Page 55 of Echo: Line
Special Agent Delaney Ward. Behavioral Analysis Unit. Eight years of service. All of it gone in a matter of days. Should feel regret. Loss.
Instead, I feel awake.
A knock at the door. Not Willa. The rhythm's different.
"Come in."
Alex enters, closing the door behind him. He's stripped off his weapons and gear, moves carefully, favoring his injured ribs.
"You should be resting," I say.
"So should you." He stands there, maintaining distance. "Kane wants to debrief you tomorrow. Get your assessment of the Committee’s assets in the trap they set for us, the operators you encountered, anything from your investigation that might be useful."
"Okay."
"And he wants to make it clear—you're not operational. You're intel support until you complete weapons qualifications and tactical training. Could be months."
Silence stretches between us. The distance that was barely there in the SUV now feels like a canyon.
"Intel support," I say quietly. "Not operational. That's how you're categorizing me?"
"I'm being realistic about capabilities and training."
"You're scared." Stopping in front of him. "You meant what you said in the vehicle—that I might die. And now we're here, and it's real, and you're trying to protect yourself by protecting me."
"Delaney—"
"No." Placing my hand on his chest, over the bruises. "You don't get to do this. Don't get to kiss me in that cabin, tell me your nightmares, show me who you really are, then hide behind operational protocols."
"You don't understand what you're asking for."
"I understand perfectly. I'm asking you to let me in. To stop treating me like a civilian who needs protecting and start treating me like someone who chose this. Who chose you." Holding his gaze. "Can you do that?"
He doesn't answer. Just looks at me with an expression so raw it hurts to see.
Then he cups my face with both hands and kisses me.
His mouth crashes against mine—desperate and raw and everything he can't say out loud. The calluses on his palms scrape against my jaw as his fingers slide into my hair, tangling, gripping tight enough that my scalp tingles.
My arms wrap around his neck despite my shoulder screaming protest. The pain doesn't matter. Nothing matters except the taste of him—salt and adrenaline and something darker. His tongue sweeps against mine and a sound escapes my throat, half gasp, half surrender.
He makes a low noise in response, almost a growl, and draws me against him. His chest presses against mine, hard muscle and racing heartbeat. His pulse hammers beneath my palm where it rests against his neck. His breathing is ragged, hot against my face when he breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down my jaw.
"Delaney." My name comes out rough, almost broken. His teeth graze the sensitive spot below my ear and my knees nearly buckle.
Pulling him back to my mouth, I need to taste him again, need this connection that feels like the only real thing in a world of lies and violence. His hands move from my hair to my waist, sliding beneath the hem of my shirt to find bare skin. The touch of his rough hands against my ribs makes me shiver.
He backs me against the wall—not roughly, but deliberately. Pins me there with his body while his mouth does devastating things to my ability to think. One hand braced against the stone beside my head. The other splayed across my lower back, holding me against him.
Heat pools low in my belly. My fingers find the hem of his shirt, start to lift it?—
A sharp knock on the door shatters the moment.
Kane's voice cuts through. "Alex. Command center. Now. We've got a problem."
Alex pulls back, the walls already rebuilding. "I have to?—"
"Go." Stepping away. "We'll finish this later."
