Page 55 of Operation: Defiance

Asher

I take a quick glance into the corridor. Three contractors—relaxed, shooting the shit, with cups of coffee in their hands. If we’re lucky, we’ll pass them before the alarms go off.

“There’s a group of them. Twenty-five feet away. Keep your head down, shoulders hunched if you can.”

Raine adjusts, but her body can hardly handle the strain. Her balance wavers, then locks again.

“I have to touch you to sell it. Tell me where I won’t hurt you.”

Her breathing slows even more. If she lasts another few minutes, it’ll be a miracle. But she doesn’t stop her slow, unsteady shuffle.

“Elbow.” The word is thin, barely more than a breath, but still enough.

My hand closes gently around her arm. Guiding rather than pulling or steering her.

I angle my body between her and the open space, turning us so she’s half-hidden at my side.

One of the contractors glances over. “Transfer?” he asks.

“Late stage,” I say without breaking stride. “Medical signed off. I’m taking her up now.”

He snorts. “She doesn’t look happy about it.”

“They never are.”

That earns a shrug, and he steps aside, leaving a wide berth between us. Like the results of neglect and torture are contagious.

Asshole.

I keep my grip steady until we’re clear, then loosen it without letting go completely. Her weight wavers once. I compensate, a small, almost invisible shift that still causes her entire body to go rigid.

“You’re doing great,” I murmur. “There’s a T-junction up ahead. Left or right?”

“Right,” she says.

Raine

His hand doesn’t stray. The pressure is wrong and necessary at the same time. My body reacts before I can stop it. Every muscles locks, then the panic settles into something brittle but usable.

I keep my head down because I don’t have the strength to lift it.

My legs lag again. A half-beat. I catch it late. He compensates before I fall, keeping me upright with gentle pressure that doesn’t entirely hurt. The adjustment sends a shock through me anyway, heat and panic tangling in my chest.

I breathe through it. Don’t count. Don’t think. Move.

Asher’s too close. Also the only reason I’m still vertical.

Right should get us to an elevator. I hold onto that. Steps. Turns.

Don’t stop.

If I stop, everything catches up.

“Okay,” I say finally. My voice shakes despite my effort. “Okay. You can let go.”

He does. Immediately.

The absence of his touch is almost worse.