Page 128 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

This is the sound of the world breaking. None of us will ever be whole again.

“Don’t.” Blake catches his arm despite his own injured hands. “He wouldn’t want you to destroy yourself.”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Gabe whirls on him, eyes wild with grief and rage that has nowhere safe to land. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

His chest heaves like he’s drowning. Blood streams from split knuckles, drips onto the deck in steady drops that sound like rain on metal. The medics move around us, turning off equipment, preparing for transport, the business of death.

“I should have been faster,” Walt says suddenly, his voice hollow. “On the rappel. I should have covered him better.”

“Stop.” Ethan’s command voice cracks. “We don’t do this. We don’t tear ourselves apart with what-ifs.”

“Then what do we do?” Blake demands, pain making his voice sharp. “How do we process this? How do we?—”

“We honor him.” Jenna’s voice cuts through the chaos, steady despite everything. Military training holding her together when emotion threatens to shatter her completely. “We make sure his death means something.”

One of the medics approaches with that dreaded white sheet—cotton that will erase Hank’s face, hide the man we love behind sterile fabric.

“Wait.” My voice cracks on the word. “Please. Just—wait.”

I lean over him, memorizing details I should have paid more attention to while he lived. The scar on his chin from a childhood accident. The way his dark lashes look longer against pale skin. The callus on his trigger finger from years of service.

Features I’ve kissed, touched, and loved. Now still as a photograph.

“I’m sorry.” The words tear from somewhere deep in my chest.

“Don’t.” Gabe’s voice breaks completely. “Don’t you dare. He chose to save you because you were worth everything to him. To both of us.”

The medic’s hand settles gently on my shoulder. “Ma’am, we need to?—”

“I know.” I don’t look away from Hank’s face. “I know what you need to do.”

But I don’t move. Can’t move. Moving means accepting this is real. Moving means leaving him to whatever comes next—body bags and transport and all the administrative machinery of death.

“We need to call his parents,” Ethan says quietly, his command voice steadier now that he has practical tasks to focus on. “His sister. They deserve to hear it from us, not through official channels.”

“What do we tell them?” Carter asks, his tears finally stopping.

“The truth.” Jenna’s response is immediate. “That he died a hero. That he saved lives. That he was loved.”

“That he was the best of us,” Walt adds softly.

The sheet settles over Hank’s face like snow. White cotton erasing the features I’ve memorized, loved, needed more than breath itself. My hand still holds his beneath the thin fabric, fingers intertwined with his cooling ones.

I sob, the sound cutting through me like a blade—not the controlled grief of before, but something wild and broken. The strength I’ve maintained through captivity, torture, and rescue finally cracks completely. My body shakes with the force of love and loss pouring out in waves.

Gabe stares at the covered body for a long moment, something terrible building behind his eyes. Then he turns and walks out of the medical bay without a word.

“Gabe—” I start to follow, but my legs won’t support me. The breakdown I’ve been holding back hits full force.

“Let him go.” Ethan’s voice carries command authority even in grief. “He needs space right now.”

“He needs—” I can’t finish the sentence through my sobs.

“To process this in his own way.” Ethan’s eyes track to where Gabe’s footsteps fade down the corridor. “We all do.”

The women move as one, surrounding me in a circle of fierce, unspoken love. A sisterhood forged in captivity, in blood and bruises and whispered hope. They know what it means to love men who bleed for others.

Who would die to protect us.