His eyes swept the corridor—corners, doorways, shadows—before he looked at her.
“We did our part.” His voice was rough as he caught her arm. “Time to move.”
Inside the canteen, gunfire erupted, muffled by the halon fog. Through the open door shapes bolted, crew members, remaining guards disoriented, people scrambling for any escape they could find. A flash of orange coveralls, a familiar set of shoulders.
Max.
Still fighting and protecting the people around him. He looked back—checking for pursuit, not for her—and their eyes met for a heartbeat. Relief hit her hard and then he was gone, swallowed by the smoke.
“Come on.” Wyatt tugged her away.
Jen pressed her palm to the vent edge as Wyatt lifted her, scrambling back inside.
Her fingers wouldn’t close properly, and the edges of her vision stuttered in and out. But inside her chest, something fierce and bright flared to life.
They’d given her crew a chance.
Wyatt followed her into the vent and sealed it behind them, the noise below fading into muffled chaos. They crawled fast, the metal warm under their palms from the heat of the suppression discharge.
The radio Wyatt had taken from the terrorist earlier spat furious Russian. He silenced it immediately and clipped it back to his belt.
Jen exhaled shakily. “We did it.”
The words felt unreal—fragile, like they might dissolve if she said them too loudly.
Wyatt’s mouth curved —slower this time, like he meant it. “Yeah. We did.”
Everything was too bright. Too loud. Adrenaline making her world vibrate. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“We drew more attention to ourselves. Made this harder.”
His gaze held hers, unchanging as a held breath. “Some risks are worth the cost.”
Heat rippled through her—not from fear or cold. He’d listened and put himself in the line of fire because her people mattered to her.
“Who are you, really?”
“Coast Guard. Like I said.”
“Coast Guard doesn’t move like you do.”
The muscle at his temple jumped, the only sign she’d struck something sensitive. “I wasn’t always Coast Guard.”
“What were you?”
A long pause expanded between them. The vent vibrated under her palms. Distant shouts echoed up the shaft. His eyes found hers in the dim glow of her flashlight—shadowed, conflicted, something dangerous banked beneath the surface.
“Someone who did things I’m trying not to do anymore.”
Silence filled the shaft. She waited for more.
It didn’t come.
But tonight he’d done them anyway, for her. Because she’d asked.
“I didn’t think you’d listen,” she whispered. “When I said we had to help them. I thought you’d override me. Make the tactical call and keep moving.”
