Page 3

The rumble of the truck engine is hypnotic, enough to drown out the chaos rattling through my chest.

Almost.

My head lolls against the cold metal side panel, vibrations rolling through me until I’m not sure where the truck ends and I begin.

Someone shifts closer—one of our rescuers—and his shoulder presses into mine, supporting me. Not invasive—just solid, steady, grounding. That pressure anchors me, keeps me breathing.

I don’t remember climbing out of the truck. Hands guide me down, steady and firm, and I let them, my legs swaying under me like I’m still tethered to the rumbling truck.

The ground beneath me feels impossibly solid, the thin layer of gravel shifting under my weight—quiet but disorienting after what feels like hours of endless vibration.

There’s shouting in the distance. Commands barked in sharp, clipped syllables, engines idling somewhere close, feet stomping against uneven gravel. I flinch, breath hitching, but no one reacts like I’m behaving strangely. I force my shaking hands to my sides and try to calm down .

I’m safe. We’re safe.

But the adrenaline racing through my veins is still in fight or flight mode.

The cold air needles my skin, biting through damp sweat and wiping the last remnants of warmth from the truck away. Goosebumps spread across my arms.

“Try to stand,” a voice says—male, low, rough around the edges but steady.

I blink sluggishly and look up into a face that’s been lingering outside my awareness and now is fully in focus.

For the first time, I see him.

He’s helmetless now, his stunning features revealed under the pale, muted light of the forward operating base’s floodlights.

I try to place him—the one who kept me from falling earlier?

The one who barked commands during the firefight?

They’ve been indistinguishable armored shadows for so long, but now they’re sharp and painfully human.

Everything about him is brutally beautiful without being harsh: square jaw with scruff along its edges, eyes that gleam with intense focus even in the dim light, and a quiet strength in how he holds himself, relaxed but ready. There’s something immovable about him, like bedrock—the kind of man who makes decisions while others still process the situation.

His expression is calm and reassuring, quieting the swirling chaos inside my mind. Not softness—there’s a hard edge to that gaze, unwavering, intolerant of weakness—but not cruel. There’s no judgment in how he looks at me; it’s just observation.

Controlled and precise.

I hear his words again, replaying in a loop: Try to stand. He wasn’t asking.

He nods slightly, his gaze shifting somewhere over my shoulder. Another voice—a little warmer but no less steady—chimes in: “We’ve got you.”

We.

I turn, unsteady on trembling legs.

The second man is leaner and sharper. Dangerous. His features are a constellation of contrasts.

His face is angular and precise, which could seem hard out of context, but something pulls the edges away from severity. His eyes are dark and intense—calculating, but not in a way that unsettles. Energy practically vibrates through him, restless and alert, whereas the first man was all steady stillness.

He stands just behind me to my left, observing with an intensity that feels too much yet not enough, like he’s cataloging every inch of me as if he’ll need to rewrite it later from memory.

Where the first man anchors, this one anticipates—already three steps ahead and planning contingencies.

I glance between the two men, disoriented by their intense focus. I can’t wrap my head around a surge of something hot and instinctive—so wildly out of place, it could almost pass for attraction—for both men.

The unexpected feeling quietly roots itself somewhere deep beneath my ribs. It shouldn’t be there. It shouldn’t exist, not here, not after everything.

But it is.

They flank me as if they could stop the ground from shaking—protect me from any threat. The rational part of my brain screams at its sheer absurdity, yet some part of me—small, buried, and desperate—leans into the way they hold their positions.

The taller one shifts his weight slightly, returning my attention to him.

“Hank,” he says in that same firm, low tone, as though he’s confirming something that’s already clear.

“And I’m Gabe,” the other one adds quietly. His voice provides warmth and grounding even as those calculating eyes lock on mine.

Hank glances at Gabe and then back to me, and in that silent exchange, there’s a flicker of understanding, an invisible thread connecting them. It’s as if they’ve reached a mutual decision—something that concerns me and places me at the center of their silent conversation.

They seem to be waiting for a reply, but my throat tightens around whatever words might’ve lived there. Instead, I glance toward the other rescued hostages. None of them are bracketed like this—none are flanked by a shield made solely for them.

Tentatively, I reach out, my fingers brushing against theirs in a silent plea for connection. I feel an unexpected warmth in how they each take one of my hands, their grips steady and reassuring.

“Ally,” I manage in little more than a whisper. My throat feels raw from cold air and swallowed screams, but it’s enough for both men to nod. “Ally Collins.”

“We know, luv.” Hank says, and his words hit me square in the chest, steady and direct like they’ve weighed my name in their heads before. “We’re part of the Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists.”

“Let’s get you out of the cold, sweetheart.” Gabe’s words slice through the frigid air, carrying a gentle but unyielding authority.

With that quiet command, I surrender without a second thought.

Hank and Gabe’s steady and reassuring grips on my hands exude an undeniable energy. They guide me with a protective confidence.

The next moments—or hours, I can’t be sure—blur into a strange haze of movement and noise.

I’m processed with the other rescued hostages and undergo a quick medical check. A medic examines me for injuries, shining a light in my eyes and checking my pulse.

The medical facility is nothing like Malfor’s sterile, intimidating labs. Warm lighting softens the clinical environment, and the medical staff speak gently rather than bark commands.

Throughout the exam, Hank remains at my side, a calm, stoic guardian, while Gabe steps away briefly to speak with a commander nearby.

“Does this hurt?” the medic asks, palpating a tender spot on my arm.

“A little,” I admit, but my focus shifts back to Hank, whose presence is steadying. His eyes meet mine with the same intense focus he’s had since the firefight, which somehow centers me in the midst of the chaos.

Gabe reappears with a bottle of water, the chill of the plastic a reminder of just how long it’s been since I’ve had a moment to care for myself.

“Here,” he offers, unscrewing the cap before handing it to me with a reassuring smile. “Drink. You need to stay hydrated.”

I take it, grateful for the gesture, and let the cool water slide down my parched throat, easing some of the rawness left by the cold air and lingering fear.

“Almost done, Dr. Collins,” the technician says, moving a scanner over my body. “Just standard procedure for all rescued personnel.”

My mouth quirks in a small smile. “It’s just Ally. I don’t have my PhD. At least not yet.”

He offers me a brief nod before refocusing on the monitor displaying my vitals. Everything looks normal—my heart rate is still elevated but coming down, my oxygen levels are good, and my blood pressure is stable.

The technician frowns slightly, tapping at a small anomaly on the screen. “Huh, that’s odd.”

My throat tightens. “What is it?”

“Some kind of interference.” He adjusts a few settings and reruns the scan over my wrist and neck. The scanner flickers, displaying unusual readings. He taps his tablet, which also briefly glitches. “We’ve had equipment acting strange since the extraction teams returned. Must be electromagnetic interference from the facility explosion.” He shrugs and sets the scanner aside. “All your vitals are normal though; that’s what matters.”

I rub my wrist absently, feeling nothing unusual beneath my skin now. Just smooth, normal flesh.

He sets the scanner aside and helps me off the exam table. I glance around, still a bit disoriented from the rush of recent events. The technician smiles politely, gesturing me toward the exit. “You’re all set. Gabe and Hank can take you through final processing.”

I thank him and step out of the medical tent, flanked by Hank and Gabe. The hum of activity surrounds us—radios crackling, equipment being sorted, voices echoing down hallways .

“How are you feeling?” Gabe asks, his tone gentle.

“Alive,” I manage, hugging my arms around myself. My body still trembles with lingering adrenaline.

Gabe exchanges a look with Hank. “We’ll take you to the staging area so you can decompress.” He leads me down a corridor lined with supply crates and med carts. “They’ll want a quick debrief, but after that, you can rest.”

Hank stays watchful and solid by my side, making me feel safer than I’d care to admit. As we walk, a deepening chill sinks into my bones. My shoulders shake with each step, and I wrap my arms tighter around my ribs.

We enter a wide room that smells faintly of disinfectant and rubber. Blankets and gear are scattered across tables, rescuers milling about in subdued chatter. Hank pauses near a stack of duffel bags, kneeling beside one with his name scrawled on the side. He rummages through it before pulling out a thick sweatshirt.

“Here,” he says, the gruff warmth in his voice a surprising contrast to his broad, imposing frame. “This should help keep you warm.”

I swallow hard, taking the sweatshirt. Its fabric is worn and soft beneath my fingertips. Without thinking, I lift it to my nose, inhaling the comforting scent of him—earthy and steady. The realization that he’s offering me a piece of himself, literally and figuratively, catches me off guard, and unexpected emotion swells in my chest.

Hank notices my sniff and smirks, then gently helps me slip my arms through the sleeves as though handling something fragile. The warmth of the sweatshirt envelops me, and with it comes a wave of relief that nearly buckles my knees. The tension of the last few hours snaps, leaving me undone.