DIE ON THIS HILL
ZACK
Lincoln has wasted no time getting me any and all information I could possibly need to find Hazel.
“Talk to me,” I growl out, my near-tangible rage simmering near the surface. “Her phone’s alive,” he says. “Barely. The battery's low, but it’s still pinging.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles aching, and I force myself to slow my breathing because this is the moment panic could ruin everything if I let it. “Where?” There’s no way the person who took her was truly that stupid, but at this point, I know deep in my soul that I can’t waste any time. I shake my head, focusing on what Lincoln is saying to me.
“Industrial corridor, west of the river,” Lincoln replies, already sending the data through. “Signal’s bouncing, but it’s not moving. Warehouse grid. Older structure. Private power source.”
I don’t thank him. I don’t hang up politely. I’m already turning—already accelerating—the city blurring past in streaks of sodium light and rain-slicked asphalt as the address resolves on my dash. The phone being stationary tells me what I need to know—she’s still there, still alive, and exactly where they think she’ll stay hidden.
They underestimated one thing.
Me.
I don’t bring sirens. I don’t bring backup that can’t keep up. I park three blocks out and move on foot, counting steps, watching shadows, listening to the way the city breathes around buildings it stopped caring about decades ago. The warehouse squats low and ugly against the skyline, its concrete stained dark with time and neglect, windows boarded except for one narrow strip of light bleeding out near the rear.
I circle once, twice, mapping entrances and exits, letting my rage settle into something colder and more precise, because I don’t need anger right now, I need focus. A side door gives under pressure. Inside smells like dust, oil, and old electricity, the hum unmistakable once I’m close enough to feel it in my bones.
I move fast but quiet, every step deliberate, gun heavy and familiar in my hand even though I don’t want to use it unless I have no other choice. There are no voices, no guards, no obvious resistance, which tells me everything I need to know about the kind of person who set this up. They don’t rely on muscle. They rely on confidence.
They won’t get it tonight.
The light source is deeper in, a single exposed bulb hanging over a cleared patch of concrete, and when I see her, something in my chest fractures so sharply it almost knocks the air out of me. Hazel’s tied up, her small body folded into a fetal position, her legs and hands bound tightly, I can see the markings on her skin.
“Hazel,” I say quietly, already moving, already kneeling beside her.
Her head lifts slowly, like it costs her effort to exist, and when she sees me, her face crumples in a way that hurts worse than the restraints ever could. “Zack,” she whispers, like she’s afraid saying my name too loudly might make me disappear—like she truly doesn’t believe I’m real.
“I’ve got you,” I say immediately, cutting through the plastic at her wrists with hands that finally,finallystop shaking. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
She lets out a broken sound that isn’t quite a sob and isn’t quite a laugh, her forehead dropping against my shoulder as the last of her strength gives out now that she doesn’t have to hold herself together anymore. I free her ankles, shrug my jacket around her shoulders without thinking, and anchor her to me with my arms, my voice, and my presence.
“I didn’t know if—” she starts, then stops, her breath hitching.
“I know,” I say, because I do. “But I found you.”
I scoop her up carefully, mindful of the way she trembles, the way her fingers cling to my shirt like she’s afraid to let go. I don’t rush her, don’t force movement faster than she can handle. The warehouse stays quiet as we leave, no ambush, no final confrontation, just empty space and unanswered questions that can wait. My sweet flower is safe, and I won’t let anything happen to her again.
Outside, the rain has slowed to a mist, cool and clean against overheated skin, and I settle her into the passenger seat of the car like she’s something precious, something breakable, something I almost lost. She leans into me when I buckle her in, exhaustion etched deep into her bones, eyes glassy but focused on my face like it’s the only real thing left in the world.
“You came,” she murmurs, her voice small and wrecked.
“Always,” I tell her, and this time it isn’t bravado or promise—it’s fact.
As I pull away from the curb and the warehouse disappears into the dark behind us, Hazel exhales for the first time, like she believes she’s going to make it out alive, and I keep one hand on the wheel and one on her knee, grounding both of us in the present.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR
ZACK
The safe house is quiet in the way only places meant for hiding ever are, tucked into anonymity with clean lines and neutral walls, everything designed to be forgettable. I like it that way. Hazel is wrapped in my jacket as I guide her inside, her steps slow and uneven, exhaustion clinging to her heavier than fear now the adrenaline has burned off. She doesn’t say much, just follows my lead, trusting me in a way that lands in my chest and stays there, heavy and humbling.
I keep checking her—asking if she’s okay, if she’s dizzy, if she needs to sit—and every time she nods or murmurs something soft, I feel that same rush of gratitude that I can’t quite get under control.She’s here. She’s breathing. She’s safe.The words loop in my head like a prayer I didn’t know I believed in.
