Because if anyone knows how to find someone who doesn't want to be found, it's the man who's been hunting us all along.
I straighten, squaring my shoulders against the weight of what comes next. "Get the team. We need to move."
Knox nods once, already reaching for his comm. But his hand pauses, eyes finding mine in the darkness.
"Logan," he says quietly. "Whatever happens... we've got your six."
The words hit harder than I expect, cracking something in my chest that I've kept locked since she left.
Because maybe that's what Sloane couldn't see. That she wasn't just walking away from me.
She was walking away from all of us.
And we're not letting her face this alone.
36
SLOANE
My fingers trace the doorknob, cold metal biting into my skin. One turn and I'm out—free to face what's coming. Free to protect the people I've grown to love.
But my hand trembles.
Inside, Logan sleeps. I can still feel the warmth of his body against mine, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.
For a moment, I let myself remember—his arms around me, his breath in my hair, the way he held me like I was something precious rather than dangerous.
I'm sorry.
The words catch in my throat, unspoken. He can't hear them anyway.
My messenger bag weighs heavy against my hip as I step into the pre-dawn darkness.
Inside: everything that matters. The thumb drive containing Echo-13's secrets. Logan's mission logs, worn leather covers soft from years of handling. Photographs that tell stories of brotherhood and betrayal. All the evidence Granger wants buried.
All my cards to play.
Snow drifts down in fat, lazy flakes, coating the ground in pristine white.
Good.
In thirty minutes, my tracks will vanish beneath fresh powder. They won't be able to follow—not even Logan with his tactical training and sharp instincts.
That thought makes each step heavier.
My boots sink into accumulating snow, leaving impressions that feel like wounds. Every footfall screams at me to turn back, to crawl into bed beside the man who showed me what safety feels like.
But I can't.
Because now I understand what my father felt, when he chose silence over truth.
When he walked away to keep me breathing. The weight of that choice used to anger me—how could he abandon everything he believed in? How could he let them win?
Now I know: You don't measure love in truth. You measure it in what you're willing to sacrifice.
If I stay, Granger will keep coming. He'll burn everything I touch until there's nothing left but ash and regret.
The Forge.
