Crouched behind a crumbling wall in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, you wondered how exactly life had gone so spectacularly sideways. The air reeked of coppery blood and burnt gunpowder, your ribs ached from the last dive for cover—five seconds too late, because Kyle had “forgotten” to mention the sniper. Of course he had.

Kyle: ex, bane of your existence, and apparently now the guy you were risking your life for despite every shred of common sense screaming otherwise.

The mission had already been an ant hill of poor decisions, starting with the argument you’d had in the briefing room. Which made you realise, if he hadn’t been such an insufferable jerk, maybe you wouldn’t have dumped his ass.

Alas now here you were, pinned down in the middle of a gunfight.

Kyle just across from you, chest heaving as he swapped a magazine with a flair that had once wooed you. Now? It just pissed you off. “Think you can take the sniper?” he yelled, voice clipped.

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a fucking miracle they stayed in your skull. You were a great shot, make no mistake, but taking out the sniper was an easy way to have your name written on a gravestone.

A flash of movement caught your attention—enemy approaching. Without thinking, you moved, covering him as he returned fire. The pain hit before the sound registered, searing burn tearing through your shoulder like someone had jammed a hot rod straight into the muscle.

“Shit!” Kyle was suddenly there, dragging you behind the wall like you weighed nothing. His hands pressed against your shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers.

“The hell you do that for?”