Page 68 of Echo: Line
The fluorescent light catches on her bandaged palms. White gauze stark against tanned skin. Her fingers move with confidence despite the injuries. No hesitation. No uncertainty.
"That was close," I say.
"Too close." Her hands pause on the weapon. The muscle in her jaw tightens. "I thought we were dead. Really thought that was it. When they started closing in and we were down to our last rounds..." She trails off. Swallows hard.
"So did I."
"But we weren't." She finally meets my eyes. "Because your team came for us. Because they're loyal and competent and they give a damn." She sets down the pistol slide. "Your trust in them makes sense now. What you said about brotherhood. About Echo Ridge being family. I get it."
The words land deeper than she probably means them. She's not just acknowledging the team. She's acknowledging what they represent. What they've offered her by coming to our rescue.
"They're your team now too."
Her jaw relaxes. Her shoulders drop slightly. Like she's been holding tension I didn't even notice until it released. Acceptance.
"Yeah. I guess they are."
I reach over and take the gun from her hands. Set it aside on the counter with deliberate care. Then pull her close, wrapping my arms around her. She doesn't resist. Melts into the embrace like she's been waiting for permission to stop being strong.
Her face presses against my shoulder. Her breath is warm against my neck. She's solid and real and here. The proof of it makes my throat close.
My hands spread across her back. Feeling the rise and fall of her breathing. The steady beat of her heart against my chest. She's alive. We both are. Against odds that should have killed us.
"For a minute I thought I was going to lose you," I manage finally. The words come out rough. Raw.
"Not getting rid of me that easy, Mercer." But her voice cracks slightly on my name. The bravado is there but underneath is the same fear I'm feeling. The same awareness of how close we came.
I hold her tighter. She doesn't complain. Her fingers curl into my shirt, gripping like I might disappear if she lets go.
We stand like that while the team works around us. No one comments. This is normal for post-operation. Processing survival. Finding center again. They've all been here. They understand.
"What happens now?" she asks against my shoulder.
"Now we end this. Find the Committee leadership. Burn it all down."
She pulls back enough to look at me. "I'm with you. All the way."
"Damn right you are."
The quarters at the safe house are small. A bed, a chair, basic amenities. But it's private and secure and right now that's all we need.
Delaney sits on the edge of the bed. Her bandaged palms rest in her lap. I kneel in front of her, checking Willa's workeven though I know it's solid. The gauze is clean and tight. Professional. But I need to touch her. Need to confirm she's real and whole and here.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For not even considering it. When they offered to let me walk."
"There was nothing to consider." I look up at her. "We leave together or not at all. I meant that."
"I know." Her hand touches my face. Gentle despite the bandages. "That's why it matters."
I stand, pulling her up with me. We're close now. Her exhaustion shows in the shadows under her eyes. But underneath is relief and something else. Want. Need. The same hunger I'm feeling.
She kisses me. Soft at first. Testing. Then deeper as I respond. My hands find her waist, sliding under her shirt to touch bare skin. She's warm. Alive. The proof of it makes something in my chest crack open.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging slightly. The small pain grounds me. Reminds me this is real.
"Alex." My name is rough in her throat. "I need you."
"You have me." I kiss along her jaw, down her neck. "Right here. Not going anywhere."
