Page 21 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

Gabe glances at Hank, then back at me, his eyes steady and reassuring. “Your old clothes should’ve been set aside with the rest of the gear. We’ll track them down.”

Tension drains from my shoulders. Relief must be written all over my face because Gabe offers the barest hint of a smile. “We promise,” he adds gently, “we’ll do everything we can to get it back to you.”

I nod, my heart still pounding from the scare. “Thank you,” I murmur, voice wavering.

Hank places a firm hand on my forearm, his quiet strength once again calming the swirl of panic in my chest. “We’ll call you as soon as we locate it,” he assures me, and there’s a layer of warmth in his tone that goes deeper than simpleprofessionalism.

My eyes flick between them, taking in the seriousness lining both their faces.

“Thank you,” I say again, cheeks warming at how often I seem to be repeating those words to them. But right now, they’re all I can manage.

Gabe shifts, rolling his shoulders like he’s about to say something, then stops, his gaze flicking to Hank before settling back on me. There’s a moment of hesitation, a flicker of something I can’t quite read—uncertainty, curiosity, maybe both.

I shift, too, suddenly restless, acutely aware of the space between us, of the way my skin still tingles from their touch. The town car idles behind me, my father waiting, but leaving feels… wrong. Like I’m walking away from something unfinished.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I step forward, wrapping my arms around Gabe first. His body tenses for half a second before he relaxes into the hug, his hands resting lightly against my back. His warmth seeps into me, steady and grounding, and when I pull away, his eyes catch mine, holding something more profound—something I hope I’m not just imagining.

Then I turn to Hank. His grip is firmer, more certain, his arms locking around me with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. He smells like leather and danger, like something I should be careful of—but don’t want to be. His fingers press just a fraction harder than necessary before he lets me go, the absence of his touch almost startling.

“We’ll call as soon as we find your USB,” Gabe says, his voice smoother now, more assured. A slow smile tugs at his lips, one that sends heat curling low in my stomach. “Can’t wait to see you again.”

My pulse stutters. The way he says it holds an air of something, something deliberate. Or maybe I’m overthinking it. Perhaps I’ve gotten this all wrong.

But God, I hope I haven’t.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I lift onto my toes and press a quick kiss to Gabe’s cheek. He stills for just a second; then his lips curve into something knowing, something amused.

Then I turn to Hank, brushing a kiss against the rough edge of his jaw. His fingers flex at his sides, his gaze darkening, and for a breathless moment, I wonder what would happen if I didn’t stop there.

But my father shifts behind me, a pointed reminder of reality.

I step back, fingers tingling, heart pounding, and force a casual smile. “Guess I’ll be waiting for your call.”

“You can count on it.” Hank’s smirk deepens, something slow and knowing. “Can’t wait to see you again, luv.”

Gabe chuckles, low and warm. “And trust me, we won’t keep you waiting long.”

Heat flares in my cheeks, but I hold their gazes, searching for any sign that I’ve been reading this all wrong. Instead, I find confirmation—Hank’s steady, heated stare, Gabe’s barely-there smirk that promises more.

A cough sounds behind me—pointed, impatient. My father.

I glance back to find him watching, one brow lifted in that way that says, enough lingering, it’s time to go. Beside him, the driver shifts, reaching for the open door like he’s seconds away from ushering me inside himself.

Exhaling, I force myself to move, my pulse still unsteady as I slide into the town car beside my father. The door swings shut with a quiet finality, sealing me back into his world.

But outside, I can still feel them—Hank’s smoldering gaze, Gabe’s unreadable smirk—like ghost touches against my skin.

My father turns, nodding once at the men in silent gratitude, before the driver pulls away.

As for my USB, that knot of worry loosens now that I know they’ll help me recover the one thing that ties me to my life’s work.

Despite the panic still buzzing beneath my skin, I manage a small, hopeful smile as Hank and Gabe recede into the distance. Their promise hangs in the air, and I cling to that thought as the car merges with the city’s restless traffic.

The following days blur into a haze of medical evaluations, debriefings by the Guardian HRS team, and well-meaning visits from acquaintances who don’t know what to say butfeel obligated to say something. I nod in all the right places, offer practiced smiles, and pretend the world isn’t tilting sideways every time I close my eyes.

At night, it’s worse.

The nightmares come like clockwork, jagged flashes of too-bright rooms and suffocating darkness. Sometimes, I wake up gasping, my heart pounding, drenched in sweat, tangled in sheets that feel too much like restraints. Other times, I don’t bolt upright—I just lie there, trapped under the crushing weight of memories that refuse to fade.

---