He feels it immediately.
His gaze snaps to mine. “What?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I just—”
The door bursts open.
And a medic rushes in.
“Multiple incoming!” he calls. “The American team just crossed—one down, possible internal—”
Russ is already moving.
My hand slips from his again.
This time—
It feels worse.
“Russ—”
He turns back instantly.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough.
Our eyes lock.
And I see it.
The change.
The thought of his team is pulling him.
The part of him that will always run toward danger—
Even after everything.
“Go,” I whisper.
Because I won’t be the reason he hesitates.
Not ever.
His jaw tightens.
Like he wants to argue.
Like he wants to stay.
But we both know—his team needs him.
“I’ll be back,” he says.
Not a maybe.
Not a hope.
