Page 64 of Hardline Torque
Victor straightened despite the pain, something cold settling in his gut.
Three minutes later, the van rolled to a stop beside the logistics and command vehicle.
Its doors were open.
Lights inside flickered uselessly.
Empty.
No blood.No signs of a struggle.But no Niko.
The silence settled heavy and final.
Victor closed his eyes.
Victory tasted like ash.
Chapter Twelve
The compound breathedaround them—generators cycling down a notch, boots moving with purpose instead of urgency, voices low and controlled.Screens glowed in the command center, maps layered with fresh data, Bravo and Pathfinders stacked on encrypted lines, all of them working the problem that had taken Niko.
Tane wasn’t there.
He was in the camper.
The small space smelled faintly of antiseptic and clean linen.He’d washed the blood from his hands and from Victor’s skin with care that bordered on ritual, cleaned and dressed the shallow cuts, iced the swelling where it mattered.Victor had let him.Had gone still when Tane asked, had followed every instruction without protest, the fight finally set aside.
Now they lay together, the early light slipping through the narrow window and striping the wall.
Victor rested on Tane’s chest, weight warm and solid, breath finally even.Tane held him there, one arm firm around his back, the other curved protectively along his spine.Every few seconds, his hand flexed—counting breath, checking presence, reminding himself that Victor was real and here.
Tane hadn’t let himself think much during the night.Not about the site.Not about the empty van.Not about the way the silence had followed them home.Ice did its job when it was needed.Now, with Victor breathing against him, the edges softened.
“You went quiet,” Victor murmured.
Tane dipped his chin, lips brushing Victor’s hair.“Didn’t trust my thoughts yet.”
