Page 25 of Echo: Line
The call ends. Handing the phone back to Alex, and our eyes meet in the darkness. His expression is unreadable—relief, maybe, or calculation. Probably both.
"So," I say. "What's extraction protocol Delta-Seven?"
"The kind that gets messy." He closes his eyes. "Get some rest, Delaney. Tomorrow we run."
I look at the blood on my hands. His blood. The stolen tactical truck outside. The burner phone connecting me to operators the government calls terrorists. The fugitive bleeding on this couch who I just promised to protect.
Twenty-four hours ago, I was Special Agent Delaney Ward, FBI. Eight years of service. Unblemished record.
Now I'm something without a name or classification. Something that doesn't fit in the neat boxes I've built my career around.
My FBI credentials sit in my pocket. I pull them out and flip open the leather case. The badge catches the dim light. Special Agent. Federal Bureau of Investigation.
I close the case and set it on the floor beside the couch.
Because tomorrow Kane's team arrives. Echo Ridge. And when they get here, I'll have to prove I'm worth the risk Alex took by trusting me.
Outside, wind moves through the pines. Somewhere in the darkness, the Committee is regrouping. Coming for us both.
Whatever I am now, whoever I become, one thing is certain: the woman who walked into that cabin to arrest a fugitive doesn't exist anymore. She died the moment the Committee's tactical team opened fire.
What walks out tomorrow is something they'll never see coming.
7
ALEX
The adrenaline wore off an hour ago.
My back presses against the back of the couch, rifle across my lap, eyes tracking between the door and the single window that faces the access road. The wound in my side burns—sharp when I move, dull and throbbing when I stay still. Acceptable. Pain means alive. Pain means functional.
Delaney sleeps on the floor near the cold fireplace, wrapped in the musty blankets we found. She insisted I take the couch since I'm injured. I told her I'm keeping watch. Both statements are true, but the real reason is simpler—I can't afford to let my guard down that much. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The cabin is dark except for faint moonlight filtering through gaps in the boards covering the window. Enough light to see her curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek. The other rests near her Glock. Even in sleep, she's ready.
FBI training. Good instincts.
She's been asleep for three hours. Her breathing is deep and steady now, but nearly an hour of moving around passed before exhaustion finally pulled her under. Every time she moved, I tracked the sound, categorized the threat level. None. Just awoman trying to find comfort on a hard wooden floor in a rotting cabin after probably the worst day of her life.
The worst day so far, anyway.
My side pulls when I shift position, and I bite back the grunt that wants to escape. Can't wake her. She needs the rest. And I need the time to think without those eyes watching me, assessing, trying to figure out if saving me was the right call.
She's a complication I don't need. A liability. No combat experience, no field training, no understanding of what it means to live off-grid with a kill team hunting you. The Committee will use her against me if they get the chance. Leverage. Pressure point. Weakness.
I should have left her at the cabin when I had the chance. Should have taken the truck and disappeared into the wilderness alone like I've done in the past. She'd be safer. I'd be faster.
But I didn't leave her.
And sitting here watching her sleep, I'm starting to understand why.
Delaney had a choice at that cabin. She could have called Patterson. Could have stepped aside when the Committee team breached. Could have done exactly what they expected—good FBI agent following orders, trusting the system.
Instead, she shot two operators and followed me through a crawlspace when she could have left me behind.
She looked at the evidence and made a call. Her instincts told her something was wrong and she listened. When it came down to choosing between the badge and the truth, she chose truth.
That takes courage. The kind that can't be taught at Quantico.
