Page 31 of Echo: Line
"Yeah." No softening it. No comfort. Just honesty. "You made a choice yesterday. Saved my life instead of following orders. That choice has consequences."
"I know it has consequences." The frustration boils over. "I shot two federal operators. I stole a tactical vehicle. I helped a wanted fugitive escape. You think I don't understand what I did?"
"I think you understand what you did. You haven't processed what it means yet." He sits down next to me on the log, moves carefully to avoid pulling his wound. "You're still thinking like FBI. Like there's a system you can work within, a way to fix this through proper channels. There isn't."
"Then what do I do?"
"You start over." His voice is quieter now. Less tactical officer, more human. "Build something new. It's not what you wanted. But it's real."
The resignation in his tone makes me study him—not the operator leading me through the wilderness, but the man underneath. Someone who's lived what he's describing.
"How did it happen for you?" I ask. "Before the Committee. Before all this."
He's quiet long enough that I think he won't answer. Then: "I was Delta. Had a career, a team, a purpose. We operated in places that didn't officially exist, did things that never made it into reports. It was what I was good at. What I believed in."
"What changed?"
"You know the official version. Syria. Refused the drone strike. Got burned." He's quiet for a moment. "What you don't know is that those eight months in Montana? Every team they sent after me was another burned operator like me. They were using me to eliminate their own problems. Protocol Seven field test. I thought I was defending myself. Turns out I was just their weapon."
The implications make my stomach turn. "They made you kill your own people."
"Yeah." Simple. Final. "Kane found me. Showed me the truth. Recruited me into Echo Ridge. Gave me purpose again. Family." He looks at me. "Then we engaged in a firefight with the Committee. They grabbed me during the firefight. Tried to break me.”
"But you didn't break."
"No." Simple. Final.
"And you escaped."
"Saw an opening and took it. Didn't know if extraction was coming or if I'd be running solo again." He looks at me. "Pointis, I get what you're going through. Had a life, had purpose, lost it all because I chose truth over orders. It doesn't get easier. But you adapt. You survive. You find new purpose."
"With Echo Ridge."
"With people I trust. People who chose the same thing you did—integrity over convenience."
The words settle into the space between us. He's offering something. Understanding maybe. Or just showing me I'm not the only one who lost everything for doing the right thing.
"I worked so hard," I hear myself saying. "Eight years building a career. Being better than my father was. Believing in the system. And now..."
"And now you've seen behind the curtain. Seen that the system you believed in has rot at its core." His voice is gentle despite the harsh truth. "That's not your failure, Delaney. That's theirs."
The use of my first name makes me look up. His eyes hold mine with empathy I haven't seen from him before. Not pity. Recognition of shared loss.
"We should move," he says, standing. "Still have four miles to the closest extraction point."
But he offers me his hand to help me up. And when my legs nearly give out from the stiffness, his arm goes around my waist, steadying me until I can stand on my own.
"Thanks," I say.
"Don't thank me yet. We've got a long way to go."
The extraction point is close to a small cave system tucked into a rocky hillside, hidden by dense brush and accessible onlythrough a narrow approach that would be easy to defend. Alex checks it thoroughly before allowing me inside.
The main cave is maybe fifteen feet deep, tall enough to stand in, with a smaller chamber branching off to one side. Cold but dry. Protected from the elements. Defensible.
"This'll work," Alex says, dropping his rifle near the entrance. "We'll rest here tonight. If all goes well Kane will extract us from this position at first light."
I collapse onto the rocky floor, too exhausted to care about comfort. My legs are jelly. My feet throb. Every muscle aches. My Glock digs into my hip. I shift it aside, check the magazine out of habit. I shake my head, it’s not much against helicopters and tactical teams.
