Chapter 8
HELENA
The compound settles into uneasy quiet after the reconnaissance.
I check on Traci, keeping things as calm as possible despite the tension still humming through the walls. She’s changed into her sleep clothes but has positioned her backpack within arm's reach of the bed. Survival habits that won't fade just because we tell her she's safe.
"They're gone for now," I say. "Your uncle drove them off. Tomorrow we'll reassess security."
She pulls out her notebook and writes: Will they come back?
"Probably. But not tonight. They got what they came for. Now they need time to plan their next move."
She nods, accepting it because it was honest. Traci deserves truth even when it's uncomfortable.
Can I lock my door?
"Of course. You control your space. Always."
Relief flickers across her face. She tests the lock as she did before until she’s satisfied.
I head back toward the infirmary. The main room shows signs of tactical debrief. Maps spread across the table. Finn and Cara discussing approach vectors. Eli outside running another perimeter check even though the motion sensors would alert him to any movement.
That's the thing about operatives, they can't fully trust technology. They need visual confirmation even when logic says it's unnecessary.
Checking medical supplies and readiness is a habit.
The trauma kit I brought from my practice sits ready.
I inventory the equipment, verify we have what we'd need if the next assault goes worse than reconnaissance.
Bandages, antibiotics, surgical tools for field medicine.
The quiet work keeps my hands busy while my mind processes everything that happened tonight.
Eli with his violence barely leashed. The operator David used to be, except Eli's fighting not to lose himself in it. That's the difference between them. David embraced what he became in the field. Eli's terrified of it.
I respect that fear. It means he's still human underneath the tactical training.
Footsteps in the hallway. Cara appears in the doorway.
"Helena. Got a minute?"
"Of course."
She closes the door behind her. Her expression is serious. "Rhys sent updated intel. The reconnaissance tonight was exactly what we thought. Probing defenses, mapping our security. But there's more."
"What kind of more?"
"His contact in Anchorage PD intercepted radio chatter during the retreat.
They're planning a full assault. Soon. Not clear when, but soon.
They're mobilizing reinforcements from outside the area.
" Cara leans against the counter. "We need to know what Traci saw.
Need names, descriptions, anything that helps us identify the Marshal before they come back in force. "
My stomach drops. "She's not ready for that kind of interrogation."
"I know. But we're running out of time." Cara's voice softens.
"I've worked with trafficking survivors.
I know how to be gentle. But gentle or not, we need that information.
If we can identify the Marshal, if we can get federal resources mobilized against him specifically, we cut the head off this operation before it comes for Traci again. "
"When?"
"Tomorrow morning. After she's rested. With you there to support her." She holds my gaze. "I'm sorry. I know it's not ideal. But we don't have the luxury of waiting until she's fully recovered."
"She may never be fully recovered from what they did to her."
"I know. But she's strong. Stronger than she realizes." Cara straightens. "Talk to Eli. Make sure he understands why we're doing this. He's going to want to protect her from the questions but protecting her means getting ahead of the threat."
She leaves. I stand in the infirmary surrounded by supplies for treating violence and think about a seventeen-year-old girl who survived hell only to find herself still hunted.
The compound goes quiet as people settle into watch rotation. Finn takes first shift on the perimeter. Cara monitors communications. Traci's light goes out; the door locked from the inside.
I should sleep. Tomorrow's going to require everything I have.
But sleep feels impossible with adrenaline still humming through my system and thoughts circling around what Cara said. What we're asking of Traci. What it might cost her to relive her captivity in enough detail to identify the man running the network.
I'm still awake when midnight comes and goes, thoughts circling, when the alarm screams through the compound.
Different from earlier. Longer, more urgent. Not just perimeter sensors. This is proximity alert. Someone close to the compound.
I'm moving before thought catches up. Out of the infirmary, down the hallway toward Traci's room. She's already awake, the door unlocked, eyes wide with fear.
"Come with me. We're going to the reinforced storage room."
She grabs her backpack, follows without question. We make it to the steel-walled room Finn uses for ammunition and emergency supplies as gunfire erupts outside. Not the distant pop of reconnaissance. This is close. Sustained. Multiple weapons exchanging fire.
The contractors came back. Not to probe this time. To test defenses with actual force.
I lock the heavy door behind us. The walls are reinforced steel, designed to stop small arms fire. We're as secure as possible while those outside handle the threat.
Traci's breathing goes shallow, pupils dilating—panic setting in.
"Look at me." I keep my voice steady despite my own racing pulse. "We're safe in here. Your uncle and the others know what they're doing. Our job is to stay put and breathe."
More gunfire. Closer now. The contractors have advanced past the outer perimeter.
Traci pulls out her notebook with shaking hands. Writes:
Are they going to kill them?
"Your uncle's not going to let that happen."
What if they get killed?
The fear underneath the question is pure. She's already lost everyone. Can't bear to lose the few people she's starting to trust.
"They're trained for this. All of them. Military backgrounds, tactical experience. They know how to defend a position." I move closer. "Let’s breathe together. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four."
She follows my lead. Shaky at first but finding rhythm. We breathe through sustained gunfire. Through what sounds like grenades or flashbangs. Through shouted commands I can't quite make out.
Then silence. Sudden and absolute.
Traci's eyes go wide. Is it over? Did the contractors breach? Are Eli and the others still alive?
Footsteps in the hallway. Deliberate, purposeful. Someone who knows where we are.
A knock. "Helena. It's me."
Eli's voice. I unlock the door.
He's there in full tactical gear. Blood on his sleeve but he's moving normally. Rifle in hand, expression carefully blank but adrenaline still running hot underneath.
"Secure. They withdrew. I hit a couple of them. Non-fatal wounds based on how they moved during retreat. We drove them back."
Relief floods through me so hard I nearly sag against the doorframe. "You're okay?"
"I'm fine. Finn took a graze to the shoulder but it's minor. Cara's fine." His eyes track to Traci. "You did good. Stayed where you were supposed to, didn't panic. That's exactly what I needed you to do."
Traci writes:
I was scared.
"Being scared and doing the right thing anyway? That's courage." Eli's voice gentles slightly. "Get some rest. We're going to step up security. Nobody's getting close again."
But Traci's still writing:
Did you kill anyone?
She needs to know what he's capable of.
"I shot a couple of them. Non-fatal wounds. They'll survive, but they won't forget what it costs to come at this compound."
Traci nods slowly. Writes again:
I feel safe with you and Helena. Even when I'm scared.
I can see it in Eli's expression. The weight of it.
"That's what matters," he says quietly. "Now sleep. Tomorrow's complicated."
Once Traci's back in her room, the door locked, I find Eli outside checking sensors again. Compulsive need to verify what technology already confirms. The perimeter is clear.
"They're gone."
"For now."
The night air is cold enough to see our breath. Eli's still running on adrenaline, still wound tight from the firefight. The crash is coming, and when it does, he'll either process it or bury it.
"How are you doing?"
"Managing."
"That's what David always said. Right up until he wasn't."
Eli's jaw clenches. "I'm not David."
"No, you're not. You're trying to deal with this instead of pretending it doesn't affect you." I step closer. "But you're also running on combat adrenaline and eventually that's going to crash. When it does, you don't have to handle it alone."
He looks at me in the dim light, searching for the angle, the hidden cost of accepting help.
"Why?"
"Because I watched David destroy himself trying to be just the operative. Because you remind me of him but you're fighting not to become him. Because I care what happens to you." The honesty comes easier than expected. "And because I'm tired of pretending this pull between us doesn't exist."
He doesn't answer immediately. Still calculating, still weighing tactical discipline against need.
"This is dangerous," he says quietly.
"Good."
He sets the rifle aside carefully. Positions it where it's still within reach but not between us. Then he closes the distance, one hand cupping my face. His palm is rough, calloused from years in the wilderness. His thumb traces my cheekbone with unexpected gentleness.
"I don't know how to do this. Haven't been close to anyone in years. Don't know how to be gentle."
"I don't need gentle. I need you." I hold his gaze. "We'll figure it out."
His pupils dilate, jaw working. Dark and hungry before he wrestles it back. "I could hurt you."
"Not likely. I've delivered babies and set compound fractures. I know what my body can handle." I cup his face, make him look at me. "Stop thinking and touch me."