Bear presses against my side, his massive warmth anchoring me to reality as my mind threatens to float away on waves of shock. The Newfoundland’s presence is solid, real. His deep, rumbling growl has subsided, but his body remains tense, alert to any further threat.
Mason moves among the fallen men, questioning the survivor, his voice too low for me to hear. The ease with which heand his team neutralized the threat should terrify me. Instead, it fills me with a strange, terrible relief.
For the first time in three years, the violence isn’t directed at me. Men with weapons are using their skills to protect me rather than harm me.
“Stay with me, Cooper,” Jackson mutters, working efficiently to stem the bleeding. “Just a through-and-through. You’ve had worse.”
“Beirut, ‘18. That was worse.” Cooper manages a tight smile despite the pain.
“Much worse,” Jackson agrees, taping a pressure bandage in place. “You’ll live to complain about this one, too.”
Their camaraderie wraps around me like a protective blanket—these men who’ve clearly faced death together and speak a shorthand born of shared battlefields and mutual trust.
Ryan appears from the trees, rifle slung across his back as he approaches. “Chopper’s gone. They likely had fuel constraints after dropping the first team at the cabin.”
“There’s another team?” The words hit hard. “The cabin?”
Ryan nods, his expression grim. “They dropped a team there before coming here.”
Mason returns, face tight with focused intensity as he crouches beside me.
“You okay?” His voice is low and intimate, despite our audience.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
His eyes search mine, looking for truth beyond my automatic response.
“We’ve got a problem. The team that dropped off at the cabin will be following our tracks. Bear’s been making a clear path. They’re maybe ten, fifteen minutes behind us.”
“What about Cooper?” I glance at the woundedman.
“I’m good,” Cooper interjects, already struggling to his feet with Jackson’s help. “Just a flesh wound.”
Even I can see that’s a lie. His face is ashen, jaw clenched against pain as blood continues to seep through the pressure bandage.
“We’re splitting up.” Mason’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently before he turns to Ryan. “Martinez, Jackson, take Cooper and Willow to the LZ. Bear goes with you—they’ll need his strength to break trail.”
“And you?” Ryan asks, though his tone suggests he already knows the answer.
“You, me, and Chaos double back. Intercept the pursuit team before they can reach the others.”
“Mason—”
The tactical logic is sound, but fear spikes through me at the thought of separation.
“This isn’t a debate,” he cuts me off, his voice gentle but firm. “Cooper needs extraction. You need extraction. The evidence needs to get out. Ryan and I can handle a single team.”
I want to argue, to demand we stay together, but the steel in his eyes stops me. This is the soldier, the protector, making decisions that will keep me alive. My desire to stay with him is selfish when measured against the reality of our situation.
“How far to the LZ?” Martinez asks, already moving to Cooper’s side.
“Half mile, northeast,” Ryan supplies. “Clear path most of the way, then a steep climb at the end. Martinez on point, Bear following, Willow behind Bear, Cooper and Jackson bring up the rear.”
The precision of their planning and the lack of wasted words or movement steadies me. These men know what they’re doing. This isn’t the first time they’ve had to adapt under fire.
“Go. Stay close to Martinez and Bear.” Mason turns to me,his hand cupping my cheek briefly. “We’ll be right behind you once we deal with the pursuit team.”
“Promise me.” I search his face, memorizing every detail—the scar that bisects his eyebrow, the steel-gray of his eyes, the tight line of his mouth.
