Page 36 of Blackwood

She doesn’t move. I grind my teeth, pulse spiking. Fucking teenage drama and of course it picks now to show up.

“Bella, this isn’t a movie. There’s no time for speeches or breakdowns. You don’t understand we have to move.”

Her lips part. “Then help me understand!”

Nate’s voice punches through, “Isabella Marie Blackwood.” His tone could stop a freight train. “You don’t need to understand. You need to move. Right fucking now.”

Bella flinches.

“This op’s over. The medics are inbound, the FBI cover is in place, and you and Zeke can’t be on the scene when it hits. If you stay, you compromise everything. Go. That’s an order.”

She stands there, knuckles white, breathing like she might explode. Then she looks at me. And I see it, that storm in her eyes.

Fear. Fury. Fire.

But she moves.

We sprint to the second car and the engine roars to life. Tires scream against pavement. In the rear view mirror, the warehouse shrinks. The girls. The blood. The man I left behind. Bella’s still gripping my hand like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

Neither of us look back.

♥♥♥

BELLA - Age 16

Our Penthouse – Later that night

The city hums below, loud and endless, like it has no idea what just happened. Inside, everything’s quieter. Dim firelight. Whiskey glasses. The faint click of laptop keyboards.

Mr. Acronym finally speaks, voice calm. “For the record,” he says, glancing my way, “I meant what I said in the van. But I probably shouldn’t have shouted.”

I look over at him.

“When I told you to move,” he adds. “That tone wasn’t personal.”

“Oh.” I nod, slow. “Right. When you used my full name and dropped an f-bomb like a pissed-off dad at Disneyland.”

Tex chuckles low. “You should’ve heard him when Zeke blew a power grid in Singapore. That did get personal.”

“Tex! That was classified,” he mutters.

Zeke smirks into his glass.

“I get it,” I say. “You were right.”

He gives me a small nod. “You didn’t freak, completely. You didn’t interfere. That’s a win in my book.”

Zeke leans forward just enough to meet my eyes. “You were solid.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” Mr. Acronym says. “You didn’t fuck it up. That’s the whole point.”

Tex raises his glass. “Here’s to not fucking it up.”

I laugh under my breath as Zeke clinks his glass against Tex’s. “High bar, huh?”

“We’re a team of highly armed problem solvers,” Tex says. “Not overachievers.”