Page 44 of Echo: Burn
"Don't." She cuts me off, eyes fierce. "Don't you dare tell me it was a mistake. Don't tell me we shouldn't have. Don't start listing all the tactical reasons why this complicates things."
"It does complicate things."
"I don't care." She leans down, kisses me hard enough to make my point dissolve. When she pulls back, her voice is steady. "I meant what I said last night. I'm not running. Not from this. Not from you."
She says it like she means it. Like she's not going anywhere. Five years I've been on this mountain, keeping everyone at arm's length. She's the first person who made me want to stop.
"Get dressed," I say, because if I don't move now, I'll pull her back down and the Committee can wait until noon. "Let's see what our cleaner has to say."
The med bay is quiet when we enter. Too quiet.
Khalid sits in the corner, reading something on a tablet, Odin's massive head resting on the boy's leg. The dog's eyes track us with that unsettling awareness dogs have. Sarah's at the monitoring station, vitals displaying across three screens.
Cray lies still on the gurney, breathing steady. Alive. For now.
"Status?" I ask Sarah.
"Stable. Heart rate elevated in the last hour—probably coming around." She glances between Willa and me, and I see the moment she registers what's changed. A small smile touches her lips before she looks away. "Tommy said to tell you he's got something when you're ready."
"I'll check in with him after." I move to the gurney, studying Cray's face. Even unconscious, there's something predatory about him. "How long until he's fully conscious?"
"Minutes, maybe." Willa moves to the opposite side, checking the IV line with professional efficiency. "We pulled the sedation drip—figured you’d want him coherent for questioning."
"Do it."
Her hands are steady as she adjusts the line. She saved his life. Now she's prepping him for interrogation. I should be bothered. I'm not.
Within ten minutes, Cray's eyes flutter open. The disorientation lasts maybe three seconds before calculation takes over. His gaze sweeps the room—me, Willa, Sarah at the monitors, Khalid in the corner with Odin lying at his feet—cataloging threats and assets.
"Kane." His voice is rough but clear. "I'd heard you survived Kandahar. The Committee will be disappointed I failed to confirm otherwise."
"Talk." I keep my voice flat. "Protocol Seven. How many names on the list?"
"Classified." A thin smile. "Even if I knew, why would I tell you?"
"Because you're bleeding out slowly in an underground bunker surrounded by people you tried to kill." I lean closer. "Because the Committee left you for dead the second you failed. Because whatever loyalty you think you have to them is worth exactly nothing."
Something flickers in his eyes. Not fear—men like Cray don't scare easily. But recognition, maybe. Understanding that his situation is exactly as bad as I'm suggesting.
"Sixty-three names," he says finally. "Last I heard. But that was before Morrison's death. They'll have added more by now."
"Who authorized it?"
"Above my pay grade. I get target packages and payment schedules. Everything else is compartmentalized."
"Convenient." Rourke's voice comes from the doorway. I didn't hear him enter—a reminder that even after five years, my team moves like wraiths. "Who sent you after Dr. Hart?"
Cray's eyes find Willa, and I see him reassessing. "You're tougher than your file suggested. Most civilians don't drop trained operatives without hesitation."
"My father was a Marine," Willa says, voice cold. "He taught me to shoot before I learned to drive. Answer the question."
"Direct tasking from the Committee's enforcement division." Cray shifts slightly, testing his restraints. "You saved the dog. The dog knows too much. Standard sanitization protocol."
"Except it's not standard," I say. "Protocol Seven isn't about one dog and one veterinarian. It's scorched earth. So what makes Odin special enough to trigger that level of response?"
Cray's silent for a long moment. Then: "He was at the facility. The one outside Whitefish. He alerted on compounds that don't officially exist. Chemical weapons development, pre-positioned for domestic deployment. If that dog leads anyone to that cache,if someone connects those dots publicly, the Committee loses plausible deniability."
The room goes cold.
