Page 43 of Echo: Burn
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, pulling the blanket over both of us. Later—I'm not sure how much later—we lie tangled together in the darkness. Kane's arm is around me, my head on his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong.
"That was…" I start.
"Yeah." His hand traces lazy patterns on my back. "It was."
Silence settles over us, comfortable now. Familiar.
"Kane?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?" His voice is rough with exhaustion.
"For seeing me. Not the victim Jack tried to make me. Not the liability the Committee thinks I am. Just... me."
His arm tightens around me. "I see you, Willa. All of you. And what I see is someone extraordinary."
I press a kiss to his chest, right over the burn scars. "We should sleep. Cray will wake up soon."
"Let him wait." Kane's voice is already drowsy. "Right now, the world can wait. This is more important."
I smile against his skin. For the first time in six years, I believe it.
We drift off together as the base hums around us, holding each other in the darkness while outside the door, reality waits to intrude.
10
KANE
Iwake to the feeling of Willa's breath against my chest, warm and steady. For a moment—one perfect, stolen moment—I let myself pretend this is normal. That I'm a man who gets to wake up next to a woman he cares about without calculating threat vectors and exit strategies.
Then reality intrudes.
The chronometer reads 0547. Cray's been unconscious for hours. Tommy should've commed me when the sedation started wearing off, which means either the dosage was stronger than expected or something's wrong.
Willa stirs against me, her hand splaying across the burn scars on my ribs. Even in sleep, she touches the damaged parts without hesitation. I need to check on Cray. Should've checked on him hours ago. But I'm still here, watching her breathe.
"Kane?" Her voice is rough with sleep. "What time is it?"
"Early. You should rest."
She props herself up on one elbow, hair falling across her shoulders. In the dim emergency lighting, she's beautiful in a way that makes my tactical brain short-circuit. "You're thinking too loud."
"Occupational hazard."
"What are you thinking about?" Her fingers trace idle patterns on my chest, following the path of scar tissue.
How keeping you here might get you killed. How last night was the best mistake I've made in five years. How I'm already calculating how to protect you from threats I can't predict.
"Cray," I say instead. "He should be awake by now."
She gets it. I see the moment she figures out what I'm not saying—that leaving a potentially valuable intelligence asset unmonitored for this long is tactically stupid, and I did it anyway because I couldn't pull myself away from her.
"We should check on him." She starts to rise, but I catch her wrist.
"Willa." Her name comes out rougher than intended. "About last night...”
