Page 36 of Echo: Burn
"I've been one." The confession comes easier in darkness. "Black ops work isn't just about military targets. Sometimes you're sent after civilians. Journalists who know too much. Whistleblowers. People whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Did you...”
"Kill civilians?" I meet her eyes. "No. That's why I'm here instead of following orders. But I came close. Close enough to know what it does to you, pulling that trigger on someone who isn't a combatant."
Silence settles between us, heavy with unspoken things.
"I'm scared," she says finally. "Not of Cray. Not of the Committee. Of what I'm becoming. I've killed people… and it's getting easier."
"That's what scares you? That you're adapting to survive?"
"That I'm not horrified anymore." She pulls her knees to her chest. "That when I shot those men, I didn't feel guilt. Just... relief that they were dead and I wasn't."
I stand, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Close but not touching. "You want to know what makes you different from Cray? From the people the Committee sends?"
"What?"
"You're scared of becoming them. They never were." My hand finds hers in the darkness. "The fact that you're questioning yourself, that you're afraid of losing your humanity—that's what proves you haven't lost it."
Her fingers curl around mine. Warm. Alive. Real.
"Kane." My name comes out rough on her lips. "When this is over—when we've exposed the Committee and stopped Protocol Seven—what happens to us?"
The question I've been avoiding. The future I don't let myself imagine.
"I don't know." I don't pull away from her touch. "I've spent five years thinking I was done with attachments. That caring about people just gives your enemies leverage. Then you showed up with a dog and stubborn courage, and everything I thought I knew got complicated."
"Complicated how?"
I'm silent too long, fighting the words. Then: "I look at you and I see someone worth fighting for. Worth dying for, if it comes to that. And that terrifies me more than any Committee operation."
"Because you might lose me?"
"Because I might not be able to protect you." My hand tightens on hers. "I couldn't protect my team in Kandahar. Couldn't save Morrison. Every person I care about becomes a target, and I'm running out of miracles."
"So what? You push everyone away? Live alone on your mountain?"
"It's worked for five years."
"Has it?" She shifts closer. "You're surrounded by a team who'd die for you. Stryker, Mercer, Rourke, Sarah, Tommy, Khalid—they're all here because you gave them a chance when no one else would. That's not isolation, Kane. That's family."
"Family gets you killed in this business."
"So does being alone." Her free hand reaches up, touching the scars on my neck. I go still. No one touches the burns. Ever. "You can't protect everyone by pushing them away. Sometimesyou just have to trust that the people you care about are strong enough to stand beside you."
The contact sends electricity through my nervous system. Her fingers trace the burn tissue gently, exploring scars I usually hide behind beard and collar.
"Willa...”
"I'm not asking for promises." Her fingers continue their exploration. "I'm not asking for forever. I'm just asking for now. For this moment where we're both alive and together and safe."
"This is a mistake." But I don't pull away. Don't stop her touch. "You should be with someone who doesn't have a kill count. Someone who can offer you normal."
"I don't want normal." Her voice is fierce. "I had normal in Chicago. Had a successful relationship, a nice house and a promising career. Normal tried to choke the life out of me."
My hand comes up, cupping her face. "I can't promise you safe."
"I don't want safe either." She leans into my touch. "I want real. I want honest. I want someone who sees the darkness I'm capable of and doesn't flinch."
