Chapter 26 Ethan
Ethan
She’s there—
Then she’s not.
One second—
Ava’s moving beside me—
The next—
gone.
“No—”
The word comes out low—
wrong—
like my brain hasn’t caught up yet.
Then it hits.
“She’s gone!”
The shout rips out of me, raw and uncontrolled.
Something inside me snaps.
Not bends.
Not fractures.
Breaks.
I move.
Fast.
Too fast.
Toward where they took her—
toward the trees—
toward nothing—
A hand catches my vest hard—
yanks me back—
“Cross—”
I shove Ronan off.
“Don’t—”
“She’s alive.”
The words hit like a hard stop.
I freeze.
Barely.
Chest heaving.
“She’s alive,” he repeats, voice sharp. “Which means they want something.”
Leverage.
The word lands whether he says it or not.
My hands curl into fists.
Rage burns hot and fast through my veins.
“They don’t get to take her again.”
My voice is low now.
Controlled.
That kind of control that breaks things.
“No,” Ronan says.
A beat.
Then—
“Then we get her back.”
There’s no hesitation.
No doubt.
Because there’s no version of this where we don’t.
Aaron’s already moving.
“We can track them,” he says, heading for the helicopter. “They moved fast—but not clean.”
Jonah’s at his side, tablet already up, fingers flying.
Signal traces.
Movement patterns.
Data pulling together in real time.
“Come on,” Ronan snaps.
We move.
Engines roar to life.
The helicopter lifts hard off the ground, wind whipping through the clearing—
I don’t sit.
Don’t settle.
I stand near the open door, eyes locked on the ground below like I can see her—
like I can somehow reach her—
“Got something,” Jonah mutters.
My focus snaps to him.
Sharp.
Focused.
“Where.”
He turns the screen.
Coordinates blink into place.
A moving track cutting north.
Fast.
“They’re heading out,” he says. “And they’re not slowing down.”
I grab my weapon.
Check it.
Reload.
Again.
Hands steady.
Too steady.
“Then we go now.”
Ronan watches me.
Really watches.
Sees it.
The line I crossed the second she disappeared.
“You’re not thinking.”
I don’t look at him.
“You’re right.”
A beat.
“I’m not.”
Because thinking hesitates.
Thinking questions.
Thinking waits.
And I don’t have time for any of that.
Not when she’s out there.
Not when she’s alone.
Not when she might think—
No.
I grip the edge of the door, eyes locked forward.
She doesn’t think that.
She knows.
I’m coming.