52. Evie
EVIE
The helicopters land outside a private medical hangar surrounded by miles of wooded farmland.
No uniforms wait on the tarmac.
No government vehicles.
Only three ambulances without identifying markings and a team of medical professionals who don’t ask for names.
Cutter arranged everything.
A former special operations medic meets Rook at the helicopter.
“You were shot.”
“It missed everything important.”
The medic looks at the blood soaking Rook’s sleeve.
“I’ll decide that.”
Falcon leans toward Cobra. “I like him.”
“Rook doesn’t.”
“That’s why I like him.”
The medics begin separating us.
Rook and Falcon are taken first.
Mac tries to refuse a stretcher until his knees buckle beneath him.
Shark catches his arm.
“You can walk later.”
“I’m fine.”
“Wrong team for that lie.”
Mac allows himself to be helped inside.
Fathom carries the evidence case toward a secure room in the back of the hangar. Cobra walks directly behind him, one hand resting on the lid as if the files might try to escape.
Maverick, Rogue, and Reef establish a perimeter.
No one relaxes.
Not yet.
A medic approaches Caleb.
He looks at the blood covering his jacket.
“You’re next.”
“I’m fine.”
I fold my arms.
“No, he isn’t.”
Caleb looks at me.
“Traitor.”
“You’re bleeding through two bandages and were struck in the chest by a bullet.”
“The armor stopped it.”
“The armor didn’t stop the bruising beneath it.”
The medic points toward the treatment area.
“She’s right.”
Caleb’s mouth tightens.
I take his hand.
“Please.”
That is what makes him move.
Inside the hangar, temporary treatment bays have been created with canvas dividers. Medical equipment hums beneath harsh white lights.
The medic cuts Caleb’s shirt away.
My breath catches.
His ribs are covered with dark bruises. The graze along his side has reopened, and a nearly black circle marks the place Victor’s bullet struck his armor.
Caleb watches my face.
“It looks worse than it is.”
“Stop saying that.”
The medic examines him. “No obvious rib instability, but I want imaging. The side wound needs stitches.”
“I can wait.”
“No,” the medic and I say together.
Caleb looks from one of us to the other.
“I’m outnumbered.”
“Yes.”
The medic cleans the wound.
Caleb doesn’t flinch when the antiseptic touches torn skin.
His fingers tighten around the edge of the table instead.
I cover his hand with mine.
The tension leaves his fingers.
Only slightly.
But I feel it.
The medic injects a local anesthetic and begins closing the wound.
“You can wait outside,” Caleb tells me.
“I’m not leaving.”
“Evie.”
“You came into a parking garage while three men were trying to kill me. I can remain while someone gives you stitches.”
Something moves behind his eyes.
Warm.
Unprotected.
“Fine.”
The word is barely audible.
A phone rings in the adjoining treatment bay.
Cobra answers.
His voice carries through the divider.
“Blaze.”
Caleb goes completely still.
Cobra listens for a moment.
Then laughs.
“You did what?”
A pause.
“No. I’m not criticizing. I wish I’d seen it.”
Caleb pushes himself upright.
“Is he safe?”
Cobra appears around the divider.
“Blaze and Felicity are fine. So is Eagle River.”
The breath leaves Caleb.
Not visibly.
Not to anyone who doesn’t know where to look.
I see it in the sudden lowering of his shoulders.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Graves’s team never reached Texas. Blaze’s friends blocked the transport aircraft before it left Virginia. The men sent to the airfield found themselves surrounded by a very unhappy collection of Rangers.”
Falcon calls from the next bay.
“I would pay to see that.”
“So would I,” Cobra says.
Caleb closes his eyes for one second.
His brother is alive.
Felicity is safe.
The people Caleb loves survived.
The medic finishes the final stitch.
“Done.”
Caleb looks toward the secure evidence room.
“No. We aren’t.”
I follow his gaze.
He’s right.
Charles Whitmore escaped.
Walter Graves escaped.
And Black Banner remains active.
But for this one breath, Caleb’s brother is safe.
The team survived.
And his hand is still beneath mine.
That is enough to keep us standing.