Jonah looks up sharply. “Ronan—”
“I’m not sending you,” I cut in. “You’re staying with the wounded.”
He studies me, then nods once.
“Delta Five,” I say into the comm. “We split—controlled. Aaron, Miles, stay airborne. Jase, you’re with me on the ground. Take Marin home; her family misses her.”
No pushback.
No argument.
This is what we do.
The bird flares and touches down hard in a clearing just outside the Red One radius. Rotors keep spinning as Jase and I move fast, boots hitting dirt already running.
The helicopter lifts behind us.
The noise fades.
Silence rushes in.
I bring up the target’s movement—fast, confident, unaware he’s already dead.
Malenkov thinks Black Crown will force me to choose who to save.
He still doesn’t understand.
I don’t choosetargets.
I chooseoutcomes.
And this one ends with his contingency bleeding out in the dirt.
I chamber a round and start moving.
Because rescue was mercy.
This?
This is prevention.
74
Ronan
Location: Ground Intercept Zone — Red One Perimeter
Time: 1256 Hours
The city breathes ahead of us.
Traffic noise. Voices. A bus braking too hard. Normal life stacked on top of Malenkov’s contingency like nothing is wrong.
That’s the danger.
Jase moves at my right shoulder, silent, lethal, eyes sweeping rooftops and reflections. We don’t talk. We don’t need to.
The target’s signal pulses on my HUD—steady, confident, moving like a man who believes he’s protected by distance and civilians.
