Page 53 of Operation: Defiance

“I’m going to need…help,” she says finally. “But…only how…when⁠—”

Fuck. I can’t rush her. Whatever she’s holding onto…it might be all she has left. And what comes next requires time we don’t have. “Tell me what to do.”

She shudders on her next inhale. “Can you…pass for one of them?”

“Well enough to consider the thought offensive.”

Her hands shake even harder. “This could work. If you…follow my lead.”

For a beat, I don’t say anything. How the hell is she supposed to lead when she can barely sit up? But the only way out of here I know for certain is back the way I came. Through a very well-staffed checkpoint. Likely not one used to bring detainees in.

“Please,” she says. “Need to know…if you’re in. Or…if this is my end.”

The last of her composure slips. Her breaths escape in shallow, wheezing pants. If we’re doing this, it has to happen right now.

“I take direction exceptionally well.”

“Hope…so.” Every word takes more than she has to give.

“I’m Asher.”

“Raine,” she says softly, like she doesn’t quite know anymore.

“Raine.” If she needs the reminder, I’ll give it to her. “It’s nice to know who’s upending my day. Tell me what you need me to do.”

Raine

Not one of them.

His voice is wrong. Too warm. Too controlled. Close enough to real that my brain stumbles over it.

Asher. He didn’t demand. Didn’t correct. Didn’t touch. Didn’t hurt me.

I hold on to the sound of my name when he says it back to me.

Hope is dangerous. But it sharpens things.

Just enough.

Asher

“Restraints,” Raine says. “Only the restraints.”

I crouch beside her. The scrubs are too thin for the temperature of the room. She’s barefoot. Shaking.

My fingers skim her left wrist as I pick the lock. She jerks, makes a small sound, then seems to almost shrink in on herself. Fuck. Her skin is ice cold, her fingers dry in a way that makes my jaw tighten.

The lock releases with a soft click, and her left arm hangs uselessly at her side. “Moving to your right hand now, Raine.”

“Hurry…”

The word barely makes it out. It’s not a plea. More like a calculation of how little time we have left.

Raine

He’s too close. His scent doesn’t belong in this place. It’s clean. Woodsy. Soap. Maybe shampoo. Normal in a place where nothing is normal.

That contrast cuts through the exhaustion. It’s so wrong, for a beat, it’s all I can focus on.