My feet felt like two blocks of lead, but the stubborn refusal to fall over was the only thing keeping me upright.
I stood near the motionless corpse of the feral anomaly, watching the liquid pool slowly into the mud around its jaw.
Dylan didn’t immediately turn to walk away like I expected.
Instead, he crouched back down beside the body, his gloved fingers carefully shifting the torn fabric of the dead man’s collar.
I wiped a streak of dried silt off my cheek, clutching the silver ID bracelet and the blood-caked gold ring tightly in my left hand.
“Are you going to explain why we’re still standing beside a dead nightmare,” I wheezed, my voice raspy from breathing in cold damp air, “or is this another one of those ‘you’ll find out’ moments?” Dylan didn’t look up.
“Give me the bracelet, Knox.” I pulled my hand back instinctively, pressing the cold metal closer to my chest.
“No.
I’m keeping it.
When we get back to civilization, I’m finding whoever Sarah is and giving it to her.” He finally stood up, his gaze dropping to my closed fist.
“I wasn’t asking for it.” His tone wasn’t raised, but it carried that unyielding weight that made arguing feel like shouting at a brick wall.
I gritted my teeth, stepped forward, and dropped the metal band into his open palm.
Dylan turned it over in his fingers, his eyes scanning the inner curve where the serial numbers were stamped.
He didn’t say a word.
He just handed it back to me.
I shoved it straight into my jacket pocket beside the wedding ring before he could change his mind.
”When are we going back?” I asked, looking down at my ruined jeans and the bloody tear over my right knee.
“Because if I have to walk another mile in these boots, I’m going to physically decay.” ”Not yet,” Dylan said, wiping his blade clean on a piece of cloth before sheathing it at his waist.
“What does ‘not yet’ mean?” My irritation flared instantly.
“We found your target.
It’s dead.
We’re done, right?” “We’re heading to the western base.” I froze, staring at him.
“The western base?
You said we were tracking an anomaly, not taking an extended field trip across the state.
How long is ‘not yet’?” ”Depends.” ”Depends on what?” I threw my hands up, immediately regretting the motion when my shoulder muscles protested.
“You give me zero useful information!
Is there even a functioning base out here, or are you dragging me into another pile of rocks?” Dylan gave me a long, quiet look.
“There was.” Before I could ask what that cryptic response was supposed to imply, the sound of diesel engines rumbled through the trees.
The brush at the edge of the clearing buckled as three armored vehicles pushed through the foliage, their tires churning up deep ruts of mud before pulling to a stop in a wide perimeter.
Instinct took over before my pride could stop me—I took two quick steps sideways, tucking myself slightly behind Dylan’s broader frame.
I had no idea who was piling out of those trucks, and after watching a man turn into a spiked demon, I wasn’t taking any chances.
Dylan didn’t move away, his shoulder remaining a solid barrier in front of me.
The door of the lead transport swung open, and Collins scrambled down into the dirt.
He had his sidearm holstered, a tablet tucked under one arm, and an expression of intense relief that quickly turned into absolute bewilderment the moment his eyes landed on me.
He stopped in his tracks and looked at Dylan.
Then he looked at me—filthy, bleeding, with hair exploding out of a bun.
Then he looked back at Dylan.
”She’s alive,” Collins blurted out.
”She can hear you,” I snapped from behind Dylan.
“I’m right here.” Collins cleared his throat, snapping back into a semi-professional posture.
“Right.
Sorry, ma’am.” Behind him, several other uniformed personnel climbed out of the trailing vehicles.
Whispers rippled through them the moment they caught sight of the scene.
“That’s the wife?” someone murmured from the back line.
“Apparently,” another replied softly.
”The fake heiress?” a third voice added.
“She actually survived out here?” I stiffened, staring straight ahead at the dirt.
I knew what the high-society tabloids called me behind closed doors, but hearing it tossed around by military operatives in the middle of a hazard zone hit a little too close to home.
Dylan’s head turned slightly in my direction before looking at the team.
“If you’re going to gossip, do it somewhere I can’t hear you.” The entire clearing went dead silent.
Operatives instantly scattered, suddenly finding intense interest in checking the perimeter.
”Yes, Boss,” a female voice muttered quickly from the side.
I watched them move.
They weren’t cowering in fear from Dylan, but there was an order to which they operated that signified Dylan’s authority.
A woman with a kit and a medical crest on her shoulder stepped up beside Collins.
She had sharp eyes, a short haircut, and a completely unimpressed expression as she glanced down at my leg.
”You’re bleeding,” she said bluntly.
”I’ve noticed,” I said, my tone as dry as my mouth.
”Good.
Saves me an explanation,” she said, unbuckling her kit.
She looked at Dylan.
“I’m Leila.
Chief medic.
And you look like hell, Mrs.
Burke.” ”Stella,” I corrected quickly.
“And thank you, Leila.
I was aiming for ‘disaster-chic.'” Leila’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close enough that I decided to count it as a personal victory.
A younger guy with goggles pushed past her, staring wide-eyed at the corpse lying in the mud.
“You guys took down a Class-4 with just sidearms?
Did she actually survive the drop?” ”Jace,” Dylan said warningly.
”I’m just asking!” Jace held up his gloved hands defensively.
“It’s a legitimate question.” ”Ask less.” “For the record,” I said, straightening despite the ache in my knee, “I did survive the drop.
Face-first, but vertical again within thirty seconds.
I’d like that on my permanent record.” Jace bit his lips as if it would stifle the obvious laughter.
When he caught Dylan’s glare, he immediately walked away and got superficially busy.
CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Unhinged_Cookie Against all odds, Stella’s still breathing.
—UC ❁´◡`❁