Page 23 of Echo: Line
Because I looked into your eyes and saw someone worth saving. Because everything you've told me rings true in a way Patterson's orders never did. Because I joined the FBI to serve justice, and justice doesn't come from shadow organizations executing their own soldiers.
But those words won't come. Can't. Not yet.
"Because I need answers," I finish. "And you're the only one giving them to me."
He holds my gaze for a long moment, and something changes between us. Not quite trust. But acknowledgment. Like he's decided I might be worth the risk.
The silence stretches. I should check his vitals again. Make sure he's stable. But instead, words come out that I didn't plan tosay. Maybe because I need him to understand why this matters so much. Why the badge meant something.
"My father was NYPD," I hear myself saying. "Good cop, according to everyone who knew him. Dedicated. Hardworking."
"But?"
"But when I was sixteen, Internal Affairs started investigating him. Turns out he'd been on the take for years. Protection money. Evidence tampering. He justified it by saying everyone did it. That the system was corrupt anyway." Bitterness leaks into my voice. "He was convicted when I was eighteen. Served six years."
"That's why you joined the FBI."
"I wanted to be different. Better. I wanted the badge to mean something." Looking down at hands still stained with Alex's blood. "I wanted to believe the system worked if you just followed the rules."
"And now?"
"Now I don't know what to believe." The admission hurts. "I spent my entire career trusting the system. Following orders. Assuming the people above me had the full picture and knew what they were doing. But Patterson gave me an assignment that was designed to get me killed. The Committee exists. The conspiracy is real. And I don't know who to trust anymore."
"Patterson might not have known." Alex's voice is quiet. "The Committee compartmentalizes. Uses good people to do bad things without them realizing it. He probably thought he was sending you on a legitimate arrest. They're the ones who positioned the kill team."
The idea that Patterson might be as much a pawn as I am somehow makes it worse. "So nobody knows who to trust. Nobody knows who's really in control."
"Welcome to our world." There's no satisfaction in his tone. Just weary acknowledgment.
What follows is heavy. Weighted.
Alex tries to sit up more. Moving automatically to help him, adjusting the blankets, making sure he doesn't tear the wound open again. Hands steady despite everything. Training. Muscle memory. The FBI taught me to stay calm in crisis, and apparently that training runs deep.
His hand catches my wrist. Not rough. Gentle. Fingers cold against my skin.
"Thank you," he says. "For not leaving. For trusting your instincts. For keeping me alive."
"Don't thank me yet. You could still die from infection."
"Always the optimist." But there's warmth in his voice now.
"Someone has to be realistic." Should pull away. Professional distance. FBI training. But not moving, and he doesn't release my wrist.
In the darkness, acutely aware of how close we are. His breathing, steadier now. The heat radiating from his body despite the shock and blood loss.
This is wrong. He's a fugitive. I'm FBI. This entire situation violates every protocol and regulation I’ve spent eight years following.
But Patterson tried to have me killed. The Committee exists. And nothing about my carefully constructed worldview makes sense anymore.
"Delaney." My name on his lips sounds different. Not Agent Ward. Just Delaney. Like we're people instead of operative and agent.
"Yeah?"
"Whatever happens next, I need you to know—you made the right call. Trusting your instincts. They'll try to make you doubt that. Make you think you were compromised or manipulated. But you weren't. You saw the truth and acted on it. That takes courage."
The words settle into the space between us, and this is the closest thing to vulnerable I’ve seen from him. Not the physical vulnerability of wounds and blood loss, but emotional. Offering reassurance when he's the one bleeding out.
Should say something. Acknowledge it. But the phone buzzes before words form.
