Page 39 of Echo: Line

I freeze. He tilts his head, listening to something I can't hear. Then he relaxes slightly and waves me forward.

"Just deer," he says when I reach him. "But stay alert. We're getting close to the LZ."

"How close?"

"Half mile. We're early—extraction's not for another thirty minutes. We'll find overwatch position, make sure it's clear before we move in."

Professional. Tactical. Like he's done this a hundred times.

"Alex." My voice stops him. "What happens after Kane extracts us?"

He doesn't turn around. "Tommy sets you up with new identity. Relocates you somewhere off the Committee's radar. You start over."

"And you go back to Echo Ridge."

"Yeah."

"To keep fighting."

"That's the mission."

I should let it go. Should accept the gift of survival and disappear like he's suggesting. But watching his back as hescouts ahead, remembering how he positioned himself between me and every threat since we left that facility?—

I don't want to disappear.

"What if I don't run?" The words come out before I can reconsider. "What if I help you prove the truth?"

Now he turns. Looks at me like I've suggested jumping off a cliff. "You're not an operator. You're FBI. This isn't your war."

"They made it my war when they tried to kill me." I move closer, keeping my voice low. "And I have resources you don't. FBI access that hasn't been revoked yet. Profiling skills. Evidence protocols. I know how federal investigations work from the inside."

"You'd be a target. Permanently."

"I'm already a target."

"At Echo Ridge, it's worse. We operate in hostile territory constantly. No backup. No extraction if things go wrong." His jaw tightens. "People die, Delaney. Good people who knew the risks and took them anyway."

"Then teach me. Train me. Whatever it takes."

He's quiet for a long moment, studying my face like he's searching for something. Doubt, maybe. Fear. A reason to say no.

"Why?" he finally asks. "Why not take the out? Start fresh somewhere safe?"

"Because safe isn't living." The words come out stronger than I expected. "I've spent eight years following rules that turned out to be written by people who wanted me dead. When I shot at those Committee operators to save you, something shifted. I stopped being someone who observes and profiles violence and became someone capable of committing it for the right reasons."

"That doesn't mean?—"

"I'm not finished." I move closer, needing him to understand. "Watching you move through this forest, protecting me at everyturn despite your own injuries—I understand now what loyalty looks like. Real loyalty. The kind you can't fake or train into someone. And I want to be part of that."

He's quiet for a long moment. "You want to be part of what? A team that lives in caves and runs from helicopters? A mission that gets good people killed?"

"I want to be part of something that matters. Something real."

"This isn't a movie, Delaney. You don't just decide to become an operator because you had a bad week at your job."

"A bad week?" The anger surprises me. "When I helped you escape, when I chose the truth over orders, they made me a target. They tried to kill me. Tried to put a bullet in my back without hesitation. That's not a bad week. That's being shown who the real enemy is."

"Which is exactly why you should take the out," he says. "Start over. Live a normal life."