Page 25 of Cyclone

Relief washed through me so fast it made me dizzy. Two hours. We just had to hold on a little longer.

Cyclone caught my eye and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

We’d made it.

For now.

The next hourpassed in a strange, fragile peace. The rain softened to a mist, cloaking the jungle in a silvery haze. Cyclone and I found a spot beneath a tattered canopy rigged between trees, and I sat cross-legged on the ground, grateful for the small measure of shelter.

He sat nearby, methodically cleaning his weapon. His movements were steady, practiced, but I could see the exhaustion in the lines of his body.

Tag handed me a granola bar and a bottle of water. “Not five-star dining, but it’ll keep you upright,” he said with a wink. “Gage makes them for us.”

I managed a smile and took it. It was good with lots of flavor, I thought it was delicious, and it filled the gnawing emptiness in my stomach.

Every so often, a radio crackled quietly—Golden Team, confirming all clear. No signs of Blackdawn yet.

Cyclone finally looked up at me, his dark eyes softening a fraction. “You should rest.”

I shook my head. “I won’t sleep.”

He didn’t argue. He just leaned back against the tree behind me, stretching his legs out, as if grounding himself into the earth.

“I used to think,” I said quietly, surprising even myself, “that if I kept moving, I could outrun the past.”

Cyclone didn’t interrupt. He just listened.

“Turns out,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper, “the past has longer legs.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. It does.”

The silence between us wasn’t heavy this time. It was... easy. Understanding. Like two broken things recognizing each other.

The plane would come soon. We’d leave this place behind and land somewhere else that they hopefully couldn’t find us.

But some thingst—he important things—would follow us wherever we went.

14

Jude

The warning came seconds too late.

The radio crackled—a frantic voice: “Movement! East quadrant! Repeat, multiple targets inbound!”

Cyclone was already on his feet, weapon raised, scanning the tree line.

“Positions!” Tag shouted.

I grabbed my rifle and scrambled to cover behind a fallen log. Heart hammering. Sweat slicked my palms. Sometimes I thought it would be easier if I let them kill me, but then I couldn’t kill the Senator who killed my family.

Through the mist, figures appeared—Blackdawn Syndicate operatives, moving fast, rifles up.

Gunfire erupted, sharp and brutal.

I squeezed the trigger, the recoil jolting through me as I dropped one of them. Cyclone moved like a force of nature, calm and deadly, covering Tag and River as they laid down with their guns hitting targets.

It felt endless—shouts, gunfire, the wet slap of boots on mud. I spotted a figure trying to flank our position and shifted, aiming carefully. One shot. Down.

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