Chapter 71 Ethan
Ethan
The safehouse sits buried in the forest—stone, steel, and enough surveillance to make it untouchable.
By the time we get Ava inside, the sun is already cutting through the trees.
She’s still on her feet.
Barely.
My arm stays locked around her waist, taking more of her weight than she’ll admit, as we follow the medic down a long corridor that smells faintly of antiseptic and old wood.
“She needs stitches checked, full vitals, neuro response, blood loss assessment,” the medic says without slowing.
“She needs rest,” I answer.
The medic shoots me a look over her shoulder. “After I make sure she doesn’t crash, she can rest.”
Ava glances between us, eyes half-lidded. “This is adorable. Very intense. Very alpha.”
I look at her.
She blinks slowly. “I’m exhausted. Ignore me.”
We reach the room—already prepped, clean, secure.
“Sit,” the medic—Sloane—says.
Ava drops onto the bed like she’s been waiting for permission.
I don’t move away.
Sloane starts with the chest wound.
The moment the bandage peels back, Ava tenses.
My hand is in hers before she can hide it.
Her grip tightens.
Sloane notices.
Says nothing.
Good.
Ava hisses. “That’s rude.”
“You got shot,” Sloane replies flatly. “Bullets are rude.”
Ava exhales through her teeth. “Fair.”
Sloane moves to the older wound.
Checks it.
Presses.
Her expression shifts—just slightly.
“She moved on this?”
I don’t answer.
I don’t need to.
Sloane exhales slowly. “Of course she did.”
Ava shrugs one shoulder. “Stopping felt inefficient.”
“You’re impossible,” I mutter.
Her eyes slide to mine, heavy but sharp. “And yet.”
And yet.
Still here.
Still wrecking me.
Still making my chest tighten every time she winces.
Sloane checks her pupils, penlight flashing.
“No obvious concussion, but I want eyes on her. She’s dehydrated, exhausted, and running on willpower.”
“That tracks,” Aaron says from the doorway.
I turn.
He’s leaning there with coffee, Cal behind him, both cleaned up just enough to pass for human.
Almost.
“Thought you were on perimeter,” I say.
“I was,” Aaron replies. “Then Ronan decided you might murder someone if interrupted, so I was sent with caffeine as a peace offering.”
“Smart,” Cal adds.
Ava lifts a hand weakly. “Coffee.”
Sloane and I answer at the same time.
“No.”
She scowls. “This team is oppressive.”
Aaron takes a long sip in front of her. “Tragic.”
She points at him. “I liked you better when I was dying.”
“You called me discount Thor.”
“You kind of are.”
Cal snorts.
For a second—
just a second—
the room feels almost normal.
Not safe.
Not easy.
But… human.
After everything—
I’ll take human.
Sloane straightens. “She’s stable. Fluids, food if she can handle it, and sleep. Real sleep. Not tactical napping with a weapon.”
Ava opens her mouth.
Sloane cuts her off. “Not up for debate.”
Ava looks at me for backup.
She gets none.
Her eyes narrow. “Traitor.”
“Every time.”
Sloane packs up. “She’s not alone for the next several hours.”
“I’ve got her,” I say immediately.
Ava glances at me.
Something shifts in her expression.
Soft.
Open.
It hits harder than anything tonight.
Aaron notices too—his grin fades slightly.
“We pulled everything from the site. Ronan wants a briefing in an hour, but said you can skip.”
“I’ll be there.”
Ava starts to move. “So will I.”
My hand presses to her shoulder.
“No.”
She looks up slowly. “Ethan.”
“No.”
“This is about me.”
“This is about Hayes. And right now, you’re not walking anywhere.”
Aaron winces. “I’m going to go before something gets thrown.”
“Too late,” Ava mutters. “Emotionally, I already did.”
Cal nudges him out. “We’ll update you.”
The door shuts.
Silence settles in.
Sloane gives us one last look. “Hydrate. Sleep. No heroics.”
Then she’s gone.
The second the door closes—
Ava sags.
All the fight drains out at once.
I’m there instantly, catching her before she folds in on herself.
She exhales like she’s been holding it together by force alone.
“I hate this.”
“You’re not weak.”
“I can barely move.”
“You fought through hell and walked out.”
“That doesn’t mean I like needing help.”
I crouch in front of her, forcing her eyes to mine.
“Then don’t.”
She frowns. “What?”
“Don’t be okay with needing help.”
A beat.
“Be okay with me.”
That lands.
I see it.
Deep.
Her voice softens. “With you.”
“Yes.”
I help her lie back, adjusting the pillow, keeping one hand on her so she knows I’m still there.
Always there.
I hand her water.
She drinks.
Watches me over the rim.
“What?”
“You stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Even when I pushed.”
“Yes.”
“Even when I lied.”
My jaw tightens. “Yes.”
Her voice drops.
“Even when you thought I was dead.”
That one hits.
Hard.
I sit beside her.
“Especially then.”
Her eyes shine.
Mine probably do too.
I’m too tired to hide it.
Too tired to pretend this didn’t carve something permanent into me.
“You don’t get to act like I had a choice,” I say.
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
A breath leaves me.
Rough.
“I mean it was always you.”
She goes completely still.
I don’t stop.
Not now.
“Always. No matter what I told myself. No matter how hard I tried to move on.”
My voice drops.
“I never did.”
Silence.
Heavy.
“You thought I was dead,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“And you still—”
“Yes.”
Her face breaks open—emotion hitting fast, raw.
“You’re serious.”
I lean closer. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
A broken laugh escapes her—half sob, half disbelief—and then she’s crying and smiling at the same time, and it wrecks me.
I touch her face.
Careful.
“Ava.”
She grabs my wrist, presses into my hand.
“I loved you before I remembered you.”
Everything in me locks.
“I didn’t know your name,” she whispers. “But it still hurt.”
That’s it.
That’s everything.
I kiss her.
Not planned.
Not careful.
Just—need.
Her breath catches, a soft sound that hits somewhere deep, and I pull her closer before I remember she’s hurt.
I force myself to slow.
But not stop.
Never stop.
My forehead rests against hers.
“I’ve wanted this for years.”
Her voice is soft. “Then why does it feel like you’re holding back?”
A short, stunned laugh leaves me. “Because you’ve been shot. Twice.”
“Details.”
I pull back just enough to look at her.
“You’re impossible.”
“You said that.”
“And I meant it.”
Her smile fades slightly.
Something deeper replaces it.
“Ethan.”
“Yeah?”
“When this is over…”
Her fingers tighten around mine.
“I don’t want to disappear again.”
That hits straight through me.
I kiss her forehead.
“You won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
My voice drops.
“I can promise I’ll burn everything down before I let anyone take you again.”
She studies me.
Sees I mean it.
Really sees it.
Then nods.
A knock at the door.
Jonah steps in with a laptop and a tray.
Stops.
Looks between us.
“…I feel like I interrupted something.”
Ava wipes under her eye. “Unless that’s wine and revenge, I’m not interested.”
“Closest I got is soup and satellite data.”
I stand. “You have something.”
His expression sharpens. “Maybe.”
He flips the laptop open.
A map fills the screen.
Dead servers.
Proxy chains.
Financial trails.
And one blinking node.
Jonah taps it.
“Came online for nine seconds after the crash.”
My pulse spikes.
“Where?”
He zooms in.
Coastal.
Remote.
An airstrip.
Ava goes still.
Too still.
I turn to her.
“What is it?”
She doesn’t blink.
Doesn’t breathe.
Just stares.
“I know that place.”