Page 19 of Echo: Burn
I move closer to the water's edge, trailing my fingers through it. Cold enough to shock. After the violence and blood, this place feels sacred.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For earlier. For not leaving me to die on that highway."
"You already thanked me."
"I know. But I meant it more then than you probably realized. No one's fought for me like that since my father died."
Something crosses Kane's face—pain or memory. "How’d he die?"
"Heart attack." I wrap my arms around myself. "He never met Jack. Part of me is grateful for that."
Kane moves closer. "Your father taught you to shoot?"
"To shoot, to fight, to survive." I smile despite everything. "My mother died when I was eight. After that, it was just me and Dad. Wherever the Marine Corps sent him, I went too. Camp Lejeune, Twentynine Palms, Okinawa, Quantico. Every new base, every new school, he made sure I could take care of myself. He called it 'practical life skills.' Turned out he was just realistic about how dangerous the world is, especially for a girl growing up without a mother on military bases."
"Smart man." Kane's close enough now that I can feel the heat radiating off him. "You honor his memory."
I'm suddenly aware of how alone we are here.
"Kane." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Why did you really come for me?"
His jaw tightens. Then: "Because I spent twenty years following orders from people who treat human lives like acceptable collateral. Because Morrison died screaming. Because I'm done watching innocent people die while monsters walk free."
"That's a good answer." I step closer. "But it's not the whole truth, is it?"
His eyes lock on mine. "What do you want me to say, Doc? That something in me recognized something in you? That when Tommy told me the Committee was hunting a civilian who saved a dog, I saw someone worth protecting?"
"Is that true?"
"Every word." His hand lifts like he might touch my face, then drops. "Which is why you should walk away. Find someone safer."
"I'm done looking for safe." The truth tastes like freedom. "Safe got me involved with a man who put his hands around my throat and choked me until I passed out. I'm done being safe."
"Willa...”
"Dr. Hart," I correct, then catch myself. "Actually, no. Here, now, I'm just Willa."
Something in Kane's expression shifts. "Willa." My name on his lips sounds like a question and an answer. "This is a mistake."
"Probably." I close the remaining distance between us. "But I've been making safe choices for years. Where did that get me?"
His hand touches my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with surprising gentleness. "You're not alone anymore."
"No." I lean into the contact. "I'm not."
The moment stretches, charged with possibility. Then Kane steps back.
"We should get back," he says, voice rough.
When we return, the others are scattered through the common area. Stryker's cleaning weapons at a metal table, pieces laid out with obsessive precision. His movements are practiced, almost meditative, but his eyes constantly scan the room. The humor's back—probably easier than showing whatever he's really feeling. Mercer's on a laptop in the corner, monitoring surveillance feeds. He shifts position again, putting his back to a different wall. I've seen that kind of constant vigilance before, in people who've learned the hard way that safety is an illusion. Rourke sits near the stove, watching everything with those cold, analytical eyes. He hasn't moved since we entered, but I get the sense he's already calculated three different ways to kill anyone who walks through that door.
They all look up when we enter.
"Status?" Kane's voice slides back into command mode.
"Cray's gone to ground." Tommy appears with Sarah limping beside him. "No activity since he landed."
"Then we plan ours." Kane moves to the map table. "We can't sit here waiting. We need to locate that Committee facility, verify what Odin detected, and gather evidence before Cray sanitizes the site."
