Page 116 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

Rigel stands, jaw clenched. “This whole place is a fucking death trap.”

I look at Jenna—at the way her hands tremble, at the wild look in her eyes. She saw it. Carter didn’t hesitate. He put her life above his own.

And we’re not even out yet.

The wind screams past us again, whipping grit and salt across our faces as we press forward, the cliff’s edge still yawning to our right like a hungry mouth waiting for its next meal. It’s two hundred feet of sheer drop to the churning ocean below. Wind howls around us, carrying salt spray and the distant crash of waves against rock.

“Comms check,” Ethan says, adjusting Rebel in his arms. “Ghost, confirm extraction.”

“RIBs in position,” Ghost’s voice crackles through our earpieces. “Two hundred feet down. Lights will activate on your approach.”

Ethan kicks open a heavy waterproof case stashed at the edge of the platform. “Rappel gear. Eight sets, six with passenger capacity.”

“Let’s move,” he orders. “Walt, get the lines secured.”

Walt quickly sets up the anchors and tests the rappel lines. His hands move without hesitation, checking and double-checking each connection. The women watch with tense faces.

“Pair up,” Ethan directs. “I’ve got Rebel. Jeb with Stitch. Rigel with Mia. Carter with Jenna. Walt with Malia.” He looks between me and Hank. “Gabe, you take Ally. Hank and Blake, you’ll provide covering fire and come down last.”

“My leg—” I start.

“Isn’t a factor,” Ethan cuts me off. “You’re still our best climber.”

No arguing with that. I help Ally into a harness, checking each strap.

“You’ve done this before?” She searches my face.

“A few times.” I meet her eyes. “Trust me?”

A half-smile touches her lips. “Do I have a choice?”

“Always.”

“First wave, go,” Ethan orders.

Carter and Jenna step off first, followed by Rigel and Mia, then Jeb and Stitch. Each pair vanishes over the edge. Walt and Malia follow—she slips once, a small cry escaping before Walt adjusts their line, steadying her.

Ethan goes next with Rebel secured against his chest in a special harness. Their descent is slower and more careful due to her injuries.

My turn comes with Ally. I secure her harness to mine, double-checking the connections despite my shaking hands. Pain radiates from my injured leg as I take position at the edge, but I push it aside. Pain is just information. I refuse to be the weak link.

“Ready?” I ask Ally.

She meets my eyes, trust and determination mingling. “Let’s go home.”

We step backward into empty space, controlling our descent as we rappel down the cliff face. Wind buffets us, salt spray stinging my eyes. My injured leg screams with each push off the rock face, but I keep our descent steady.

Above us, Hank and Blake provide covering fire as drones appear on the horizon. Muzzle flashes illuminate the cliff top.

“Incoming!” Hank’s voice crackles through comms. “Security drones, armed. Thirty seconds out.”

A spotlight suddenly cuts through the darkness, sweeping across the cliff face. The beam catches us, momentarily blinding me as we continue our descent.

Above us, gunfire erupts. Muzzle flashes illuminate the cliff top as Hank and Blake engage the drones. Searchlights sweep the rock face, hunting for movement.

“Faster,” I urge, increasing our rappel speed.

The ocean surges closer. I can make out the RIB now, Ethan and the first wave already aboard. Two hundred feet. One-fifty. One hundred.