Page 54 of Echo: Line
The tunnel opens into a massive underground complex. The main chamber is enormous—natural rock walls reinforced with steel supports, ceiling high enough that emergency lights barely reach it. This isn't some makeshift hideout. It's a fully operational military installation hidden inside a mountain.
Operations center to the left—computer stations, surveillance feeds, communications equipment. Weapons storage along the right wall—racks of rifles, ammunition crates, tactical gear. Living quarters branch off through side tunnels.
Alex shifts ahead of me, and his whole body language changes. Shoulders back. Expression locked down. The man who kissed me in that cabin disappearing behind the operator who doesn't let anyone get close.
Tommy emerges from behind monitors, laptop in hand. "Committee's expanded the search grid. They're—" He stops when he sees me. His eyes assess. "Special Agent Ward. Your Bureau file doesn't do you justice."
"Former Special Agent."
"Not according to their systems. You're still active status. No termination paperwork filed." He glances at Alex. "They're keeping you on the books. Which means either they're slow with bureaucracy, or they're leaving the door open."
"Or setting a trap," Kane says.
Tommy nods. "There's a BOLO out for you. Federal warrant. Aiding and abetting a fugitive, obstruction of justice, unauthorized discharge of a firearm resulting in death." He turns the laptop so I can see. My FBI photo stares back above a list of charges. "They're calling you compromised. Possibly coerced. But the charges are real."
My stomach drops. Not just burned—wanted.
"How long?" Alex asks quietly.
"Went live six hours ago. Every law enforcement agency in the region has it." Tommy closes the laptop. "You're officially a fugitive now. Same as the rest of us."
No going back. The moment I pulled that trigger, I crossed a line the Bureau will never forgive.
"Show her to her quarters," Kane says, already heading toward the command center. "Get her set up with supplies."
He's dismissing me. Alex touches my arm before I can argue.
"Let it go. Kane needs to process. So do you."
"I don't need to process. I need to help."
"You've been running on adrenaline ever since you met me. You're wounded, exhausted, and just found out the entire federal government wants you in custody." His voice softens. "Take an hour. Rest. Then we'll figure out what comes next."
Willa approaches. "Come on. I'll show you where things are."
Want to refuse. But my shoulder throbs, my legs feel like rubber, and the adrenaline that's kept me moving is finally crashing.
"One hour," I tell Alex.
He nods. But the look he gives me says he's already pulling away.
Willa leads me through a side tunnel. The living quarters are small—rock rooms with metal doors, military cots, footlockers. Functional. Spartan.
"This one's free." Willa opens a door. Inside: cot, footlocker, small shelf. A single emergency light casts harsh shadows. "Bathroom's communal, two doors down. Shower water's hot but limited to five minutes. We run on generators and cisterns, so everything's rationed."
"Thanks."
She leaves me alone.
Sitting on the cot, finally letting myself feel the exhaustion. The wound in my shoulder. The weight of everything that's happened.
Last week, I was FBI.
Now I'm a fugitive hiding in an underground base with burned operators the government wants dead.
And the man I'm falling for is already building walls to keep me out.
I pull off my boots; the borrowed shirt is stiff with dried blood. My FBI credentials are still in my pocket. I pull them out, stare at the photo.
