Chapter 3
Ethan
The bridge turns into a kill zone in seconds.
Too open. Too exposed.
No real cover—just the concrete support we’re pinned behind, and that won’t hold for long.
Gunfire tears across the railing again, sparks flashing in sharp bursts of light.
I count fast.
One… two… three… four…
At least five shooters.
Maybe more.
The fire isn’t random. It’s controlled. Coordinated.
Which means they’re trained.
Which means this just got a whole lot worse.
“Ava,” I say, low and close to her ear. “We move on three.”
Her shoulder presses into mine—steady, grounded, like the chaos around us doesn’t touch her.
“Which way?” she asks.
I glance once over the edge of the bridge.
Dark water. Fast current.
Not ideal.
But better than staying here.
“Down.”
No hesitation.
No argument.
Good.
She’s still her.
“Three,” I murmur.
Another round slams into the concrete above us.
“Two.”
Her breathing stays even. Controlled.
“One.”
I grab her wrist and move.
We break from cover together—low, fast, already anticipating each other’s movement like the last eight years never happened.
Bullets chase us instantly.
Too close.
Too accurate.
One of them knows how we move.
I clock that.
File it away.
Deal with it later.
We hit the railing.
I don’t slow down.
“Jump.”
She doesn’t hesitate.
We go over together.
The cold hits like a punch to the chest.
The river swallows us whole.
Everything goes silent.
Dark. Freezing.
I keep hold of her wrist as we sink, pulling her deeper for a second before kicking hard toward the surface.
We break through under the shadow of the bridge.
Out of sight.
For now.
Ava gasps once—sharp—but clamps it down immediately.
No panic.
I drag us toward the support pillars, keeping us in the darker current where movement is harder to track.
“Still have it?” I ask.
Her grip tightens on the strap across her chest.
“Always.”
Of course.
Gunfire continues above us, muffled now.
They’re repositioning.
Trying to predict where we’ll surface.
“They’ll have teams on both ends,” I say. “And downstream.”
“And upstream,” she adds.
I glance at her.
Even soaked. Injured. hunted—
she’s still thinking ahead.
Still calculating.
“Options?” I ask.
She studies the structure above us, the shadows beneath the bridge.
“Maintenance access,” she says. “Eastern side. There should be a ladder or service hatch.”
“You remember that?”
Her eyes flick to mine.
“I remember everything now.”
There’s something in her voice when she says it.
Something sharper than before.
Something that wasn’t there eight years ago.
Noted.
“We move with the current,” I say. “Then cut across.”
She nods once.
We move.
The water is brutal.
Cold enough to lock your muscles if you let it.
We don’t.
We stay low, using the pillars as cover, letting the current carry us just far enough before angling toward the underside of the bridge.
Voices echo faintly above us.
Orders.
Different accents.
That’s not good.
Multiple teams… or one well-funded operation.
Either way—
this isn’t random.
We reach the underside.
Concrete. Steel. Shadow.
Ava finds the ladder first.
Of course she does.
“Here,” she whispers.
I move in behind her, hands bracing at her waist as I boost her up.
The contact hits harder than it should.
Memory flashes—heat instead of freezing water, her body pressed against mine for a completely different reason.
I shut it down.
Not now.
She climbs fast, silent despite everything.
I follow right behind her.
We pull into a narrow maintenance corridor just as a beam of light sweeps across the water below.
Too close.
We freeze.
Wait.
The light passes.
I let out a slow breath.
“We’ve got maybe two minutes before they sweep under here,” I say.
Ava is already moving.
“Then we don’t give them two minutes.”
The corridor is tight. Damp. Barely lit.
Every step echoes if we’re not careful.
We move anyway.
Fast. deliberate.
I watch her as we go.
The way she checks corners.
Listens before every turn.
And the way she favors her left side—just slightly.
Injury.
“You’re hurt,” I say.
“Not enough to matter.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She doesn’t look at me.
“Then don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”
There it is.
The wall.
I almost push.
Almost.
Footsteps echo behind us.
Multiple.
Closing.
“Later,” I mutter.
She hears it.
Doesn’t respond.
We hit a junction.
Left or right.
Ava pauses for half a second—
then goes right.
I follow without hesitation.
Trusting her instinct over hesitation.
The corridor slopes upward.
Good.
Exit.
We push harder.
The sound behind us gets louder.
Closer.
One of them shouts.
They’ve got eyes.
“Move,” I snap.
“I am moving.”
Gunfire erupts again.
A round ricochets off the wall near my shoulder.
I grab Ava’s arm and yank her forward just as another shot tears through where she was.
She stumbles.
Recovers instantly.
Keeps going.
No fear.
No wasted movement.
Just survival.
We burst through a rusted door—
into open air.
Back streets.
Dim lights.
Empty.
For now.
I scan.
No immediate threats.
We move.
Two blocks.
Three.
Only when we’re deep enough into the maze do I slow.
Ava leans against the wall for half a second.
Just half.
But I see it.
The strain.
The pain she won’t show.
I step in front of her.
Close.
Too close for safety.
Not close enough for what this used to be.
“Bag,” I say.
Her hand tightens instantly.
“No.”
“Let me see it.”
“No.”
My jaw tightens.
“Ava—”
“Eight years, Ethan,” she snaps, voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to come back and start giving orders.”
There it is.
Anger.
Hurt.
Truth.
I step closer anyway.
“Then stop acting like I’m the enemy.”
Her eyes flash.
“I don’t know that you’re not.”
That lands harder than anything else tonight.
For a second, neither of us moves.
The space between us charged.
Fragile in a way bullets never are.
I lower my voice.
“You sent my name.”
Her breath catches—barely.
“I didn’t send it to you,” she says. “I sent it to someone I trusted.”
“Same thing.”
“Not anymore.”
Silence drops between us.
Heavy.
Complicated.
Then—
sirens in the distance.
Too fast.
Too controlled.
Not police.
I look at her.
Decision time.
“Either you come with me,” I say, voice steady again, “or you keep running alone—and they find you within the hour.”
She lifts her chin.
Defiant.
Fierce.
“I’ve lasted this long.”
“Not with that,” I say, nodding toward the bag. “You’re not just a target anymore. You’re the objective.”
That lands.
She knows I’m right.
I see it.
Hate that I’m using it.
“Thirty seconds,” I add. “Before they lock this area down.”
Her eyes search mine.
Like she’s trying to find the man she knew.
The one she trusted.
The one she loved.
I don’t know if he’s still there.
Hell, I don’t know if she is.
Finally—
she exhales.
“Temporary,” she says.
I nod once.
“Temporary.”
It’s a lie.
We both know it.
But it’s enough.
For now.
She pushes off the wall.
“Where are we going?”
I glance down the street, already mapping exits, routes, fallback points.
Then back at her.
“Somewhere they won’t expect.”
A beat.
Then—
“My safehouse.”
Her eyes narrow slightly.
“Of course you have one.”
I almost smirk.
Almost.
“Try to keep up, Winslow.”
She rolls her eyes…and for one second…just one…it feels like nothing ever broke between us.
Then the sirens get closer.
And we run.