Still trusting me.
That trust does something dangerous inside my chest.
It carves out space where fear used to be and fills it with something worse.
Something permanent.
Russ takes point with Gabriel.
I don’t like Gabriel in front of us.
I don’t like him behind us either.
Mostly, I don’t like him breathing anywhere near Hannah.
But right now, he knows the way.
So I let him live.
For now.
We reach the boiler room door as another volley opens behind us.
Lucas returns fire while backing through the smoke.
“Move, move, move!”
Miles ducks inside with the little girl and two civilians. Hannah starts to follow, but a woman screams behind us.
A civilian.
Middle-aged.
Pinned near a loading crate, one hand clamped around her bleeding arm.
Hannah hears it.
Her head snaps toward the sound.
“No,” I bark.
She looks at me.
Just one look.
And I already know I’ve lost.
“She’ll die.”
“Hannah—”
“She’ll die, Clay.”
Another round cracks overhead.
Russ curses. “We don’t have time!”
Hannah yanks her hand free.
