Chapter 7 Jase
Jase
Location: Forest Ridge — Moving Out
Time: Night
We don’t get long.
We never do.
The break was necessary.
It was also temporary.
I’m on my feet first, scanning the tree line, listening past the wind. Nothing obvious—but that doesn’t mean anything. These guys are disciplined.
Quiet.
Patient.
Dangerous.
“We move,” I say.
Mila nods, already pushing up beside me.
Stronger now.
Steadier.
Good.
We head northeast—deeper into the forest, away from the ridge, away from where they expect us to go.
Or at least—
Where they think we’ll go.
“Stay close,” I murmur.
“I’m not wandering off,” she replies.
“Good.”
A beat.
“…because I’m not coming to find you again.”
She glances at me.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a promise.”
She huffs a quiet breath.
“…Lord, give me strength…”
I almost smile.
We move fast.
Faster than before.
Because now we’re on borrowed time.
The forest thickens—branches low, terrain uneven. Visibility drops. Sound carries differently here.
Better for hiding.
Also better for ambush.
I slow slightly.
Something’s off.
I can feel it.
That shift.
That quiet that’s a little too quiet.
“Mila,” I say low. “Stop.”
She freezes instantly.
Good.
I scan left.
Right.
Nothing—
And then—
There.
A flicker.
Movement at eleven o’clock.
Too controlled to be natural.
“Down—”
Gunfire erupts.
Too close.
Too fast.
I shove Mila behind me as rounds tear through the trees.
One cracks past my shoulder—
The second—
Hits.
Hard.
Low.
Side.
It doesn’t drop me.
Not immediately.
But yeah—
That’s not nothing.
I fire back, controlled bursts, forcing them to reposition.
“Move!” I snap.
Mila doesn’t argue.
She grabs my arm—pulls this time—and we break right, deeper into the brush.
My side burns.
Hot.
Wet.
Not great.
Definitely not great.
But I stay on my feet.
Because going down?
Not an option.
We push through a narrow cut in the terrain—low rock walls on either side, tight, concealed.
Good cover.
Temporary.
Always temporary.
We duck inside.
Silence crashes in around us again.
I brace a hand against the rock.
Breathe.
Once.
Twice.
Control it.
“You’re hit,” Mila says.
Not a question.
“Just a graze,” I reply.
Lie.
Not a great one.
Her eyes narrow.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sit,” she repeats, sharper this time.
I almost argue.
Then—
The ground shifts just enough to remind me I’m losing blood.
Yeah.
Okay.
I sit.
Carefully.
And just like that—
Everything changes.
Mila
Of course.
Of course he got shot.
Because apparently, that’s how this night is going.
“Just a graze,” he says.
I stare at him.
Flat.
Unimpressed.
“You’re bleeding through your shirt,” I reply.
“It’s not that bad.”
“…Lord, give me patience…”
“What was that?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
I drop to my knees in front of him and don’t wait for permission this time.
He doesn’t stop me.
Also new.
I push his hand away from his side and lift his shirt.
And—
Yeah.
That’s not a graze.
“That’s a bullet,” I say.
“It didn’t go through.”
“No,” I reply. “It didn’t. Which is actually worse right now.”
His jaw tightens.
But he doesn’t complain.
Doesn’t flinch.
Just watches me.
That’s almost more annoying.
“Hold still,” I say.
“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
I shoot him a look.
He almost smiles.
Unbelievable.
I grab my kit—hands steady, mind sharp.
Focus.
Not him.
Not the way he’s looking at me.
Not the way this feels…
Familiar.
Dangerous.
No.
We are not doing that.
“On three,” I say.
“For what?”
I meet his eyes.
“For me to fix the problem you caused by getting shot.”
“I didn’t cause—”
“One,” I cut him off.
He exhales.
“…you’re enjoying this.”
“Two.”
“You are definitely enjoying this.”
“Three.”
I press.
Hard.
He sucks in a sharp breath, muscles locking under my hands.
There it is.
Pain.
Real.
Good.
That means he’s still here.
Still fighting.
Still—
Alive.
I work fast.
Efficient.
Precise.
Because I have to.
Because if I don’t—
He bleeds out.
And that—
That is not happening.
Not on my watch.
Not—
Not him.
I shove that thought down immediately.
Focus.
The bleeding slows.
Then stops.
Temporary fix.
It’ll hold.
For now.
I lean back slightly, breath catching.
Not from the work.
From how close I am.
Again.
Always again.
My hands are still on him.
His chest rises under my palms.
Steady.
Strong.
Alive.
I should move.
I don’t.
Because for a second—
Just one—
I let myself feel it.
The relief.
The fear I’m not going to name.
The fact that if he had gone down—
No.
Stop.
I pull my hands back.
Too fast.
Reset.
Distance.
“You’re not dying,” I say.
He huffs out a breath.
“Good to know.”
I glare at him.
“You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t say thank you.”
“You’re thinking it.”
He studies me.
Then—
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I am.”
That—
That hits harder than it should.
I look away.
Because if I don’t—
I might forget everything else again.
“…this is getting worse…” I mutter.
“What is?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t have one that won’t get me into trouble.
Jase
She’s shaking.
Not much.
Just enough.
Most people wouldn’t notice.
I do.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
She stills.
Looks at me.
“What?” she asks.
“You’re good,” I tell her.
Simple.
True.
She blinks once.
Like that wasn’t what she expected.
Then—
“I know,” she says.
But it’s softer.
Less sharp.
Less defensive.
And yeah—
That does something to me I don’t have time for.
We sit there for a second.
Too quiet.
Too close.
Too—
Everything.
“You stayed,” I say.
Not a question.
An observation.
She frowns slightly.
“I wasn’t going to leave you.”
“Even though you told me to stay out of it?”
“Yes.”
“Even though I didn’t listen?”
“Yes.”
A beat.
Then—
“…don’t read into that,” she adds.
Too late.
Way too late.
I shift slightly, testing the wound.
Pain flares.
Manageable.
I can move.
Good.
Because we’re not done yet.
Not even close.
“They’ll regroup,” I say. “Push in tighter.”
“I know.”
“We need to move before they do.”
She nods.
Already back in it.
Focused.
Controlled.
But something’s changed.
Just a little.
Just enough.
We both feel it.
Neither of us says it.
Because saying it—
Makes it real.
I push to my feet.
She’s right there beside me.
Close.
Not touching.
But close.
Always close.
“Ready?” I ask.
She meets my eyes.
Steady.
Certain.
Dangerous.
“Always.”
And yeah—
That’s not just about the mission.