Page 17 of Echo: Line
"Five minutes." The words take effort. "Just five minutes to get clear of their search radius."
"Three minutes. Then we stop." Her voice carries authority now. FBI agent taking charge. "And you let me work. No arguments."
"No arguments." The admission costs something. Control. Independence. The walls I've built to survive alone for eight months. But the alternative is bleeding out behind the wheel, and that helps no one.
The world keeps narrowing. Sound fades to a distant roar. Even the pain is becoming abstract, something happening to someone else.
"Talk to me." Ward's voice cuts through the fade. "Stay with me. Tell me about Echo Ridge."
"Kane's our leader." The words come slowly now. "Kept us alive. Stryker, Rourke... others. They're family. Only family left."
"And they'll come for you."
"Eventually. If I survive long enough." The truck is slowing. My foot on the accelerator has gone numb. "Kane doesn't leave people behind. He's planning extraction right now. Running scenarios."
"Will he find us?"
"If we're alive to be found, yeah." The truck rolls to a stop. I don't remember taking my foot off the accelerator. "Kane always finds his people."
Ward shifts, moving to my side of the truck. Her hands are on me now, checking vitals, assessing damage. Professional. Competent. But I catch something else in her touch—concern that goes beyond professional obligation.
"Stay with me," she says. "Don't you dare die after I just threw away my career to save you."
"Didn't ask you to." The words slur together.
"No. You asked me to trust my instincts. So I did." She's working fast now, tearing open more trauma supplies. "My instincts say you're the good guy here. That everything you've told me is true. That the real criminals are the ones who tried to kill us both."
"Smart instincts."
"We'll see." She's packing the wound now, pressure that makes my awareness waver. "Right now, I need you to answer questions. What's your blood type?"
"O-positive." Darkness creeps in at the edges.
"Allergies?"
"None."
"Medical conditions?"
"Just the bleeding." The attempt at humor falls flat. "Delaney. If I don't make it?—"
"You're making it." Her voice is fierce now. "Because I'm not explaining to your team why I let you die. And I'm not dying out here alone because you couldn't hold on."
"Bossy." The word takes effort.
"Deal with it." She's moving me now, laying me flat across the seat. Elevating my legs. Treating for shock. "I'm keeping you alive, which means you follow my orders. Understood?"
"Understood." The word barely registers.
Darkness is winning. The pain is fading now, replaced by a cold numbness that spreads from my extremities inward.
Ward's face appears above me. Even through the gray haze, I can see the determination in her expression. The absolute refusal to let me die.
"Don't give up." Her hand is on my face again, grounding me. "Kane's coming. Your team is coming. You just have to hold on."
"Trying." My voice is almost gone.
"Try harder." Her tone shifts. "You owe me explanations. And probably dinner, once you're not bleeding everywhere."
