After everything we shared, everything we built, she still chose to walk away. To face whatever's coming alone.
My legs give out before I realize I'm falling. I catch myself against the alley wall, rough brick scraping my palm. The pain barely registers through the hollow ache in my chest.
Why?
The question echoes, unanswered and raw.
Why didn't you trust us? Trust me?
But I know why.
Because she's like me. Because she'd rather carry the weight alone than watch someone else fall beneath it.
Because sometimes love means walking away before the bullet finds its mark.
The realization doesn't help. Doesn't ease the cold spreading through my veins or the sick certainty that I've lost something irreplaceable.
I press my forehead against the brick, letting the rough surface ground me in reality. The comm unit at my hip remains silent, no updates, no leads, no hope.
She's gone.
And this time, I don't know if I can bring her back.
Night falls over Iron Hollow, stars emerging in a sky that seems too vast, too empty. The town settles into uneasy quiet, windows glowing warm and yellow in the darkness.
But I remain in the shadows, unable to move, unable to accept that this is where the trail ends.
Come back,I think, the words a prayer I don't dare speak aloud.Come back to me.
But only silence answers, and the hollow space beside me grows colder with each passing moment.
The sound of approaching footsteps barely registers. A shadow falls across me—Knox, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
"We'll find her," he says, voice low and certain.
I don't respond. Can't find words past the tightness in my throat.
He crouches beside me, shoulder brushing mine in silent support. "She's smart. Trained. She knows how to stay alive."
"That's what scares me," I whisper.
Because Sloane isn't running blind. She has a plan. A purpose.
And whatever it is, she didn't trust me enough to share it.
Knox's hand grips my shoulder, squeezing once. "Then we get smarter. Work the angles. Trace her thought patterns."
Logic tries to surface through the emotional storm. He's right. Standing here won't bring her back. Won't protect her from whatever she's walking into.
I push to my feet, legs unsteady but holding. Knox rises with me, a solid presence at my back.
"Start with the patterns," he continues. "Her research. Her contacts. Everything that led her here."
I nod, forcing my mind to shift from emotional to tactical. "Dana's files. The connection to her father."
"And Echo-13." Knox's voice hardens. "Whatever Granger's planning, it all leads back there."
The name sends ice through my veins, but I embrace it. Use it.
