Page 30 of Echo: Line

Get me somewhere safe. Like I'm a package to deliver instead of a person who just destroyed her entire life to help him.

The reality hits fresh every time I stop moving. Twenty-four hours ago, I was FBI. Eight years of service. Clean record. Rising through the ranks. Everything I'd worked for since I was eighteen and decided to be better than my father.

Now I'm a fugitive. Wanted by the same organization that employs me. Hunted by a shadow group that tried to kill me. And I can't go back. Can't call my supervisor, can't report to Quantico, can't fix this through official channels.

Because the official channels tried to put a bullet in my head.

"We need to keep moving," Alex says, scanning the tree line. "Committee will have aerial assets up soon if they don't already. We're exposed here."

I force myself to stand. My legs protest, but they hold. "How much farther?"

"Six miles to where Kane wants us. Defensible position, good cover, water source." He looks at me, assessing. "Can you make it?"

The question irritates me. "I'm FBI. I can handle six miles."

Amusement flickers across his face—brief, controlled. "Never said you couldn't."

We move.

The next two hours blur together. Pine trees and rocky slopes and the constant burn in my muscles. Alex adjusts his pace slightly—not slow enough to be obvious, but enough that I can keep up without completely destroying myself. The consideration is both appreciated and annoying.

Watching him as we hike, I can't help but study the way he moves. He uses natural cover even though no threat is visible. Positions himself between me and the most likely approach vectors. Military-precise discipline so ingrained it's automatic.

And amidst the exhaustion, the fear, the complete destruction of my career—watching him work is still compelling. This is someone who knows exactly what he's doing. Someone who's kept himself alive against impossible odds for eight months.

Someone who warned me when he could have used me as a distraction and run.

"Rest," he says, stopping in a small clearing protected by heavy tree cover. "We're making good time. Can afford ten minutes."

I drop onto a fallen log, not bothering to hide the relief. My shirt is soaked with sweat despite the cold mountain air. Blisters have formed on both heels where my shoes don't fit right anymore.

Alex doesn't sit. Just stands at the edge of the clearing, weapon ready, scanning. He's never still.

"Do you ever stop?" I ask.

"Stop what?"

"Being on guard. Being ready for a threat."

He's quiet for a moment. "No. Not really."

"That's exhausting."

"It keeps you alive."

The words hang between us. Simple truth. No drama, no emphasis. Just the reality of what his life has become.

What my life has become now too.

The thought makes my chest tight. "I can't go back, can I? Even if I wanted to."

He turns to look at me. "No."

"Just... no? That's it?"

"Would you prefer I lie?" He moves closer, lowers his voice even though we're alone in the wilderness. "They'll debrief you. Discover you helped me escape. Charge you with aiding a terrorist. Best case scenario, you're fired and blacklisted. Worst case, federal prison. Or the Committee decides you're a liability and sends another team."

Each scenario hits harder than the last. "So I'm just... burned? My whole career, everything I worked for since I was eighteen?"