11. Jonah
Jonah
W e don’t stop moving until the smoke disappears behind us.
Even then, I don’t trust it.
The explosion still echoes faintly through the mountains while we cut across the ridge line, boots sliding over loose rock and wet dirt.
Too exposed.
Too open.
I scan ahead fast, searching for anything defensible.
There.
A narrow ravine splits through the mountain like an old wound, deep enough to hide us from aerial view.
“Down here,” I say.
I grab Sienna’s hand again and pull her off the trail before the drone circles back.
The drop is steep. Loose shale shifts beneath our boots as we descend into the shadows below.
Better cover.
Limited sight lines.
Good enough for now.
Ronan checks the ridge behind us once we hit the bottom. “I’ll take first watch.”
“Ten minutes,” I tell him. “Then rotate.”
He nods once and disappears back up the incline, silent within seconds.
The moment he’s gone, I turn toward Sienna.
She’s still standing.
Barely.
Adrenaline carried her this far.
I can see it wearing off now.
Her shoulders sag slightly against the ravine wall. Her breathing loses rhythm for half a second before she forces it back to a steady rhythm.
Too pale.
Too tired.
“You’re done,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
I almost laugh at this point.
“Yeah,” I mutter, stepping closer. “You’ve said that before.”
Sienna tries to move past me.
Doesn’t get far.
Her balance slips on the uneven rock, and I catch her automatically before she hits the ground.
One hand closes around her elbow.
The other steadies her waist.
She freezes beneath my grip instantly.
Not fighting.
Not pulling away.
Just… stopping.
That’s new.
“Sit.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.”
This time there’s no energy behind the argument.
Just exhaustion.
I guide her toward a flat stretch of stone along the ravine wall and crouch beside her once she finally sits.
Progress.
I pull the med kit free again and peel back the edge of the bandage at her ribs.
Blood stains the gauze darker than before.
“You reopened it.”
Sienna leans her head back against the rock. “I told you—”
“You told me you were fine.”
That earns me a tired look.
“Are you always this annoying?”
“Only when I’m right.”
That almost gets a smile out of her.
Almost.
I clean the wound carefully while the ravine settles around us in uneasy silence.
Wind moves softly overhead.
Loose gravel shifts somewhere higher on the ridge where Ronan keeps watch.
Everything else narrows down to this.
The warmth of Sienna’s skin beneath my hands.
The way she keeps holding herself together through sheer force of will.
“You rerouted the signal,” I say quietly while securing fresh gauze. “Bought us time.”
“Minutes,” she corrects. “Not hours.”
“I’ll take minutes.”
Her gaze drifts toward me slowly.
“You trust that?”
“I trust you.”
The words leave my mouth before I think about them.
And once they’re there—
I mean them.
Sienna looks away first.
That tells me more than her words do.
“You shouldn’t,” she says softly.
“Why?”
Silence stretches between us.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Measured.
“How long were you inside it?” I ask.
Her body goes still instantly.
“Inside ORACLE.”
The wind shifts overhead again.
Somewhere above us, Ronan moves across the ridge.
None of it matters right now.
Just her.
“Long enough,” she says.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
“Not today.”
Her jaw tightens.
I don’t push harder.
I just wait.
People crack faster in silence than pressure.
Eventually, Sienna exhales slowly.
“Three and a half years.”
The number punches harder than I expect.
“You lived inside that system for over three years?”
“I didn’t live in it.” Her voice stays quiet. “I integrated with it.”
That’s somehow worse.
“That’s not better.”
“No,” she whispers. “It’s not.”
I study her carefully.
The exhaustion.
The fractures starting to show beneath all that control.
“Why?”
Her eyes stay fixed ahead.
“Because they were going to weaponize it.”
I stay quiet.
Let her keep going.
“And once they finished…” She swallows hard. “There wouldn’t be anything left capable of stopping them.”
“Stopping them from what?”
Now she looks at me.
Really looks at me.
“Prediction.”
A cold knot tightens in my chest.
“Behavior?”
“Everything.”
Her voice barely rises above the wind.
“Choices. Weaknesses. Patterns. Fear responses. Loyalty probabilities.”
My jaw flexes.
“People.”
“Yes.”
The word lands heavy.
Absolute.
“They weren’t building intelligence,” she says quietly. “They were building control.”
“And you changed it.”
“I tried.”
Something about the way she says it catches hard.
“Tried?”
Fear flickers across her face then.
Real fear.
Not for herself.
For what comes next.
“I didn’t just rewrite ORACLE,” she says slowly.
I don’t interrupt.
Don’t rush her.
I let the silence sit.
“I became part of it.”
There it is.
The line everything hinges on.
My chest tightens.
“What does that mean?”
Sienna stares down at her trembling hands for a long second before answering.
“It means if HELIOS regains access…”
Her voice thins slightly.
“They don’t just get the system back.”
A measured breath leaves her.
“They get me with it.”
The ravine suddenly feels smaller.
The walls tighter.
The air thinner.
“And if we shut it down?” I ask quietly.
Her eyes close briefly.
Then open again.
“If ORACLE collapses completely…” She swallows once. “I might not come back out either.”
Silence slams into me hard enough to hurt.
For a second, I say nothing.
Just stare at her while the truth settles heavy between us.
Then—
“We’re not shutting it down.”
Her head snaps toward me immediately.
“That’s not your decision.”
“It is when you’re part of the equation.”
“You don’t understand the scale of this—”
“I understand enough.”
I shift closer.
Not crowding.
Not forcing.
Just close enough she can’t mistake what I mean.
“I’m not trading you for a system.”
Her breath catches softly.
“You don’t get to decide that,” she says.
“Yeah.” My voice stays calm. “I do.”
“Why?” she demands suddenly. “Because you decided I’m worth protecting?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
Just truth.
Something cracks across her face.
Small.
But real.
“That’s not how this works,” she whispers.
“It does now.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can.”
I hold her gaze steadily.
Don’t soften it.
Don’t back away from it.
“Listen to me,” I say quieter now. “We’ll find another way.”
“There isn’t one.”
“Then we make one.”
She shakes her head slowly, frustration bleeding through exhaustion now.
“That’s not strategy. That’s denial.”
“No,” I say. “It’s refusing to quit on you.”
Another silence stretches between us.
Longer this time.
Heavier.
Sienna studies me like she’s trying to figure out whether I actually believe what I’m saying.
I do.
Every damn word.
“You’d risk everything,” she says slowly, “for someone you barely know.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s reckless.”
“Or it’s right.”
A shaky breath leaves her.
Then she leans back against the rock wall and closes her eyes for a second like she’s trying to reset something inside herself that stopped resetting years ago.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispers.
That hits harder than everything else combined.
“Do what?”
Her eyes stay closed.
“Stop running.”
Pain moves through those words quietly.
Deep enough I feel it in my chest.
“I’ve been inside that system too long,” she says softly. “It’s in my head all the time. Every exit. Every threat. Every possible outcome.”
Her voice roughens.
“I don’t know if I can stop.”
I shift slightly beside her until my shoulder brushes hers.
Close.
Steady.
Grounding.
“Then don’t.”
Her eyes open slowly.
“It’s not that simple.”
“No,” I admit. “It’s not.”
The wind moves overhead again, carrying the distant sound of Ronan shifting position somewhere above us.
Then I look at her fully.
“But you’re not doing it alone anymore.”
Sienna goes completely still beside me.
And for the first time since I found her—
She doesn’t argue.
Doesn’t deflect.
Doesn’t run.
She just sits there beside me in the quiet ravine, breathing softly against my shoulder while the mountains close around us.
And for now—
That’s enough.