Chapter 63 Elara
Elara
The spotlight burned into my eyes, hot and merciless, pinning me like a specimen under glass. Hydra’s emblem loomed behind the trucks, black and jagged against the haze of smoke. I knew that symbol too well—it wasn’t just a banner. It was a brand.
My breath caught, chest constricting. For a heartbeat, I was back there—cold walls, metal chains, the smell of antiseptic and blood. Their voices telling me I wasn’t Elara anymore. That I was theirs. That I was a weapon.
And now they were here to take me back.
“Stay with me!” Beckett’s voice cut through the roar. His hand closed around mine, rough, grounding, fierce.
The fight thundered on around us—River’s rifle cracking sharp from cover, Gage’s shout carrying over the chaos, Oliver firing bursts that lit the smoke like lightning.
Cyclone’s voice shouted coordinates in my ear, frantic.
But all I could see was Hydra’s wall of soldiers pressing closer, their eyes fixed on me. Not the Team. Not Beckett. Me.
“They’re not here to kill me,” I whispered, horror scraping raw through my chest. “They’re here to take me alive.”
Beckett’s grip tightened like steel. “Not happening.”
Another barrage tore through the street, bullets sparking against stone. A rocket slammed into the far wall, the blast hurling heat and debris across us. I dropped behind cover, ears ringing, hands shaking.
Fear clawed sharp inside me. Not just fear of Hydra’s hands closing around me again. Fear of what Beckett would do to stop them. Fear that he’d throw his life onto the fire just to keep his promise.
I turned, desperate, catching his face in the harsh light. Dust streaked across his jaw, sweat cutting lines through the grime, eyes blazing with a fury that burned for me alone.
“You can’t,” I choked out. “Beckett, if you die for me—”
“Too late,” he cut me off, voice like gravel, unshakable. “I already chose.”
My throat closed, tears burning hot as smoke stung my eyes. He meant it. Every word. He would fight until there was nothing left, just to keep me free.
And for the first time, I hated the truth pressing against my chest—the files I’d stolen, the secret I hadn’t told him, the reason Hydra would burn cities just to drag me back. Because if he knew everything, if he knew what I really was to them, maybe he wouldn’t choose me at all.
But even as the thought tore through me, his hand stayed locked in mine, pulling me back to my feet, holding me steady against the storm.
“Together,” he growled.
And for the first time in years, I believed I might not have to face Hydra alone.