Page 88 of Echo: Line
"And then?" The question feels important even though I'm having trouble remembering why.
"Then we hunt down the survivors," Kane says simply. "The ones who ordered those seventeen agents killed. The ones who tried to frame you. The ones who've been systematically murdering burned operators. We make sure they answer for what they've done."
"In court," I say. "Federal court. With evidence. With testimony. Legal."
"In court," he agrees. "If we can take them alive."
The qualifier hangs heavy. If. Because men like this don't surrender easy. Don't go quietly into custody and trials. They fight until the end, and sometimes the end comes at the business end of a rifle.
But that's not my problem right now. My problem is keeping my shoulder from bleeding again and staying conscious long enough to hear Tommy's full report on the evidence.
"Names," Tommy says, reading from his screen. "Starting with the top. Senator Richard Morrison—deceased. General Marcus Webb—active. James Kessler—status unknown. Victoria Cross?—"
"Cross is on the list?" The name jolts me more alert. "She helped us."
"She's on everyone's list," Tommy says. "Cross plays all sides. She's connected to the Committee through financial transactions—they've paid her for intel, same as we have. She's a broker, not a member. Sells to whoever pays."
"We'll worry about Cross later," Kane says. "What else?"
The briefing continues but the drugs pull me under. Willa's voice fades to background noise. Alex's hand stays wrapped around mine—anchor keeping me from drifting too far.
Tommy's voice continues somewhere in the background, listing names, proving connections.
19
ALEX
The chair beside the bed is murder on my back, but there's nowhere else I want to be.
Delaney stirs in the bed, and I'm on my feet before she fully wakes. Forty-eight hours since Tommy pulled us out of that facility, and the shoulder wound is healing clean. We're still at the safe house—keeping Echo Base's location secure until we're certain the Committee hasn't tracked us. Willa checked Delaney's wound this morning, pronounced her lucky the round missed anything vital. Still left a hell of an exit wound and enough pain that she winces when she moves her arm.
"Hey," she says, voice rough with sleep. "You're still here."
"Where else would I be?"
She manages a smile. "Shower, maybe. You smell like a mission gone wrong."
"Charming." But I lean down anyway, press a kiss to her forehead. Her skin is cool, fever finally broken. "How's the pain?"
"Manageable." She pushes herself up slightly, and I adjust the pillows behind her without asking. "Any news?"
That's what I've been waiting for. The laptop sits open on the windowsill, news feeds scrolling across multiple windows.Tommy sent the signal two hours ago—evidence packages deployed simultaneously to every major outlet, whistleblower sites, three congressional offices, and the Inspector General.
"Tommy pulled the trigger," I tell her. "Everything's going live."
Her eyes sharpen despite the exhaustion. "Show me."
I bring the laptop over, angle it so she can see. The headlines are already updating in real-time.
FBI CORRUPTION SCANDAL: SECRET COMMITTEE EXPOSED
GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS IMPLICATED IN ILLEGAL BLACK OPS
ECHO RIDGE OPERATORS CLEARED: HEROES OR VIGILANTES?
Delaney exhales slowly, and I catch the wince she tries to hide. "It's really happening."
"Tommy did it right. Multiple channels, simultaneous release, encrypted backups. They can't suppress it." I scroll through another feed. "Your name's here too. The Committee set you up, FBI forced to admit it. They're dropping all charges."
