“Sorry—sorry,” she pants, breathless but relentless. “I’ve got you.”
I try to lift my head, but that turns out to be a bad idea as the world tilts and collapses inward. My stomach tightens violently around the wound there, pressure blooming hot and wet beneath my shirt. I clamp down on it by instinct, roaring with more pain at the contact.
“Fuck—“ I start, but it comes out like air leaking from a punctured tire.
Kate’s face swims into view, pale and set with a focus I recognize. It’s the same look she had in Somalia when everything went sideways—fear locked down behind determination.
“Where are we going?” I rasp through the pain.
“Beck called and sent coordinates to the airfield you set up for extraction. We’ll be flying to your home from there,” she explains.
Of course he did. I should have been the one to prepare Kate for such a situation, but I’m glad my brother stepped up when I couldn’t.
Just then, another name slips through the fog.Julian.
“Son?” I manage to cough out.
“He’s safe, in the car, all buckled in. He’s okay.”
Good.That’s good.That’s all that matters.
Kate grunts as she wrestles me upright against the side of the vehicle. “Just—just a second,” she murmurs, more to herself than me, as she opens the door.
I force my eyes open again. Her face is streaked with sweat and something darker. Her mouth trembles once before she presses it into a hard line.
“Kate,” I gasp.
She looks straight at me. “Don’t talk. Save it.”
I want to argue, tell her where the keys are, what to grab, and what not to forget. I want to tell her I’m sorry about the mountain, the danger, and the way my life keeps spilling into hers. Instead, the darkness surges back up. The last thing I feel before it takes me is her hand on my chest—steady and warm—and her voice, low, fierce, unbreakable: “I’m not losing you.”
I have no idea how much time has passed, but I come back in pieces. The first thing that rolls in is the vibration, rattling through bone and metal. Then the smell of oil and wet earth, tires on gravel. The car is moving, bouncing just enough to make every injury announce itself.
My eyes open to the inside of the backseat. Julian is to my left, strapped into his car seat—impossibly small and solid all at once. His chest rises and falls in steady breaths, his fist curled around the strap like he’s holding on to the world by force of will.
Rook’s head lifts into my line of sight from the open trunk area, amber eyes locked on me. Ash is there too, pressed close, both of them alert and tense but quiet.
Kate is the one driving. I can tell by the way the car handles—how it’s too careful on the turns, braking early and accelerating slow. I don’t need to see her face to know that she’s white-knuckling it. I can hear it in her breathing.
“You awake?” she asks without looking back.
“Yeah,” I cough, and it comes out rough.
“Don’t move,” she points immediately. “Please.”
I stop trying and relax into the seat. “Horses,” I mutter, recalling that detail.
She glances at me in the rearview mirror, eyes glossy but focused. “What?”
“The horses,” I repeat, swallowing. “What did you do with them?”
There’s a pause, long enough that I know the answer before she gives it.
“I let them go,” she replies softly. “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, or if—“ Her voice catches. “I’m sorry.”
“You did the right thing,” I assure her. “They’ll survive.”
She exhales, breath coming out shaky. “So will you.”
