Chapter 889

A low, guttural sound of pure rage escaped her. She hadn’t killed Caroline. She hadn’t even managed to make it look like an accident yet. Instead, she had revealed the shape of her hand to people trained to read patterns in blood.

The haul continued in brutal increments. One foot. Two. Three. The support tower grew closer, its wet steel rungs shining under the floodlights. The rescuer kept himself between Caroline and the structure, absorbing the small impacts with his shoulder and boot, never letting her injured right side strike again.

“Almost there,” he said. “Do not help. Just stay still.”

Caroline almost laughed. Do not help. It was the strangest order anyone had ever given her.

She obeyed. The edge crew reached down, caught the backup line, and guided her over the platform lip. Hands closed around the harness webbing, not her arms, not her injured shoulder. They rolled her onto the grated metal deck with practiced care.

The moment solid ground existed beneath her, her body tried to shut down.

“Thompson!” the rescuer barked.

Her eyes fluttered. Jarrod’s voice came through the comm again, low and savage with restraint.

“Caroline. Stay with the medic.”

Her eyes opened. Not because she wanted to obey him.

Because she refused to let him hear her disappear.

“I’m awake,” she rasped.

In the command center, Jarrod’s eyes closed for half a second. It was the only collapse he allowed himself.

K.C. saw it and said nothing.

On the platform, medics moved fast. A cervical collar. Trauma shears near her sleeve. A thermal blanket pulled over her chest. A pulse oximeter clipped to her finger. A penlight in her eyes. Questions she answered because answering was easier than thinking.

The rescuer unclipped the carabiners one by one.

The final metal click felt like the end of a nightmare.

“Do we lower her or carry across?” one medic asked.

“Lower,” Jarrod said over the command net before anyone else could answer. “No traverse. No additional load on the right side.”

The medic looked briefly toward the nearest camera, as if he could see the man behind the order.

“Copy. Lowering basket.”

A rescue basket came up on the haul line. Caroline was transferred into it without drama, without romance, without anyone pretending her body was not hurt. Straps crossed her chest and thighs. A blanket was tucked around her. The basket lifted and swung clear of the platform.

For a few suspended seconds, she hung between ravine and sky. Not alone this time. Not held by Jarrod.

Held by the consequences of his command.

The descent to the ground was slow, controlled, almost gentle.

When the basket touched mud and gravel at the ravine access point, Caroline turned her head toward the dark command tower far in the distance. She could not see him. She could feel him anyway, not as arms around her, not as a kiss in the void, but as pressure in the system, as orders moving through radios and ropes and men who knew exactly where to put their hands.

Her voice was barely a whisper, meant for no one. “You didn’t come.”

A medic leaned closer. “What was that?”

She closed her eyes. “Nothing.”