Chapter 10 Ava
Ava
We don’t stay down there.
We can’t.
The silence after the crash presses in too hard—too clean. Like the world is holding its breath.
“They’ll sweep the area,” I say, already pushing the car door open. Cold air hits my face, sharp and damp. “Thermals. Drones.”
Ethan’s door shuts on the other side. One glance at him tells me he’s already running scenarios.
Always was.
We move at the same time.
Petrov slumps between the seats, barely conscious. His skin is gray under the blood. His breathing—thin, uneven—scrapes in and out like it might stop at any second.
“Easy,” I murmur, sliding an arm around him. He’s dead weight, heavier than he should be. “Come on… stay with me.”
Ethan takes the other side without a word. Together, we haul him out of the car.
His boots drag across the dirt.
Then we’re moving.
Into the trees.
Branches scrape against my arms. The ground dips and shifts under my boots, slick with moisture. Every step feels louder than it should. Every breath too sharp in the quiet.
The kind of quiet that sets your nerves on edge.
Because something’s wrong.
“They knew where we’d be,” I say under my breath.
Ethan doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t slow.
“Yeah.”
Not doubt.
Not surprise.
Just confirmation.
Petrov stumbles, his weight dropping harder against me. My grip tightens instinctively.
“Stay with me,” I whisper, adjusting, pulling him closer. “Don’t you dare check out now.”
His head lolls. No response.
My chest tightens.
“He’s fading.”
“I see it.”
We push faster.
Through a break in the trees, something takes shape ahead—dark against the gray light.
A structure.
Old.
Half swallowed by the woods.
“There,” I say, shifting my weight to keep Petrov upright.
Ethan’s gaze snaps to it. He hesitates—just long enough to assess.
Then nods.
“Wait here.”
He moves ahead, silent, weapon raised.
I hold Petrov up alone, muscles burning, every second stretching too long. My eyes flick constantly—tree line, shadows, movement that isn’t there.
Come on…
Then—
“Clear.”
Relief hits fast, but I don’t let it slow me down.
We get Petrov inside.
The place smells like dust and damp wood. Furniture sits abandoned, coated in a thick layer of neglect. Boards cover the windows from the inside, leaving thin slits of gray light.
It’s not safe.
But it’s hidden.
Right now, that’s enough.
I lower Petrov onto a worn couch. His body barely reacts—just a faint shift of breath.
Too faint.
“Light,” I say.
Ethan moves immediately, pulling a curtain just enough to let in a sliver of daylight without exposing us.
I’m already back in the med kit.
My hands don’t shake.
They can’t.
“Stay with me,” I murmur, pressing into the wound again. Warm blood seeps between my fingers. “You’re not done yet.”
He gasps—weak, but there.
Good.
Ethan crouches across from me. Watching. Tracking everything.
“You’re losing him.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me what you need.”
I glance up—
—and for a split second, everything shifts.
The way he’s looking at me.
Focused. Steady. There.
Like before.
Like nothing ever broke between us.
Dangerous.
I shove it down hard.
“Clamp.”
It’s in my hand before I finish the word.
No hesitation.
No questions.
Just trust.
I go to work.
Pressure. Adjust. Clamp. Hold.
Petrov jerks under my hands—then goes still.
Too still.
“No,” I breathe, leaning closer. “Don’t do that.”
Ethan shifts in. Closer.
“Talk to him.”
“What?”
“Keep him here,” he says quietly. “Give him a reason.”
I swallow hard, then lean in.
“Hey.” My voice sharpens. “You don’t get to quit. Not now.”
Nothing.
My jaw tightens.
“You started something,” I push, closer now, willing him to hear me. “You don’t get to leave us blind in the middle of it. You hear me?”
A breath shudders out of him.
There.
“Good,” I whisper. “That’s it. Stay with me.”
I hold pressure. Adjust again.
Time stretches thin.
Seconds bleed into minutes.
Then—
his breathing steadies.
Not normal.
Not safe.
But better.
Enough.
I sit back slightly, tension easing just a fraction.
“He’s not dying.”
Ethan watches me.
“He’s not dead yet.”
A breath escapes me—almost a laugh.
Almost.
Then it hits.
The drop.
Adrenaline draining out of my system all at once.
My hands tremble.
Just a little.
I curl them into fists, pressing them into my thighs.
Stop.
Ethan notices.
Of course he does.
He shifts closer—not touching, but close enough I can feel the heat of him.
“You good?”
I nod too fast.
“I’m fine.”
“Right.”
I glance at him. “You don’t believe me?”
“No.”
Simple.
Honest.
It almost makes me smile.
Instead, I look away.
Silence settles in.
Heavy. Charged.
Too much unsaid sitting between us.
“We were set up,” I say finally.
Ethan nods once.
“Yeah.”
“They knew the route.”
“Yeah.”
“They knew us.”
That one lingers.
He pauses.
Just enough to feel it.
Then—
“Yeah.”
My chest tightens.
Because that means—
someone close.
Someone we trusted.
“I hate this,” I mutter.
“I know.”
I glance at him again.
“You always did.”
That pulls his full attention back to me.
“Did what?”
“Let people in,” I say quietly. “Trust them.”
His jaw tightens.
“That wasn’t the problem.”
“No?” I push.
His voice drops.
“The problem was losing them.”
The words hit like a blow.
Because I know exactly what he means.
Because I was one of them.
Silence stretches again.
Thicker.
Sharper.
I should explain.
Should tell him everything.
Why I didn’t come back.
Why I didn’t—
“Six months,” I say instead.
His eyes lock onto mine.
“What?”
“My memory,” I say, the words quieter now. “It came back six months ago.”
He goes completely still.
“And you didn’t reach out.”
Not a question.
A statement.
Controlled.
But it cuts.
“I couldn’t.”
His gaze hardens.
“You didn’t.”
“I wasn’t safe,” I snap.
That shifts something.
“They had me,” I continue, my voice lower now. “And when I woke up… I was still surrounded by them.”
Now he’s really listening.
“Who?”
I shake my head.
“Not yet.”
His jaw tightens.
“Ava—”
“If I say it out loud,” I cut in, “you become a target in a way you can’t walk away from.”
“I’m already a target.”
“Not like this.”
That stops him.
Because he knows I’m right.
Silence settles again.
But this time—
it’s different.
Less anger.
More understanding.
He leans back, running a hand through his hair.
Then, quieter—
“You should have come to me.”
That one lands deeper than anything else.
No accusation.
No anger.
Just truth.
“I wanted to,” I admit.
His gaze lifts.
Locks on mine.
And everything shifts.
The space between us tightens.
The air feels thinner.
Too close.
Too real.
His eyes drop—
just slightly—
to my mouth.
My breath catches.
And I don’t move.
Don’t pull back.
Because I don’t want to.
Because for one second—
I forget everything else.
The mission.
The danger.
The war building around us.
All I see—
is him.
The way he used to look at me.
Like I mattered.
“Ava…” he murmurs.
A warning.
A question.
I don’t know.
I lean in anyway.
Just a fraction—
And—
Petrov groans.
Sharp. Loud.
The moment shatters.
I pull back fast, breath uneven, reality slamming back in.
Ethan exhales, stepping away, putting space between us.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “That tracks.”
I force myself back into focus.
“Check the perimeter.”
He nods, already moving.
Weapon in hand.
But at the door—
he pauses.
Doesn’t turn.
“Don’t disappear on me again.”
The words settle heavy in the room.
Then he’s gone.
And I’m left standing there—
with a bleeding man.
A war we don’t understand.
And the one person I never—
No.
I look down at Petrov, pressing the bandage again.
“Yeah,” I murmur softly.
“We’re in trouble.”