Page 110 of Hide From Me

The second evac bird hovers above the rooftop, gunner firing warning bursts into the perimeter. The rope drops—thick, swinging, a lifeline out of hell through the jagged opening of the roof and I sprint for it. I don't flinch as another shot rips through my thigh, but no matter how strong adrenaline is making me feel in this moment, I can't fight the scream I let through my teeth as I leap, grab the rope, and clip in.

The bird lifts and the rooftop falls away beneath me. The war fades to smoke and static.

I might be bleeding and shaking but I’m alive. My head falls back against the cold floor of the chopper and I tilt it just enough to watch as the black smears into the sky as my body starts to give out.

It’d be smart to start a game plan of how fast to get to a med bay or which way I need to word my mission report but all I can think about is her.

Raylen.

I don’t care what she’s done. I don’t care what monsters she’s fought. I can help her face them just like I’ve made harmony with mine.

And in all that dark, violent , stormy peace—

I’ll let her know she’s the only light I’ll ever follow home.

Twenty-Six

Raylen

01-25-2026

B&B

Are missions supposed to take this long? I don’t know. I mean, I hardly knew what a normal soldier’s schedule was before all this—what is a hidden one’s schedule supposed to be? How long do heroes wrapped in shadows and secrets disappear for? I don’t have an answer. I don’t even have the right questions. All I know is that it’s been endless hours, and I’m still here.

Awake.Alone.

Even though my body is exhausted, I haven’t slept a single minute. My mind won’t let me close my eyes—not even to blink for too long. I haven’t touched the card Moe left on the counter either. It’s still there, right where he put it, as if it’s watching me. As if it knows I’m too much of a coward to pick it up, because if I do and I use the money on it, then it’s an invitation to pretend everything is okay. It’s an opportunity to fall back into that pattern I was finally getting comfortable with—learning that he’s not Lance and that I’m safe.

Instead, I’ve thrown myself into cleaning, disassociating, and cleaning again. Like maybe if I scrub hard enough, I can erase the memories clawing at the edges of my mind. Like maybe if I make the house spotless, the truth will stop feeling so dirty.

The rising sun slices through the living room window, its light thick and hazy, painting everything in that sickly orange glow that makes the world look like it’s bleeding. It spills across the table I’ve scrubbed raw. I’m hunched over it, nails ragged, fingers aching. My hand trembles as I scrub at a dark ring in the woodgrain—over and over, until the skin on my knuckles burns, until my stomach twists into knots of acid and grief and nausea that won’t let go.

The sandwich I tried to force down earlier sits abandoned on the counter, a limp, pathetic thing. I glance at it and feel that bitter twist again, like even my food is judging me.

Mocking me for thinking I could eat.

There’s no guidebook for this. No checklist. No blog post. Believe me—I checked. At some point, desperate for something, anything, I typed a mess of words into my cell:

How to survive confessing to murder while your boyfriend vanishes on a mission you don’t understand.

The screen went black.

There was no crash, no freeze, and no warning—just darkness, as if the universe itself were telling me:You’renot meant to ask. You’re not meant to know.

When the screen flickered back on, there was no sign that I had typed anything at all. No search history, no proof. It felt as if my own phone were conspiring to gaslight me. A chill crawls down my spine as I remember that moment, because either I’m being watched, or I’m losing my mind.

Suddenly, the phone rings, and I launch for it so fast that I nearly knock over a chair, my heart slamming against my ribs. Please let it be him. Let it be his voice. Let it be—

Her name blinks across the screen like a punch in the chest. After everything—after she dropped the entire “secret military faction” bomb on my lap and then hung up like we were gossiping about the weather—now she calls?

Now?

My thumb hovers above the screen, trembling. I don’t even know what I would’ve said if it had been Moe.

Where the fuck have you been?Why didn’t you tell me?Are you alive?

Maybe I’d scream, or cry, or fall to my knees and beg him to just say something. To tell me this wasn’t all a lie. That I’m not the only one sitting in this burning house of a relationship.

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