Page 22 of Broken Oath

The fighters were closing fast.

Rook tore himself free and took another step.

Viking raised one hand.

Stopping him.

“No.”

The word was weak.

But firm.

“Noah—”

Viking shook his head.

Blood ran from a cut above his eye. His breathing sounded wet and painful.

The kind of breathing experienced soldiers understood.

Viking knew it too.

He looked toward the ridge where dozens of enemy fighters were emerging through the smoke.

Then he looked back at Rook and smiled.

The same crooked grin he had worn in the helicopter.

“You look terrible.”

Rook almost laughed.

Instead, his chest hurt.

Viking chuckled, then coughed. Blood stained his lips.

“See? Told you.”

Sniper looked away.

Fathom lowered his head.

Viking wasn’t leaving that mountain.

Rook took another step. “I’ll get you out.”

“No.”

“Dammit, Noah⁠—”

“No.”

The grin faded enough for the truth to show.

For one brief moment, Rook saw the fear beneath it.

Not fear of dying.