Page 147 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

I give him the coordinates for a private airfield forty miles north of the city. Off the radar. Owned by someone who asks no questions as long as the money’s clean.

“Martinez?” Ghost’s voice stops me from ending the call.

“Yeah?”

“This won’t bring him back.”

The observation hits like a dagger through the heart. Because he’s right—killing Malfor won’t resurrect Hank. It won’t restore what we’ve lost.

“No,” I admit. “But it’ll make sure he can’t take anyone else.”

“Good enough reason as any.”

The line goes dead, leaving me alone with the ocean wind and the weight of decisions that can’t be undone. Ally appears in the doorway behind me, her hair caught by the breeze, eyes holding questions she’s not sure she wants answered.

“Ghost?” she asks.

“Ghost.”

“Are you sure about this?”

The question forces me to examine my motivations—revenge versus justice, emotion versus logic, need versus wisdom. What I find isn’t pretty, but it’s honest.

“I’m sure Malfor needs to die. I’m sure we’re the ones who should kill him. Everything else is just details.”

She nods slowly, accepting what I’ve become in the aftermath of loss. Not the man who loved carefully and shared willingly, but something sharper. More focused. Distilled down to essential elements.

“What do you need me to do?”

The offer surprises me. After everything she’s been through—kidnapping, torture, watching Hank die—she’s still willing to walk into hell if it means standing beside me.

“Stay here. Stay safe. Let me handle this.”

“Gabe—”

“No discussion.” I turn to face her fully, see the argument building in her eyes. “You’ve been through enough. You’ve lost enough. I won’t risk you on a suicide mission.”

“It’s not your decision to make.”

“Like hell it isn’t.” The words come out harsher than intended, but I don’t take them back. “You’re the only good thing left in my life, Ally. The only reason I want to survive this. I won’t watch Malfor take you away from me again.”

Her expression softens, reading the fear beneath my protective instincts. The terror that losing her would complete my destruction, leave me with nothing but revenge and empty spaces.

“Then come back to me.” She steps closer, frames my face with hands that shake slightly. “Kill that bastard and come home to me.”

“I will.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but some promises are made to be broken if it means keeping the people we love safe.

The airfield sitsdark and empty under overcast skies, runways cutting black lines through scrub grass that hasn’t seen rain in weeks. A single hangar glows with muted light, large enough to hide aircraft and activities from prying eyes.

I arrive early, habit and paranoia keeping me sharp despite the grief that threatens to dull every edge.

Twin turboprops approach from the northwest—Cerberus transportation, unmarked and unregistered, carrying death indesigner suits. The aircraft touches down with barely a whisper, pilots skilled enough to make heavy machinery dance.