Chapter 66 Elara
Elara
The alley stank of smoke and blood. My lungs burned with every breath, dust coating my tongue, the taste of iron sharp in the back of my throat. Behind us, the fire still raged, flames clawing into the night sky, painting Hydra’s emblem in smoke.
We’d made it through. Barely.
Beckett still had my wrist clamped in his grip like he was afraid if he let go, I’d vanish. His chest rose and fell in harsh, steady bursts, sweat and grime streaking down his jaw, rifle still locked in his other hand. He looked every bit the soldier—untouchable, unbreakable.
But I’d seen him throw himself into that fire. I’d seen him make a choice no sane man would make. And it shattered something inside me.
“You nearly died back there,” I hissed, my voice sharper than I meant.
He glanced at me, eyes steady, burning with that same fire that terrified me and anchored me all at once. “Not nearly enough.”
The words cut deeper than Hydra’s bullets ever could. Because he meant it. Every single one.
My throat tightened, a knot of fury and fear fighting for space. “You can’t keep doing that. You can’t keep throwing yourself at them like your life is disposable.”
He stopped short, spinning me to face him. His grip was still iron, but his voice came low, rough, like gravel ground into steel. “My life is mine to give, Elara. And I’ll spend every last breath if it means they never put their hands on you again.”
Tears burned hot behind my eyes, but I blinked them back, forcing my chin up. “And what am I supposed to do if they take you from me? What then, Beckett?”
His jaw flexed, something raw flickering in his eyes, but before he could answer, River’s voice cut in.
“Save the lover’s quarrel for later. Hydra’s regrouping.”
The Team surged forward again, weapons up, eyes scanning the shadows. But Beckett didn’t move right away. His hand stayed locked in mine, his stare holding me in place.
“Then don’t let them take me,” he said softly.
And just like that, the world tilted. Because the truth slammed into me harder than any blast—this wasn’t just about Hydra anymore. It wasn’t about survival.
It was about us.
And the closer Hydra pressed, the more I knew—if I lost him, I’d never forgive myself for what I hadn’t told him.