Gear rattles softly with movement.
Rotor blades pound overhead.
Comms crackle every few seconds.
I sit near the open door, one gloved hand braced against the frame while black mountains blur beneath us.
My mind won’t shut off.
Forty-eight hours.
I keep coming back to that number.
Forty-eight hours since Hannah disappeared.
Forty-eight hours alone with whoever took her.
My jaw tightens hard.
No.
Not alone.
Hannah isn’t helpless.
I know that better than anyone.
I’ve watched her stitch a man back together under active fire without shaking once.
Watched her keep civilians calm while buildings collapsed around us.
Watched her stand toe-to-toe with armed contractors twice her size because they ignored medical protocol.
She’s stubborn as hell.
Brilliant.
Way too brave for her own good.
And somehow that thought makes the pressure in my chest worse.
“She’s alive.”
I blink and look over.
Miles is watching me carefully from across the cabin.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I look away again.
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” he admits. “But you already decided it.”
The words settle heavy in my chest.
