Page 138 of The Words Beneath the Noise

“I love you,” I said, and the words came out rough and broken. “You hear me? I love you, Arthur Pembroke. So don't you dare die before I get back.”

“I love you too.” His fingers tightened on mine, then released. “Now go.”

I went.

Running through the chaos, paper clutched in my fist, dodging debris and flames and people who called out to me for help I couldn't give. Finch. Had to find Finch. Had to get this intelligence to someone who could use it before the second wave arrived and turned everything to ash.

Found him near the manor entrance, coordinating defensive response, his face grey with exhaustion and his uniform torn. He looked up as I skidded to a stop in front of him.

“Hale. Report.”

“Pembroke cracked the intercept.” Shoved the paper at him. “Two-wave attack. First wave is pathfinders marking targets. Second wave follows in fifteen minutes to bomb whatever the pathfinders identified. If we kill all lights, move the emergency markers to decoy positions?—“

“We can confuse their targeting.” Finch grabbed the paper, scanned it rapidly. I watched understanding dawn on his face. “This is it. This is everything.”

“He's still in there.” My voice cracked. “Art's trapped under the rubble. I need men to dig him out.”

Finch looked at me. Looked at the paper. Made a decision.

“Kill all lights!” he roared to the officers around him. “Emergency blackout, now! Move the decoy markers to secondary positions! And get a rescue team to Hut X, we have personnel trapped!”

Officers scattered. Finch turned back to me, and something in his expression shifted.

“Go,” he said. “Get him out. I'll handle this.”

I didn't wait to be told twice.

Back through the chaos, back to Hut X, where a group of soldiers was already converging on the wreckage. I pushed through them, dropped to my knees beside the gap where I'd left Art.

“Art! Art, I'm back! Help is here!”

No answer.

My blood went cold.

“Art!” Louder, desperate. “Art, answer me!”

Silence. Then, faint, so faint I almost missed it: “Still here. Just... resting my eyes.”

“You promised you wouldn't close your eyes.”

“Didn't close them. Just... rested them. There's a difference.”

Relief hit so hard I nearly collapsed. “You stubborn bastard.”

“Takes one to know one.” His voice was weaker now, each word an effort. “Did Finch get it?”

“He got it. Lights are going out all over the estate. They're moving the decoys.”

“Good. That's... that's good.” A pause. “Tom? I'm very tired.”

“I know. Just hold on a little longer. We're almost there.”

The soldiers were working now, hauling debris, shifting beams. Someone found a lever point that let us move the massive oak timber, and suddenly the pressure was off Art and hands were reaching in to pull him free.

He screamed when they moved him. A horrible sound, torn from somewhere deep, and I was there beside him immediately, holding his good hand, murmuring words that didn't mean anything except I'm here, I'm here, I'm not leaving you.

They got him out. Laid him on a stretcher while Dr Hart appeared from somewhere, already barking orders. I followed asthey carried him toward the manor, toward the library that was serving as an impromptu medical station.