Chapter 44 Beckett
Beckett
The trucks rattled hard over the desert, each dip and rut hammering through my spine.
I should’ve felt relief with the Team here, but relief was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Not with Hydra still out there. Not with Elara sitting inches from me, her pulse still racing beneath skin streaked with dust and blood.
She hadn’t said a word since we climbed into the back seat. She just sat with her pistol laid flat across her lap, hair sticking out of her braid everywhere, eyes fixed out the window like the desert itself might swallow her whole.
Oliver drove up front, sunglasses pushed tight against his face, grin flashing in the rearview. “You always did have a talent for finding trouble, Beckett. Hydra chasing you halfway across the desert? That’s a new record.”
“Shut up and drive,” I muttered.
That only made Gage laugh, low and rough. “Relax. We cleared them good. You’re safe now.”
Safe. I wanted to believe that. But every instinct screamed otherwise. Hydra didn’t stop. They regrouped. They adapted. And they sure as hell weren’t finished with Elara.
I caught her hand shifting beside mine, fingers brushing against the back of my knuckles. It was small—so damn small—but it grounded me more than the rifle still clutched in my other hand. I let her hand stay there, just long enough for my pulse to steady.
We weren’t safe. Not yet. But as long as she was breathing beside me, I’d tear apart the desert, Hydra, and anyone else who came hunting for her.