Page 29 of Rescuing Aria
“You’re right.” Ember flashes that sly grin of hers. “I didn’t.”
She tosses a wink over her shoulder. “See you later. Nice to meet you, Storm. Razor.”
“Well met,” Razor says—and I don’t miss how his gaze never leaves Ryn.
Not even for a second.
Ryn pauses at the door. Just a heartbeat. Then her gaze flicks back to him.
Color rises up her throat, blooming fast across her cheeks like she wasn’t expecting whatever that was—whatever just passed between them.
She drops her gaze, pushes through the door, and Razor finally blinks.
He watches her go like he’s marking her silhouette into memory.
“She seems young,” he says after a beat, voice low. Calm. But something sharp threads beneath it.
“She looks younger than she is.” Jenny crosses her arms over her chest, eyes still on the mess hall door long after it swings shut. But something shifts. “She’s eighteen.” Her spine straightens, chin lifting slightly like she’s bracing for impact.
The edge in her voice tightens—barely—but I catch it.
“What’s her story?” Razor asks.
“Foster system. Then Damien Wolfe’s Night Pack.” Her mouth hardens around the words. “She’s survived more than most people twice her age.”
A beat of silence.
Then her shoulders lower, arms falling to her sides, fists unclenching. “She’s been through hell,” she murmurs, quieter now. “And came out standing.”
Jenny’s gaze flicks sideways. Sharp. Calculating.
She clocked the way Razor watched Ryn walk out—curious, quiet, focused in that way only operators get when something matters. Jenny doesn’t bristle. Doesn’t issue a warning. She doesn’t have to. Instead, she straightens, turning to face him fully, the tilt of her chin pure Guardian.
“She’s a part of the Delta team family.” Her voice is steady and low. “Every single one of us would take a bullet before letting her get hurt again.”
“Understood.” Razor doesn’t flinch. Just meets her gaze, expression unreadable.
Jenny studies him for a long second. Then something shifts—barely visible—but I feel it all the same. A loosening at the corners of her mouth. A subtle nod, almost imperceptible.
“She’s got a long road ahead of her,” she adds, quieter now. “Tread carefully.” She turns without another word, moving toward the armory with that same fluid, coiled stride that always makes people get the hell out of her way.
I glance at Razor.
He’s still watching the door, but now, there’s something else on his face.
Respect. Maybe a little awe.
And the faintest flicker of something I recognize all too well. His jaw ticks once, like he’s locking something down behind his teeth.
“I’ve got to make a call before our next briefing.” I check my watch and stand.
“Tell Aria we said hi,” the entire table choruses, followed by laughter.
I flip them off good-naturedly as I exit, already pulling out my phone. Their teasing is relentless, but underneath it lies the only truth that matters: we’re family. Dysfunctional, dangerous, and fiercely loyal.
And now, we’re two members stronger.
Outside, the evening air carries the scent of pine and possibility. I find a quiet spot near the training field and dial Aria’s number.
