Chapter 69 Jonah
Jonah
Location: Upper Forest Ridge — Eastern Europe
The forest exhales.
Not wind.
Not weather.
Pressure.
I slow mid-step, lifting a fist without thinking. My body reacts before my mind catches up—training layered over instinct, instinct sharpened by three years of cages and pain.
Something changed.
Behind me, the hunters hesitate.
It’s subtle. A half-beat delay in movement. A breakdown in rhythm. Men who were advancing with purpose now shifting, reorienting, recalculating.
Confusion.
I breathe in slowly, ribs flaring in protest.
That’s it.
That’s the moment.
I don’t need a radio call. I don’t need confirmation.
I feel it the way you feel gravity tilt—like the world just leaned in our favor.
“They’re free,” I murmur.
The words scrape out of my throat before I realize I’ve spoken them.
I crouch behind a fallen log, eyes tracking movement downslope. The hunters’ formation is loosening. One of them raises his hand, signaling a halt that doesn’t fully register.
Too many variables now.
Too many unknowns.
That only happens when control is gone.
Ethan cross
I see his face in my mind immediately—jaw clenched, eyes steady even when they beat him for not reacting fast enough. He always took it quiet. Took it deep.
And Lance Levine, who never stopped watching, never stopped counting. Even when they broke his ribs, he kept his humor buried under his breath like contraband.
They’re out.
Ronan got to them.
My chest tightens—not pain, not fear—but something close to relief. Dangerous, if I let it spread.
I don’t.
Relief makes you careless.
I shift positions, circling higher, staying mobile. The hunters are breaking now—two peel off downhill, another checks his radio with visible frustration.
They know.
They just don’t want to say it yet.
I key the stolen radio, keeping my voice low.
“Cross. Levine,” I say quietly, like they can hear me through concrete and distance and years of hell. “You good?”
Static answers.
I smile anyway.
Ronan will be telling them the same thing. Probably already did.
I fire one controlled burst into a rocky outcrop far left—loud, sloppy, unmistakable.
The hunters jump.
They’re rattled.
Good.
Because now this part ends fast.
I move again, slipping through brush and shadow, angling toward the ridge where Ronan’s exfil path will punch through. My body hurts. Everything hurts.
But pain doesn’t own me anymore.
Malenkov lost his leverage.
Lost his prisoners.
Lost the part of the board he thought was untouchable.
And me?
I’m still here.
Still moving.
Still dangerous.
Somewhere below, Ethan Cross and Lance Levine are breathing free air again—even if they don’t know it yet.
That knowledge settles into my bones like armor.
I pick up speed.
Because the hunt isn’t over.
It’s just shifted direction.
And now—
We’re all on the same side of it.