Chapter 6 Mila
Mila
Location: Forest Ridge — Temporary Cover
Time: Night
We move.
Not fast this time.
Careful.
Measured.
Because now we know what we’re up against.
And they know we’re still alive.
The trees are thicker here, the ground uneven, roots catching at my boots as we push deeper into the forest. The wind cuts through everything—cold, sharp, relentless.
I feel it now.
The cold.
The exhaustion.
The blood at my temple has dried, but my head is starting to pound.
That’s… not ideal.
“You’re slowing down,” Jase says behind me.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I said I’m not.”
A pause.
Then—
“You’re bleeding.”
I stop.
Close my eyes for half a second.
Regret it immediately.
Because the world tilts just enough to make a point.
Strong.
Very helpful.
I steady myself.
“I’ve had worse,” I say.
“I don’t doubt that,” he replies. “But you’re still slowing down.”
I turn to face him.
“I am not your responsibility.”
His expression doesn’t change.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
Something in my chest tightens.
I ignore it.
“Five minutes,” he says. “We stop. Then we move again.”
“We don’t have time—”
“You pass out,” he cuts in, calm and firm, “and we’re both dead.”
I open my mouth to argue.
Close it again.
Because—
He’s right.
I hate that.
“…fine,” I mutter.
“…thank you, Lord…”
“What was that?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
He almost smiles.
Almost.
We find a small dip in the terrain—a natural hollow surrounded by thick brush and fallen branches.
Good cover.
Minimal visibility.
Temporary safety.
That’s the best we’re getting tonight.
I sit.
Not gracefully.
More like controlled collapse.
Jase crouches in front of me immediately.
Too close.
Always too close.
“Let me see it,” he says.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” he replies. “That’s becoming less convincing every time you say it.”
I glare at him.
He doesn’t care.
Of course, he doesn’t.
“Hold still,” he says.
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“You do when they keep you alive.”
I hesitate.
Just long enough to be annoying.
Then—
I hold still.
Because again—
He’s right.
This is getting old.
His hand comes up to my face.
Careful.
Slower than I expect.
His fingers brush my temple, wiping away dried blood.
And—
That was a mistake.
Not his touch.
The way my body reacts to it.
Warm.
Steady.
Gentle.
No.
Nope.
We are not doing that.
Focus.
“Head injury?” he asks quietly.
“Just a hit,” I say. “I’ve had worse.”
“You’ve said that.”
“Because it’s true.”
His eyes flick to mine.
Search.
Assess.
Too perceptive.
I look away first.
Because if I don’t—
I might lean into his hand.
And that would be a very bad decision.
“…this is definitely a test…” I whisper under my breath.
“What was that?” he asks again.
“Nothing.”
“Seems like a pattern.”
“Maybe you should stop listening.”
“Maybe you should stop saying things out loud. Most people talk in their
I glare at him again.
He ignores that too.
Unbelievable.
He shifts slightly, pulling something from his pack—clean cloth, small med kit.
Prepared.
Of course he is.
“You’re lucky it’s not deeper,” he says as he cleans the wound.
I flinch.
Just a little.
His hand stills.
“Easy,” he murmurs.
That—
That does something I don’t like.
The tone.
The softness.
I swallow.
Hard.
His gaze tracks it again.
Oh, that needs to stop.
Immediately.
“You stare a lot,” I say.
“You talk to yourself a lot,” he counters.
Touché.
I don’t respond to that.
Because—
He’s not wrong.
Annoying.
Consistently right.
Also annoying.
He finishes cleaning the wound, then hesitates for a second.
Just a second.
Like he’s deciding something.
Then his thumb brushes just under my cheek.
Not medical.
Not necessary.
Just—
There.
My breath catches.
Traitor.
He notices.
Of course he does.
His hand drops immediately.
Distance.
Control.
Too late.
The damage is done.
Jase
This is a problem.
Not the mission.
Not the hunters.
Not even the list she’s carrying.
Her.
The way she reacts.
The way I react.
The way neither of us is pretending very well anymore.
I sit back slightly, putting space between us.
Because I need it.
More than I should.
“You good?” I ask.
She nods.
Doesn’t speak.
Also new.
I don’t trust it.
“You’re going to tell me more about that list,” I say.
Not a question.
A statement.
Her eyes lift to mine.
Sharp again.
Guarded.
There she is.
“That depends,” she says.
“On?”
“Whether I trust you.”
I almost laugh.
“Not exactly off to a great start there.”
“You showed up where you weren’t supposed to be,” she fires back. “Interfered in an operation you knew nothing about.”
“I knew enough,” I say. “You were in the middle of it.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to be part of it.”
Too late for that.
We both know it.
“You’re not walking away from this,” I tell her.
“I never planned to.”
“Then start talking.”
A long pause.
Wind moves through the trees around us.
Cold.
Quiet.
Tense.
She exhales slowly.
“The list isn’t just names,” she says.
“I figured.”
“It’s connections,” she continues. “Funding. Routes. Safe locations. People embedded in places they shouldn’t be.”
My jaw tightens.
Yeah.
That’s bigger than a hit squad.
That’s infrastructure.
That’s power.
“That kind of list doesn’t just get lost,” I say.
“No,” she replies. “It gets buried.”
“Or destroyed.”
“Or protected,” she adds.
Her eyes meet mine again.
Meaning clear.
That’s what she’s doing.
Protecting it.
At all costs.
“Why you?” I ask.
“Because I’m the only one who got it out,” she says.
Simple.
Not simple.
Not even close.
“And now they want it back,” I say.
“They want it erased,” she corrects. “Along with me.”
Silence settles between us again.
Heavier this time.
More real.
“You should’ve handed it off,” I say.
“I tried.”
That stops me.
“What happened?”
Her jaw tightens.
For the first time—
I see it.
Not just control.
Not just strategy.
Loss.
“They’re already compromised,” she says quietly.
That lands.
Hard.
No backup.
No safe handoff.
No one to trust.
Except—
Me.
Whether she likes it or not.
I lean forward slightly.
Not as close as before.
But close enough.
“You’re not doing this alone anymore,” I say.
She watches me.
Searching.
Measuring.
Deciding.
“…Lord, I don’t like this…” she mutters.
I catch that one.
“What don’t you like?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer right away.
Then—
“You,” she says.
I almost smile.
“Yeah,” I reply. “That seems to be mutual.”
It’s not.
Not even close.
And we both know it.