Page 51 of Echo: Burn
Mine. The word echoes through my head with fierce certainty.
"Kane." She pulls back to look at me. "What you said. About not wanting to let me go. Did you mean it?"
"Every word." I cup her face, thumbs tracing her cheekbones. "I know it's tactical stupidity. Know caring about you makes me vulnerable. But I meant it. I don't want to let you go."
"Then don't." Simple. Certain. Like the decision's already made. "Whatever comes next, I'm not running. And neither are you."
I should argue. Should list all the reasons why together gets people killed. Should push her away while I still can.
But I'm done fighting this. Done pretending I don't need her. Done trying to maintain distance that stopped meaning anything the second she stitched my head wound with steady hands while the Committee hunted her.
"Yeah." I pull her closer, feeling her heartbeat against my chest. "You're not going anywhere. Neither am I."
She smiles, and it transforms her face from beautiful to something that makes my chest ache. Then she winces, hand going to her hip.
"Sorry." Guilt cuts through the possessive satisfaction. "I was too rough."
"I liked it rough." She meets my eyes without shame. "I liked knowing you were marking me. Claiming me. Making absolutely certain anyone watching knew I belonged to you."
The cameras. Right. I glance up at the nearest one, knowing Tommy's probably already flagged the footage for review.
"He's going to give us so much shit," I mutter.
"Let him." Willa retrieves her coffee, takes a sip like we didn't just have desperate sex on a console surrounded by equipment worth millions. "We earned it."
The comm crackles before I can respond. Tommy's voice, carefully neutral: "Kane, when you're done with your... tactical briefing... we've got updates on the surveillance photos. Mercer found something."
Willa chokes on her coffee. I fight the urge to grin.
"On my way," I say into the comm. "Give me five minutes."
"Take ten," Tommy suggests, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Pretty sure you need it."
The comm cuts out.
"He definitely saw everything," Willa says.
"Probably." I help her straighten my shirt, which is wrinkled beyond redemption. "You okay with that?"
"Are you?"
I consider it. The old me—the operator who kept everyone at arm's length—would be furious at the exposure. At letting anyone see vulnerability.
But looking at Willa wearing my shirt with my marks on her skin, I realize I don't care who knows. Let them see. Let them understand exactly what she means to me.
"I'm okay with it," I say.
She stands on her toes, kisses me softly. "Good. Because I'm not hiding this. Not hiding us."
"Neither am I." I pull her close for one more moment, letting myself have this before we have to face whatever Mercer found. "Not anymore."
We head to the conference room where the team's assembled. Every eye tracks us when we enter—Willa in my shirt, barefoot, marks visible on her throat. Me in tactical pants and nothing else, scratches from her nails evident on my shoulders.
Stryker grins. Mercer raises an eyebrow. Rourke's expression stays neutral, but I catch the hint of approval. Sarah smiles knowingly. Even Khalid looks pleased in his quiet way.
Tommy doesn't look up from his laptop. "Nice of you to join us. Have a good... briefing?"
"Briefing went well," I say evenly. "What did Mercer find?"
