
Contained.
