Page 63 of Duty Compromised
So I did what I always did in moments when logic failed: I calculated. Angles. Speed. Probability of pursuit. The way his knuckles flexed around the wheel. The heat of fear receding, replaced by something steadier.
We were alive.
For now.
Chapter 18
Charlotte
The headlights of passing cars swept across the windshield like searchlights, each one making my heart jump. We’d been driving for almost half an hour, the St. Louis skyline long since swallowed by darkness in the rearview mirror.
My eyes kept drifting to the dark stain spreading from Ty’s temple. The sprinklers had washed away most of the blood, but fresh blood was oozing.
It was all I could see.
He caught me staring for the third time. “It’s not a big deal.”
“You’re bleeding from your head.”
“Scalp wounds always look worse than they are. Lots of blood vessels up here.” He tapped his temple with one finger, then couldn’t quite hide the flinch. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I’ve had worse. The bleeding will stop.”
“You need stitches.” I twisted in my seat to get a better look, the seat belt cutting into my neck. The gash above his left eye was at least a half inch long, the edges gaping slightly when he turned his head. “You could have a subdural hematoma or?—”
“Charlotte.” His voice stayed gentle even as he shifted in his seat. “I’m okay. Outside of something being life-threatening, I don’t want to stop.”
I bit my tongue hard, using the sharp pain as an anchor. How was this my life? Two weeks ago, my biggest concern had been debugging quantum encryption algorithms. My work on the Cascade Protocol was supposed to be a positive thing—a breakthrough in battery diagnostics that could prevent manufacturing defects, save lives by catching failures before they happened. I’d wanted to help people. I’d wanted to make things better.
Instead, I’d created something that could be weaponized. Something worth killing for.
The research that was supposed to be my legacy had become a nightmare. Every friendly face at the lab that ran through my mind now carried the possibility of betrayal—someone I’d shared coffee with, debugged code alongside, could be the one who’d sold us out. The only world where I’d ever belonged had become a minefield.
My life was in danger.
And Ty?—
The image hit me again: him emerging from my ransacked house, each step calculated to hide how much it hurt. Blood dripping steadily from his head.
He’d gotten injured protecting me.
My throat constricted. I swallowed hard, but the pressure built anyway, climbing from my chest to my throat to somewhere behind my eyes. My breathing went shallow, then ragged.
No. I didn’t do this. My brain didn’t work this way—it processed data, algorithms, logical sequences. Not this hot, crushing weight that made my ribs feel too small for my lungs.
A sound escaped anyway—small, fractured, foreign.
“Charlotte?” Ty’s hand found mine despite the darkened cab, warm fingers wrapping around my wrist. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m—” The word broke apart. Wetness spilled down my cheeks, hot and unexpected. I touched it with genuine confusion, my fingers coming away damp.
I never cried. The last time had been at my father’s funeral when I was eighteen, and even then, it had been silent, controlled. This was neither.
“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out between these unnatural, gasping breaths that shook my whole body. “You got hurt protecting me. You’re bleeding, and your ribs—I can see how much it hurts when you move?—”
“Hey, stop.” He pulled the truck onto the shoulder, gravel crunching under the tires. Before I could process the movement, he’d unbuckled both our seat belts and pulled me across the bench seat, careful despite his injuries. He tucked me against his chest, one large hand cradling the back of my head while the other rubbed slow circles on my back. “This is all in a day’s work for me. I’ve been in firefights in Afghanistan that make this look like a playground scuffle.”
“But you weren’t protecting someone who created a weapon?—”
“You didn’t create a weapon. You created a diagnostic tool that someone else can pervert.” His voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my cheek. “And you want to know something? Watching you work these past two weeks—the way your mind attacks problems, how you see patterns nobody else would notice—you’re extraordinary, Charlotte.”
