Chapter 70 Ronan
Ronan
Location: Ascendancy Detention Wing → Eastern Exfil Route
The alarms change.
Not louder.
Closer.
That’s Malenkov realizing exactly what he’s lost.
“Move,” I say.
Delta Five closes ranks instantly. Ethan Cross is on his feet but swaying—muscle memory fighting damage. Lance barely makes it two steps before his knees buckle.
I catch him before he hits the floor.
“I’ve got you,” I tell him.
His fingers clamp into my sleeve with surprising strength. “Knew you’d come,” he mutters, like this was always a certainty.
“It just took a minute,” I say.
Aaron and Miles flank Ethan, weapons up, bodies angled to shield him. Jase takes rear security. Lena’s voice tightens in my ear.
“Multiple internal teams converging. You’ve got ninety seconds before contact. Ronan, get your ass out of there.”
Plenty of time.
We move fast but controlled. No sprinting. No panic. You don’t rush injured men—you carry the clock for them.
The first shots crack down the corridor ahead of us.
I fire once.
Then again.
Two guards drop. The rest scatter.
Malenkov’s people are trained—but they’re trained to dominate prisoners, not fight men who refuse to stop moving.
“Left!” Lance rasps.
I pivot on instinct and fire into the shadowed recess before the muzzle flash even blooms.
Hit.
I glance down at him.
Still sharp.
Good.
“Jonah just collapsed the uphill pursuit,” Lena reports. “Hunters are disengaging.”
Of course he did.
“That’s our window,” I say. “We take it.”
The corridor splits—Bravo route to the surface. The same corridor, Malenkov believed, was locked down.
Smoke pours from a ruptured conduit ahead, alarms screaming now, lights flickering like the place itself knows it’s dying.
Ethan stumbles.
Aaron tightens his grip. “Easy, brother.”
Ethan exhales, nodding once. “Still here.”
That’s all any of us ever needed to hear.
The blast door looms ahead—final barrier before daylight access.
“Charges?” Miles asks.
“No,” I answer. “Manual.”
I won’t let Malenkov take another piece.
I slam my hand onto the release panel, override screaming as I force it through.
The door shudders.
Rounds slam into the wall behind us.
Lance stiffens.
“You’re bleeding,” I say.
He snorts. “Been bleeding for four years.”
The door opens.
Cold air rushes in.
Real air.
Forest air.
We move as one.
Outside, the extraction zone is chaos—rotors already spinning, dust and debris whipping the clearing into a storm.
Delta Five fans out, weapons high.
I guide Ethan up the ramp personally. He collapses into the med bay with a grunt, eyes never leaving mine.
“You kept the promise,” he says.
I grip his shoulder. “Always.”
Lance is right behind him, supported but standing. He pauses at the threshold, looks back at the facility burning behind us.
Then at me.
“Permission to forget that place exists?” he asks quietly.
“Denied,” I say. “But you never have to go back.”
That’s enough.
The ramp slams shut.
The bird lifts. I look around, and that’s when I see Marin sitting in the back, wiping a tear from her cheek.
Below us, the Ascendancy burns—not in flames, but in purpose lost, control shattered.
Malenkov thought chains were leverage.
He forgot something basic.
You don’t weaken Navy SEALs by breaking their bodies.
You just teach them how much they’re willing to endure for each other.
I sit back, finally letting myself breathe.
“Jonah,” I say into the comm. “We’ve got them.”
A pause.
Then his voice—rough, relieved, alive.
“Roger that,” Jonah says. “Told you I’d hold.”
I close my eyes for just a second.
“Rendezvous point,” I tell him. “You’re coming home too.”
Because no one gets left behind.
Not today.
Not ever again.