Chapter 8 Ava
Ava
The plane lands just before sunrise.
Gray light bleeds across the horizon as the wheels hit the runway.
Cold. Quiet.
Too calm for what’s coming.
“Ten minutes,” Ethan says, already moving.
I’m right behind him.
Always.
We step out into a private hangar—no uniforms, no markings, no questions. Just a waiting vehicle and a driver who knows better than to speak.
I like him already.
“Location?” I ask as we slide into the back seat.
Ethan pulls up the file on a tablet.
“Ambassador Petrov,” he says. “Private diplomatic meeting. Off-grid estate outside the city.”
I scan the details.
Security layout. Entry points. Blind spots.
“They’ll hit during transition,” I say.
“Yeah.”
“Not inside.”
“No.”
We don’t need to say more.
They won’t risk chaos.
They’ll wait for exposure.
For the exact moment protection drops just enough to matter.
“Time?” I ask.
Ethan checks.
“Thirty-eight minutes.”
My pulse kicks.
“Then we’re already late.”
The car accelerates, cutting through narrow roads with no hesitation.
No traffic. No distractions.
Just distance closing fast.
“You take inside,” Ethan says.
I glance at him.
“And you?”
“Perimeter.”
“No.”
His eyes flick toward me.
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
“I know,” I say evenly. “And I’m ignoring it.”
His jaw tightens.
“Ava—”
“They expect resistance outside,” I cut in. “That’s where they’ll be watching. Inside is where they won’t.”
He studies me.
Adjusting.
Recalculating.
“Inside is tighter,” he says. “Less room to maneuver.”
“Good,” I reply. “So am I.”
A beat.
Then—
“Fine,” he says. “We go in together.”
There it is.
Not control.
Not compromise.
Alignment.
The estate comes into view.
Large. Private. Guarded—
but not enough.
Not for this.
We don’t use the front entrance.
Of course we don’t.
Ethan kills the engine a block out.
We move on foot.
Fast. silent.
The outer fence gives too easily.
I glance at him.
“They’ve already breached it.”
“Yeah.”
We’re late.
We slip inside the grounds.
No alarms.
No guards.
Nothing.
Wrong.
Everything about this is wrong.
“Where is everyone?” I whisper.
Ethan’s voice is low.
“Neutralized.”
My grip tightens on my weapon.
We reach a side entrance.
The door hangs slightly open.
I don’t like that.
Not at all.
Ethan signals.
Three.
Two.
One—
We move.
Inside is chaos.
Furniture overturned.
Doors open.
Silence that shouldn’t exist.
Footsteps hit the hallway.
Fast.
A man rounds the corner—
weapon up—
I fire first.
He drops.
Clean.
Ethan’s gaze flicks to me.
Approval.
Good.
“Upstairs,” he says.
We take the stairs two at a time.
Halfway up—
a shot cracks.
Close.
Too close.
“Move,” Ethan snaps.
We clear the landing fast.
At the end of the hallway—a man is down.
Bleeding.
Not dead.
Not yet.
Petrov.
Another shooter steps into view, gun raised, and Ethan takes him out before I can adjust.
“Clear,” he says.
I move immediately.
Drop beside Petrov.
“Stay with me,” I say, pressing pressure to the wound.
Too much blood.
Too fast.
“We need to move him,” I add.
Ethan is already scanning.
“More coming.”
Of course they are.
Footsteps below.
Closing.
I look at Ethan.
Decision time.
“You take them,” I say.
His head snaps toward me.
“No.”
“I’ve got him.”
“They’re coming up fast—”
“I know,” I cut in. “And I’m not letting him die.”
His jaw tightens.
Conflict.
Control.
Then—
“Go,” I say, quieter. “Trust me.”
That word hangs between us.
Heavy.
Important.
A beat—
then he nods.
Once.
Sharp.
“Don’t get yourself killed.”
I almost smile.
“Try and stop me.”
He moves.
Gone down the stairs.
Gunfire erupts below.
Loud. relentless.
I focus.
Tear fabric.
Apply pressure.
“Stay with me,” I repeat.
Petrov’s eyes flicker.
Barely.
But he’s still here.
Still fighting.
Good.
Footsteps behind me.
Wrong direction.
I turn—
fire—
the shooter drops before he gets a shot off.
Too slow.
“Not today,” I mutter.
Gunfire below intensifies.
Closer now.
Ethan’s holding them—
but not for long.
I haul Petrov up.
He groans.
Good.
Still conscious.
“Come on,” I say, dragging him toward the back exit.
Step by step.
Then—
the door bursts open—
Ethan.
Breathing hard. focused. alive.
“You good?” he asks.
“Still breathing.”
His gaze flicks to Petrov.
“Not for long if we don’t move.”
We move.
Together.
Out the back.
Across the yard.
Gunfire cracks behind us—
but we’re faster.
We hit the vehicle.
Get Petrov in.
Ethan takes the wheel.
I’m in the passenger seat before the engine fully turns over.
Tires scream against pavement.
We’re gone.
Only when the estate disappears behind us—
only then—
do I finally breathe.
I glance at Ethan.
He’s locked in.
Focused.
But there’s something else there now.
Something new.
“You trusted me,” I say quietly.
His eyes flick to mine for half a second.
“Don’t get used to it.”
I smile slightly.
“Too late.”
He exhales.
Shakes his head just a little.
But I see it.
That shift.
Because now—
this isn’t just history.
Not just memory.
Not just unfinished tension.
Now we have proof.
When it matters, when everything is on the line, we choose each other.
And that?
Might be the one thing that saves us.
Or gets us both killed.