Page 27 of Echo: Line

"Fine." I lean back, give her access to the wound. "Make it quick."

She's gentle as she lifts my shirt, peels back the pressure bandage. Her fingers are cool against my skin, and I force myselfto focus on the pain instead of the way her touch makes my pulse jump.

"No fresh bleeding," she says after a moment. "The packing held. But we need to get you to a real doctor soon. This needs stitches, probably antibiotics."

"Add it to the list."

She meets my eyes. "You know I'm right."

"I know." I gesture to the phone. "Heard from Tommy. Kane can't extract for another day or two. Committee's hitting their facilities, keeping them defensive."

Fear flickers across her face—brief, controlled, then buried. The reality sinking in that we're on our own. "So we move."

"We move."

"Where?"

"North. Deeper into the wilderness. Committee search teams work on grid patterns. If we stay mobile, stay unpredictable, we can stay ahead of them." I pause. "It's going to be hard. Rough terrain, no supplies, limited water. You up for it?"

She looks at me like I just asked if the sky is blue. "What's my alternative?"

"I can call Kane, have him arrange a separate extraction for you. Get you somewhere safe while I?—"

"No." The word is flat. Final. "I'm in this now. All the way."

"Delaney—"

"I shot two Committee operators yesterday. I threw away my career. I'm wanted by the same people who tried to kill me." Her voice is steady, certain. "So yeah, Alex. I'm ready for whatever comes next."

The certainty in her voice makes my chest tighten, makes it hard to breathe for a second. She means every word. All in, consequences be damned. The kind of commitment I've only seen in operators who understand what it costs.

I have to look away before she sees too much in my eyes.

"Get some more sleep," I say. "We move at first light."

"What about you?"

"I'll rest once we're clear."

She studies me for a long moment, like she's trying to decide whether to push. Finally, she nods. "Wake me in two hours. We'll switch."

"Delaney—"

"Two hours, Alex. You can't keep watch forever."

She's right, but I don't admit it. Just watch as she settles back down near the fireplace, wraps herself in the blankets, and closes her eyes. Within minutes, her breathing evens out again.

But this time, her hand drifts to her weapon before she fully relaxes.

Learning fast.

Dawn breaks cold and gray, seeping through gaps in the cabin walls like water through cracks. I've been awake all night—couldn't sleep, wound too painful, mind too active with scenarios and contingency plans. Delaney didn't wake for her watch shift. I let her sleep. She needed it more than I need perfect vigilance.

She stirs as the light strengthens. Hand on weapon, eyes scanning, body coiled to move. When she sees me still sitting against the wall where she left me, frustration crosses her face.

"You didn't wake me."

"You needed the rest."