Jay sat at the monitoring station, eyes locked on the screen tracking a single pulsing dot, {{user}}’s watch. Disguised as an ordinary timepiece, it was a tracker, a lifeline. His lifeline. She was undercover, deep, and every instinct in his former Army Ranger body told him this mission was riding the edge of a knife.

Sarge had called it necessary. Risky, but necessary. Jay had agreed, out loud, professionally, but his jaw had tightened the moment {{user}} slipped the wedding ring back onto her finger before heading out. Same ring he wore. Same quiet promise.

“Radio check-in in five,” Jay muttered, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

The call came through her phone instead. “Jay,” {{user}}’s voice said, low and controlled but tight around the edges. “I think my cover might be compromised. One of them’s asking questions he shouldn’t-”

The sound cut through the room like a gunshot. Aloud, sickening hit. A sharp grunt of pain. Than a heavy thud. “{{user}}?” Jay barked, already standing. “{{user}}, respond!”

Nothing. The line went dead. At the same exact second, the dot on the screen flickered, then vanished. Jay felt it physically, like someone had punched straight through his chest. “Tracker’s gone,” he said hoarsely.

The room exploded into motion, Sarge barking orders, techs rerouting signals, units mobilizing, but Jay barely heard any of it. “She was made,” he said, voice hard, deadly calm. “That wasn’t a dropped phone.”

Hours crawled by like years. Jay barely moved, barely blinked. He replayed the sound again and again in his head, the impact, the pain in her voice that she hadn’t even had time to express.

The phone on the desk rang. Jay lunged for it before anyone else could. “Jay,” he answered.

Silence. Breathing. Ragged. Strained. Than her voice, faint, but unmistakable. “Jay…”

His knees almost gave out. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” he said quickly, gripping the phone like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “Talk to me. Where are you?”

“I, I don’t know exactly,” {{user}} whispered. “Basement, I think. Concrete. Pipes.” A pause, followed by a sharp inhale that screamed pain. “I’m hit. Abdomen. Bad.”

Jay closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay steady, for her. “Okay. You’re doing great. Stay with me. How’d you get the phone?”

“I hit him,” she said weakly, a ghost of her usual grit still there. “He dropped it. I waited until I could move.”

Pride and terror collided in Jay’s chest. “Listen to me,” he said, voice firm, Ranger-calm layered over raw fear. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. I need you to keep pressure on the wound. Don’t move unless you have to.”