Page 36 of Echo: Line

"Like a brother. He's the reason I'm still breathing. Lot of times over."

"And you were going to let them torture you rather than give him up."

"Yeah. I was."

"Why?"

No simple answer to that.

"He'd do the same for me. And some things are worth more than your own survival." I pause. "The Committee tried to break me for four days. Drugs, pain, psychological manipulation. Every technique designed to crack operators like me. And I kept thinking about Kane walking into my kill zone in Montana. Unarmed. Just his voice and his courage and his absolute certainty that I was worth saving."

"He sounds like a good man."

"He's the best man I know. Which is why they'll never get him through me."

Delaney stirs. I hear fabric rustle, feel her move closer.

"I've spent eight years with the FBI," she says quietly. "Good people, mostly. Dedicated. Competent. But I don't know if any of them would take torture for me. And I don't know if I'd take it for them either. I've never had that kind of loyalty. Never even knew it existed."

"You have it now. From me."

The words come out before I think them through. But they're true. Somewhere between the facility and this cave, between her saving my life and me protecting hers, the equations changed. She's not FBI anymore. She's not a complication or a liability.

She's one of us.

"Thank you," she says softly.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while. My body is exhausted, running on reserves that are nearly depleted. But my mind is sharp, alert, processing threats and scenarios and contingencies.

"Can I ask about your scars?" Her voice is careful. "The visible ones."

"Which ones?"

"Your wrists. The marks look recent."

I look down at my hands even though I can't see them. The restraint marks are still there—abraded skin where zip ties cut in during four days of interrogation. Fresh enough that they'll take weeks to fully heal.

"At their facility," I say simply. "They kept me restrained most of the time. Chemical interrogation first, then pain compliance when that didn't work fast enough."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not much. Surface damage mostly." I flex my fingers, feel the slight stiffness. "I've had worse."

Her hand finds mine in shadow. Her fingers trace the damaged skin, gentle and deliberate. "What did it feel like? Being captured?"

Most people don't ask. They look away, uncomfortable, or they stare with morbid fascination but never voice the question. Delaney asks like she actually wants to know. Like my answer matters.

"Like drowning," I say honestly. "They dose you with chemicals that make time stop meaning anything. Make your own thoughts turn against you. You know what they want—names, locations, operational details. And part of your brain starts calculating whether giving them something small might make it stop."

"But you didn't."

"No. Because I kept thinking about my team. About what they'd do if the Committee found them. About Kane walking into my kill zone unarmed, trusting me not to kill him." I pause. "Some things are worth more than stopping the pain."

Her hand hasn't moved from my wrist. "You're stronger than I thought possible."

"Just stubborn. There's a difference."

"I'm not staring because they're ugly, Alex."