Foreword
Into it.
Of course she is.
I move with her instantly.
No hesitation.
No second guessing.
We cut across the ridge, angling toward thicker cover as the enemy advances.
“Three—no, five hostiles!” Jonah calls.
“I’ve got two!” Ronan says calmly.
Shots ring out from above.
Two drop.
But the rest—
They keep coming.
“They’re closing distance!” Lance warns.
I see it now.
This isn’t just pressure.
This is a push.
They’re trying to force us into close quarters.
Mistake.
“Hold the line!” I order.
We stop retreating.
Turn.
Engage.
Mila is beside me again, already firing—clean, controlled, deadly accurate.
One down.
Another.
She moves like she’s done this her whole life.
Like she was built for it.
A hostile breaks left—
I track him—
Fire—
He drops.
“Clear right!” I call.
“Left still active!” Mila snaps.
Then—
Everything shifts.
A shot cracks—
Too close.
Too sharp.
Mila jerks.
Time—
Slows.
“Mila!”
She stumbles back half a step.
My chest locks.
I’m already moving before the thought even finishes.
I grab her—
Pull her down behind cover as another round slams into the tree above us.
“Talk to me,” I demand.
She’s breathing hard.
Too hard.
“I’m fine,” she says.
Liar.
“Where?”
She hesitates.
That’s all I need.
“Where,” I repeat, sharper.
“…Side,” she admits.
I don’t even think.
My hand moves to her waist—finding the spot.
Warm.
Wet.
Blood.
Something inside me snaps.
“Stay down,” I order, voice deadly calm.
“I’m not—”
“Stay. Down.”
She freezes.
Not because she has to.
Because she hears it.
That edge.
That line I just crossed.
Gunfire erupts again.
“They’re pushing!” Cal shouts.
“I’ve got them!” I fire back, already rising.
Every instinct I have narrows to one thing:
No one touches her again.
I step out from cover—
And I stop holding back.
Shots land faster now.
Cleaner.
More precise.
One after another.
I don’t feel the recoil.
I don’t hear anything except the threat.
And the need to eliminate it.
“Jase—” Mila’s voice cuts through behind me.
But I’m already moving forward.
Closing distance.
Ending it.
Another hostile drops.
Then another.
“They’re pulling back!” Lance calls.
“Yeah,” Ronan adds. “They’re breaking.”
Damn right they are.
I hold position a second longer.
Make sure.
Make sure.
Then I turn—
And I’m back at her side in two strides.
“Let me see,” I say, already dropping to one knee.
“I told you, I’m fine,” she says, but there’s strain in it now.
I don’t listen.
Carefully, I shift her slightly, checking the wound.
Grazed.
Not deep.
But close enough to matter.
Too close.
Relief hits harder than anything else has today.
“You’re lucky,” I mutter.
Her eyes meet mine.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “I am.”
Something passes between us again.
Stronger now.
Deeper.
Because this time—
It almost didn’t happen.
“You don’t get to do that again,” I say.
Her brow lifts slightly.
“Get shot?”
“Get hurt.”
A beat.
Then—
She reaches for me.
Not dramatic.
Not desperate.
Just—
There.
Her fingers brushing my arm.
“You don’t get to either,” she says quietly.
That lands.
Hard.
Because she means it.
Because she feels it too.
Because whatever this is between us—
It’s not one-sided.
Not even close.
Gunfire fades completely now.
Silence returns.
But this time—
It’s different.
Because now we both know exactly what we stand to lose.
And neither of us is willing to let it happen.