"Clear it."
I rack the slide. Empty.
"Safety on."
I slide the safety tang back.
"Weapon down."
I lower the shotgun to the table. Arms like jelly. Sweating, covered in dust and gun oil, more exhausted than I've been in years.
Kade walks over.He doesn't look at the targets. He looks at me. His fingers brush the hair back from my forehead—the first gentle thing he's done since we stepped into the clearing.
"You okay?"
"I think my shoulder is going to fall off."
"Let me see."
He pulls the collar of my t-shirt aside. I hiss as the air hits the skin.
"Already bruising." His thumb traces the skin just above the angry red mark. "I pushed you too hard."
"No." I lean into his touch. "You didn't. I needed to know."
"Know what?"
"That I could do it." I meet those intense gray eyes. "That I'm not just a liability you have to drag up a mountain."
Kade's expression fractures. He steps closer, wrapping his arms around me—careful of the bruise—and pulls me against his chest. Gunpowder and sweat and cedar.
"You were never a liability." Into my hair. "You're the reason I'm fighting."
He holds me there for a long moment, the violence of the afternoon fading into the quiet of the forest.
"Come on." He kisses my temple. "Let's get inside. Ice pack, then I'm making you dinner."
"Real dinner?"
"Canned chili and crackers."
A tired, genuine laugh. "My favorite."
As we walk backto the cabin, I glance over my shoulder at the clearing. The tin cans are riddled with holes. The log is shattered. Bark dust still hanging in the still air.
I touch the bruise on my shoulder. A dull throb pulsing with my heartbeat. A good hurt. Proof.
I'm not just a coder anymore. I'm a survivor.
And if Ivan Kova comes, I'm going to be ready.
NINE
Kade
If yesterday was about violence,today is about architecture.
I sit on the edge of the battered couch, cleaning the Glock for the third time, watching Wren work. She's been hunched over her laptop at the kitchen table for six hours, fueled by stale coffee and a focus so intense it borders on trance.
