Page 7 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

I brush it off as exhaustion playing tricks on my mind. Right now, all that matters is that we made it out alive—me and the thumb drive containing my doctoral thesis.

I pat my pocket again, feeling its reassuring shape. If I’m right, the tiny device might be the key to undoing Malfor’s plans … if I can figure out why my calculations kept showing those anomalous energy signatures.

Chapter 3

The rumbleof the truck engine is hypnotic, enough to drown out the chaos rattling through my chest.

Almost.

My head lolls against the cold metal side panel, vibrations rolling through me until I’m not sure where the truck ends and I begin.

Someone shifts closer—one of our rescuers—and his shoulder presses into mine, supporting me. Not invasive—just solid, steady, grounding. That pressure anchors me, keeps me breathing.

I don’t remember climbing out of the truck. Hands guide me down, steady and firm, and I let them, my legs swaying under me like I’m still tethered to the rumbling truck.

The ground beneath me feels impossibly solid, the thin layer of gravel shifting under my weight—quiet but disorienting after what feels like hours of endless vibration.

There’s shouting in the distance. Commands barked in sharp, clipped syllables, engines idling somewhere close, feet stomping against uneven gravel. I flinch, breath hitching, but no one reacts like I’m behaving strangely. I force my shaking hands to my sides and try to calm down.

I’m safe. We’re safe.

But the adrenaline racing through my veins is still in fight or flight mode.

The cold air needles my skin, biting through damp sweat and wiping the last remnants of warmth from the truck away. Goosebumps spread across my arms.

“Try to stand,” a voice says—male, low, rough around the edges but steady.

I blink sluggishly and look up into a face that’s been lingering outside my awareness and now is fully in focus.

For the first time, I see him.

He’s helmetless now, his stunning features revealed under the pale, muted light of the forward operating base’s floodlights.

I try to place him—the one who kept me from falling earlier?

The one who barked commands during the firefight?

They’ve been indistinguishable armored shadows for so long, but now they’re sharp and painfully human.

Everything about him is brutally beautiful without being harsh: square jaw with scruff along its edges, eyes that gleam with intense focus even in the dim light, and a quiet strength in how he holds himself, relaxed but ready. There’s something immovable about him, like bedrock—the kind of man who makes decisions while others still process the situation.

His expression is calm and reassuring, quieting the swirling chaos inside my mind. Not softness—there’s a hard edge to that gaze, unwavering, intolerant of weakness—but not cruel. There’s no judgment in how he looks at me; it’s just observation.

Controlled and precise.

I hear his words again, replaying in a loop:Try to stand.He wasn’t asking.

He nods slightly, his gaze shifting somewhere over my shoulder. Another voice—a little warmer but no less steady—chimes in: “We’ve got you.”

We.

I turn, unsteady ontrembling legs.

The second man is leaner and sharper. Dangerous. His features are a constellation of contrasts.

His face is angular and precise, which could seem hard out of context, but something pulls the edges away from severity. His eyes are dark and intense—calculating, but not in a way that unsettles. Energy practically vibrates through him, restless and alert, whereas the first man was all steady stillness.

He stands just behind me to my left, observing with an intensity that feels too much yet not enough, like he’s cataloging every inch of me as if he’ll need to rewrite it later from memory.

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