Chapter 41 Cal
Cal
Location: Forward Medical Safehouse — Eastern Europe
Time: Three Days After Extraction
The ceiling is white.
Too white.
I stare at it until my eyes burn, waiting for it to flicker, waiting for the lights to shut off, waiting for the pain to come back in waves the way it always does.
It doesn’t.
Which makes my chest ache worse than the injuries ever did.
My wrists are bandaged. My arms are free.
That alone feels wrong.
A machine hums softly beside the bed—steady, patient. IV drip. Heart monitor. The sound of survival.
The door opens quietly.
I don’t turn my head. I already know who it is.
“Cal, you’re awake,” Ronan says.
Just my name, spoken like it still matters.
I swallow hard. “How long?”
“Long enough,” he answers.
Footsteps. A chair pulls closer. He doesn’t crowd me. Doesn’t hover. He sits where I can see him if I want to.
I keep staring at the ceiling.
“Did I break?”
Ronan doesn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t give names,” I rush on. “I didn’t give locations. I didn’t break.”
My voice breaks on the last word.
Silence stretches.
I clench my jaw, waiting for disappointment. For anger. For the look that says you failed us.
It never comes.
Instead—
“You survived,” Ronan says quietly. “That was your job. You didn’t break.”
My chest tightens painfully. “Jonah didn’t.”
Ronan exhales slowly. “Jonah is still alive.”
I turn my head then—too fast, dizziness slamming into me.
“What?”
“He might have broke,” Ronan continues evenly. “And he’s still alive.”
Tears spill before I can stop them. Hot. Humiliating.
“I was weak,” I whisper. “I almost gave them everything. I’m sure I would have broken.”
Ronan leans forward, forearms on his knees.
“You were tortured,” he says. “And you held longer than any man should be asked to.”
“That’s not strength,” I choke.
“Yes,” Ronan says firmly. “It is.”
I shake my head. “You came for me.”
“Always,” he answers. “I would have come sooner if I knew you all were alive.”
The word hits harder than any blow ever did.
I press my face into the pillow, shoulders shaking. “I thought you were dead. I thought Lena was dead. They told us—”
“I know,” Ronan says softly. “That’s why this ends with Malenkov.”
“Let me help,” I whisper. “I owe—”
Ronan cuts me off gently. “You don’t owe me anything.”
He stands.
“You heal,” he says. “That’s the mission right now.”
The door closes quietly behind him.
I finally let myself cry.
Not because I almost broke.
But because I didn’t die.
And that means I have to live because I survived.