16. Ellie
ELLIE
“They’re moving.”
Jackson doesn’t look up. The blue glow from his monitors washes his face in a cold, sickly light, highlighting the dark stubble on his jaw and the hollows under his green eyes.
Even sitting down, he feels too big for the desk, his shoulders broad and stiff.
He reaches for a second screen, the light catching the black ink winding up his arms before disappearing under his rolled-up sleeves.
His thick, dark hair is messy after thirty hours without sleep, but his fingers never pause in their rhythmic dance across the keys.
I check my Glock again. Third time in five minutes.
The slide is cold and heavy, the metal biting into my hand.
I’ve been trained as a therapist, not a fighter.
I feel like I’m trapped in someone else’s nightmare, waiting to wake up.
“More signatures on the east side,” Jackson adds. “Looks like they’re done playing games.”
“How many?” I study the infrared displays over Jackson’s shoulder.
I grip my weapon tighter, feeling my palms sweating through my tactical gloves. I adjust the earpiece Jackson shoved into my ear ten minutes ago.
“Twelve minimum,” Jackson says. “Everyone’s moving in sync. They've been planning this.”
My stomach drops. All of them coming to drag me away from Killian. My grip tightens on the weapon until the serrated slide bites into my palm. If they want me, they’re going to have to work for it.
Kai appears in the doorway, his wounded arm moving stiffly, but his easy grin intact. "All packages are wrapped and ready for the party," he chuckles, which I've learned is his way of saying the explosives are armed.
The banter should feel wrong. It doesn't. These men have faced worse odds than this and come out on the other side. I don't know when I became part of that, but I did.
"Remember," Jackson says quietly, still monitoring his screens, "they want you alive. That's their weakness. Use it."
Before I can respond, the world explodes.
The kitchen lights die instantly, plunging us into the red strobe of the emergency backup. Jackson’s monitors flicker, his fingers already flying over the keys.
“They’re trying to blind us.” He mutters over a thunderous roar that rattles every window in their frames. “The backup power will kick in, in a sec.”
“They’re not stopping!” Gabriel’s voice crackles in my earpiece, the boom of his rifle punctuating his shout. “Jackson, they’re already in the hallways—get her out!”
Oh, shit.
Jackson's screens erupt in crimson warnings as thermal signatures flood the displays. Red dots moving fast, closing in from three directions simultaneously.
"Showtime," Kai's voice carries a note of excitement that should disturb me, but doesn't.
The silence is gone, buried under the strobe of red emergency lights and the mechanical roar of the house being torn open. My ears are still ringing from the blast.
“Window! Now!” Jackson shouts, pointing me toward the reinforced alcove.
Through the reinforced windows, I watch muzzle flashes in the treeline. They’re not charging blindly. They’re advancing in a coordinated sweep, using the smoke from the first blasts to hide their movement.
I spin toward the sound of shattering glass as a black-clad figure crashes through the reinforced kitchen window in a spray of fragments and twisted metal. The operative lands in a tactical roll, already bringing his rifle to bear toward Jackson.
My Glock is in my hands before conscious thought takes over. The sight picture aligns perfectly, just as Killian taught me. Center mass. Breathe out. Squeeze, don't pull.
The gun goes off. Once. Twice.
The recoil slams through my wrists.
The first shot punches into the operative's chest, spinning him sideways. The second catches him as he staggers, dropping him to the kitchen floor in a spreading pool of blood. Bile burns the back of my throat. I swallow it down because there’s no time for breaking, no space for the part of me that wants to drop the gun and vomit.
I just killed someone. I’m staring at the operative’s boots, waiting for them to twitch, but they stay still against the dark oak planks of the flooring.
"Good shooting, Ellie," Jackson says without missing a beat, his fingers never pausing in their work. "Welcome to the club."
It isn’t a club I ever wanted to join.
More glass shatters somewhere deeper in the house, followed by the distinctive chatter of automatic weapons fire.
"Underground movement," Jackson announces, his screens showing new thermal signatures beneath the house. "They're in the tunnel system."
“Killian, with me. We’re going down,” Kai’s voice comes through the comms. "It's time to introduce our guests to some Southern hospitality."
Static crackles. Then Killian's voice cuts through and I stop breathing. The control is gone. Whatever is left in its place, I've never heard it before.
“Stay with Jackson.” His words are clipped. Everything his tone isn’t. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Through the failing comms, I hear his footsteps pounding toward the basement. Each step taking him further from me. Toward the breach point. Toward the men coming up through my drainage tunnels.
Every instinct I have screams that this is wrong. Splitting up is how people die in horror movies. That I should be wherever he is.
But he’s already gone, and more glass is shattering upstairs.
My home shudders as explosions echo from below, muffled by concrete and earth but powerful enough to rattle my teeth. Dust rains from the ceiling as the very foundations of my home seem to shake in fear.
"How are we doing?" I find myself asking, trying to sound as calm as they do.
“Holding for now,” Gabriel’s words crackle back. "Dropped three, but they're not backing off. These guys are good."
More concerning words I've never heard. If they're not retreating under Gabriel's fire, they're either incredibly well-trained or incredibly desperate. Who am I kidding? Probably both.
Jackson's screens flicker as something hits the external power. "Backup power's kicking in," he mutters, working on the backup systems. "They're trying to blind us."
"They're not just here for me," I realize, the picture becoming clear. "They're here to kill all of you."
Jackson nods grimly. "Can't leave witnesses. Too risky."
My heart is trying to punch through my ribcage. It's in my throat. My wrists. Behind my eyes. This isn’t about capture anymore.
They’re here to kill everyone.
The realization should paralyze me. Should send me running. But with my hands steady on the gun, I work on trying to even my breathing out. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.
Maybe I’m in shock. Maybe I’ve finally snapped.
Or maybe I’m done with being afraid.
The world goes white. Then the floor comes up to meet me, and I don’t remember deciding to fall.
Sound disappears. When it comes back, it comes back all at once.
Ringing, cracking, my own voice shouting something I can’t hear.
The kitchen island has shifted three feet. Cracks spider-web across the ceiling.
“Killian.” His name rips out of me. “KILLIAN!”
Static answers.
Emergency lighting kicks in, bathing everything in hellish red as the main power dies.
"They just took out the main support beam in the tunnel system," Jackson says, trying to salvage what he can from his damaged screens.
The implications hit me immediately. Without that central support, the house's foundation is compromised. Worse, the explosion has likely cut off Killian and Kai's way out of the tunnels below.
"Killian!" I key my comms, trying to reach them through the interference. "Kai! Are you okay?"
Static answers me, punctuated by distant gunfire from below. Either their equipment is damaged, or they're too busy fighting to respond.
"We need to get out of here," Jackson says, his mind processing the structural damage. "This whole section could come down."
I’m moving before Jackson finishes speaking.
Not away from the collapsing ceiling. Not toward the exit everyone’s screaming at me to use.
Down.
Toward wherever Killian is.
“You’re not going down there,” Jackson grabs my arm, abandoning his equipment to follow me. “Killian will kill me if I let you—”
I spin on him. “He’s trapped.”
“The place is falling apart!”
“I DON’T CARE.” The words tear out of me.
I don’t care that it’s stupid, that Jackson’s right about Killian wanting to kill him if I die. I don’t care that the ceiling could cave in and crush us both.
All I care about is that Killian is down there, possibly buried under rubble, and I know the way out.
Jackson sees it in my face. Whatever he finds there makes him release my arm.
“For fuck's sake,” he curses under his breath. “You’re just like him.”
I reach the service stairs and start down, Jackson cursing repeatedly behind me as he follows. The narrow stairwell is choked with dust and debris, but it's still standing. These walls are older, built when houses were made to last.
His words are cut off as another section of ceiling crashes down where we'd been standing moments before. The house is crumbling around us, century-old timber and stone no match for military explosives.
Gabriel’s voice sputters through the failing comms. "House is falling apart. I can see the damage from here. Get out. Now."
But I can't leave. Won't leave. Not while Killian and Kai are somewhere beneath me, possibly trapped, possibly dying.
"Ellie!" Killian's voice echoes up from below. "Where are you?"
"Here! Service stairs!"
When Killian appears at the bottom of the stairwell, his face is streaked with blood and dust. He takes the stairs three at a time. Behind him, Kai appears, his left sleeve torn and bloody.
"We need to go. Now," Kai says. "The foundation is done."
But boot steps are already moving through the floor above us. Multiple sets.
"They're inside," Jackson whispers, checking his weapon.
Killian's focus shifts. His face goes dead, his eyes flat as he scans the debris. "How many ways out?"
"Two, maybe three," I answer, my knowledge of the property finally proving useful. "But they'll have those covered by now."
Through the gaps in the damaged walls, I catch glimpses of movement. Black-clad figures moving through my home with stealth, their equipment far more advanced than anything we've prepared for.
Killian's hand finds mine in the darkness. His fingers intertwining with mine. "Stay behind me."
The sound of systematic searching echoes through the house, doors being kicked in, rooms being cleared methodically. They know we're trapped.
"Movement," Kai whispers, raising his weapon.
The shadow moves too fast.
I see a dart gun. The shadow is lifting it toward me. My mouth opens to scream a warning, but the sting comes first. Sharp and cold in the side of my neck.
No.
The word never makes it past my lips.
Cold liquid fire floods my veins. My legs dissolve. The gun slips from my fingers and hits the floor with a distant clatter that sounds like it’s coming from underwater.
Strong hands catch me before I fall. Wrong hands.
“Ellie!” Killian’s roar echoes through my skull. He’s charging toward me, but more figures emerge from the debris, blocking his path.
"Package secured," someone says near my ear, their voice calm and professional. "Extraction in progress."
Through blurring vision, I see Killian charging. Another dart punches into his chest, but he doesn’t stop. He’s three feet away when his legs give out. Jackson and Kai are already on the floor, their weapons slipping from paralyzed fingers. My comms have gone silent. Gabriel is gone.
The last thing I see is Killian’s face. He’s on his knees. His eyes find mine even through the blur. He’s still fighting. Still trying to stay awake. Still trying to reach me. The drug is winning, and he knows it.
Strong arms lift me, carrying me out toward a blacked-out transport. Plastic zip-ties bite into my wrists.
Find me, I try to say. I’m not even sure if my mouth managed to move.
Then the darkness swallows everything, and it’s all quiet.