Page 29

And she knew, with a certainty that made her breath catch, that something was building between them.
Hannah steppedout of the bathroom, a towel draped around her shoulders. Her freshly dyed hair was darker, almost black, and curled around her face. It was startlingly different, and would take some getting used to, but she liked it.
Tom sat at the table, elbows braced wide, eyes locked on his phone. He wore the same desert camouflage pants from earlier, and the tight olive-green tank did nothing to hide the defined tension in his ripped shoulders. A map was spread across the table in front of him, its creases worn and corners soft.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He didn’t look up right away. “Cell service is down.”
She stepped closer. “The whole network?”
“Yeah. Either the regime shut it down on purpose to control comms, or the rebels blew the towers. Either way, we’re dark.”
“Is that going to be a problem for us?”
Tom let out a slow breath, jaw tightening. “It could be. No backup. No way to reach out if things go sideways.”
“I thought we were on our own anyway.”
“Not entirely,” he said, looking up. “If the shit hits the fan, I know some people I can call.”
His eyes caught on her hair—and stayed. His gaze flicked over her, and she felt the warmth rise beneath her skin.
“Damn. That worked,” he murmured. “You look… different.”
She gave him a half-smile. “That was the idea.”
“No, I mean it. You could pass for a local.” His voice had gone lower, rougher.
Her hand drifted up to toy with a dark tendril near her cheek. She wasn’t used to being looked at that way—like she was something rare, something worth staring at. It caught her off guard.
Tom glanced away first, but not before she saw the flicker in his eyes. He busied himself with the map again, fingers tracing lines and routes across the country.
But something had changed.
It had started hours ago, back at the embassy, when he’d pulled her against him like she was the most important thing he’d ever protected. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, hadn’t dared give the feeling a name—but it had been growing ever since.
Her gaze dropped to his hands, so strong and capable. She could still feel them in her hair.
She shook it off. Time to focus. Her eyes dropped to the map. Syman City sat in the north, with Hamabad far to the south. Towns dotted the interior—some sizable, others no more than specks. All of it surrounded by the deep blue sweep of ocean.
“How bad is it?” she asked, meaning the situation out there.
He leaned over the map, one arm bracing the edge. “There’s a UN Air Force base five clicks west of the city. If we can make it there, they might have a flight heading out, maybe moving troops, diplomats, or whoever else they can evacuate before the border shuts down. If we’re lucky, we can hitch a ride.”
Her pulse leaped. “That’s our best shot?”
“It’s our only shot.” His eyes met hers. “But we can’t move tonight.”
“Why not?”
“There’s probably a dusk-to-dawn curfew. The whole city will go into a military lockdown. They’ll be sweeping the streets, arresting anyone who doesn’t belong.”
She looked out of the window. The sky outside had deepened to navy, stars beginning to scatter above the dusty skyline. Somewhere, far off, a pop echoed—distant but ominous.
“What if we wait too long? Won’t it be harder to leave?”
“It will. That’s why we’ll go at first light, when people are on the move. Factory workers, commuters, delivery trucks… we can blend into the noise and chaos.”