Page 101 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL
Eli appears behind me, medical bag slung over his shoulder. He snaps on latex gloves as he assesses the setup, his usual gentle demeanor replaced by razor focus.
"We move her wrong, we bury her," he mutters. "Maybe ninety seconds left."
"Tell me what to do."
He doesn't answer. Just works. His hands move with surgical precision, identifying which wires mean life or death. I keep my eyes on Lucia, trying to project calm I don't feel.
She clutches something in her fist—a pink ribbon. Probably pulled from her own hair. The sight hits me like a physical blow because I know what this is. What it's always been.
Sloane was right. This was bait.
But not just to draw us out. This was Granger's test. His way of asking if I've changed. If I'd hesitate to save another civilian, knowing what it cost last time.
Thirty seconds.
Eli whispers something—a prayer maybe—and makes his move.
Snip. Switch. The timer freezes.
Lucia's sob breaks the silence.
Raw. Relieved. Human.
I exhale, but it's not relief I feel. Just confirmation that the game isn't over.
"Caleb, extract her. West trail. Quiet."
They disappear into the dark, leaving me alone with the ghosts. But there's something else here. A scent beneath the gasoline.
Ash.
I follow it to the next room. An open case sits on a metal desk, its contents partially burned but not destroyed.
Files. Photos. Dog tags.
Granger's trophies from Echo-13.
My hands don't shake as I move closer. Because of course he kept them. Of course he wants me to see what he saved. What he remembers.
Then I spot it. One more folder, untouched by flames.
LOGAN BISHOP
I don't need to open it. The weight of its contents presses against my mind like a bruise. Every order I questioned. Every call I made that led us here. Every life I thought I was saving.
I crouch down. Strike a match.
The flame catches easily, hungrily. I watch my past turn to ash, feeling nothing but the cold certainty that this won't be the last fire Granger starts.
Standing, I speak into my comm: "She's safe. Building is clear. But this was never about Lucia."
The pause that follows feels heavy with understanding.
Sloane's voice comes through, tight with concern: "Then what was it about?"
I look down at the smoldering remains of who I used to be. "Reminding me what I failed to protect."
I turn to leave, already planning our exit strategy, when my comm crackles again. But it's not Asa's frequency. Not Sloane's.
