We break from cover together.
Her stride stutters almost immediately, and without thinking I slow to match her pace automatically.
Adjusting.
Covering.
Staying between her and every threat.
We slam through a metal service door and burst into cold night air.
Thank God.
For one brief second, I think we’re clear.
Then gunfire erupts from the watchtower.
I drive Olivia behind a concrete barrier as bullets shred the ground around us.
She lands hard with a sharp gasp, hand flying instantly back to her wound.
Damn it.
I crouch beside her immediately.
“Talk to me.”
“I’m fine.”
“Stop saying that.”
Her mouth actually twitches.
The sight of it—here, now, bleeding and half-conscious while the world burns around us—hits me so hard I forget how to breathe.
I press my hand over hers at her side.
Warm blood floods across my palm instantly.
Way too much.
“She’s bleeding faster now,” I bite into comms.
“We’re coming to you,” Lucas answers.
“No.”
Olivia says it immediately.
I look at her.
Her skin’s ghost-pale beneath the dirt now. Sweat dampens the strands of hair stuck against her temples.
Still sharp-eyed anyway.
Still fighting.
“The children,” she says. “They split them up.”
