Page 26 of Echo: Line
She shifts in her sleep, and the blanket slips off her shoulder. The rise and fall of her breathing. The way her hair falls across her face. The stress lines around her mouth have smoothed out,and there's a softness to her features that wasn't there when she was awake.
My body responds in ways I can't afford right now. The awareness sharpens. The scent of her—soap beneath the blood, dirt and cabin rot. The memory of her hands on my side, steady and competent, keeping me alive through sheer determination. The sound she made when that mouse scared her, followed immediately by laughter that cut through the terror of the day.
My pulse jumps. Heat spreads through my chest despite the cold cabin air. I'd have to be dead not to notice.
But getting involved with her would be the kind of mistake that gets people killed. When Kane gets here, Delaney goes back to something resembling a normal life—a life somewhere the Committee can't reach her. She's not built for a life of sleeping in base camps, safe houses and abandoned cabins, always moving, always watching over your shoulder, never trusting anyone outside the team. It would break her.
So I wall it off. Lock it down. Focus on what matters—keeping her alive long enough to hand her off to Kane, who'll figure out what to do with an FBI agent who knows too much.
The burner phone sits on the floor next to me. 0347 hours. Committee response teams usually operate on twelve-hour shifts. If they're smart—and Kessler always hires smart—they rotated personnel at midnight. Fresh eyes, fresh energy, searching the grid for a stolen vehicle and two fugitives.
We need to move soon. Stay ahead of the search radius. But Delaney needs rest, and I need to check in with Tommy.
The Committee phone has basic encryption—standard protocol for their operations. Good enough for what I need. I navigate to a secure text app, type quickly, one-handed, the other hand never leaving the rifle.
Status check. Mobile but injured. Agent Ward secured. Extraction timeline?
Tommy's reply comes fast. He never sleeps.
Committee pressure heavy. Multiple facilities compromised. Kane says stay mobile and dark. Will advise when extraction viable. 24-48 hours minimum.
I stare at the screen, processing implications. If the Committee is hitting Echo Ridge facilities, they're escalating. Moving from containment to elimination. Kessler knows Kane will try to extract me, so he's forcing Kane to defend instead of attack.
Standard doctrine. Pin your enemy in place, control the battlefield, then eliminate at your leisure.
Which means Delaney and I need to keep moving. Stay ahead of the search grid. At least another day or two before Kane can break free to extract us.
Understood. Staying dark. Ward FBI. Confirmed hostile or asset?
Twenty-four hours ago, I'd have said hostile without hesitation. Now?
Asset. She's solid. Kane talked to her last night.
Another pause, longer this time.
Understood. Stay safe, brother.
I close the app and set the phone aside. Kane trusts my judgment, but he'll want verification. He'll want to look Delaney in the eyes, read her body language, assess the threat himself. That's fine. She'll pass. The way she moves, the way she thinks—she's someone you want on your side when everything goes to hell.
Movement near the fireplace makes me look up. Delaney's reaching for her weapon before her eyes are fully open. The Glock comes up smooth, points at the door, then she's awake enough to remember where she is.
She lowers the weapon slowly, scans the cabin. Her eyes find me in the darkness.
"How long was I out?" Her voice is rough with sleep.
"Three hours. Go back to sleep."
"You should be resting. You're the one who nearly bled out." She sits up, pushes hair out of her face. Exhaustion still lines her features.
"I'm fine."
"You're a terrible liar." She stands, moves to where I'm sitting. "Let me check the wound."
"It's fine."
"Alex." She crouches in front of me, close enough that her breath fogs in the cold air between us. "You can either let me check it now, or I can wait until you pass out from infection and check it then. Your choice."
The part of my brain that's still operational notes the threat assessment—she's too close, inside my guard, could disarm me before I react. The rest of my brain is occupied with the way her hands move, the determined set to her jaw.
