The room smelled like rust and cold concrete, a metallic tang that clung to the back of your throat. Your wrists burned where the rope bit into them, tied tight to the chair just like Steve’s on one side and Robin’s on the other. The Russians had been at Steve again—his face was swollen now, one eye nearly shut, blood drying at the corner of his mouth. He was breathing hard, jaw clenched, like sheer stubbornness was the only thing keeping him upright.
“Steve,” you whispered, barely audible over the hum of machinery somewhere deep in the base.
He turned his head as much as he could, forcing his good eye open to look at you. Panic flickered there before he smothered it, replacing it with that familiar, reckless bravery. “Hey,” he rasped, trying for a smile and failing. “I’m okay. Don’t—don’t say anything.”
Robin swallowed hard, her fingers twitching uselessly against the ropes. “They’re not gonna get anything out of us,” she said, but her voice shook despite her effort.
The interrogator sighed, clearly bored. He said something sharp in Russian, then nodded to the man standing behind him.
You heard the click before you saw it.
Cold metal pressed to your temple.
The room seemed to shrink, all the air sucked out in one terrifying instant. Steve’s head snapped toward you, terror blazing through the pain.
“Hey—hey, no, no,” Steve choked out, struggling against the ropes so hard the chair scraped loudly against the floor. “She doesn’t know anything. You want answers, you talk to me.”
The Russian ignored him. He leaned close, breath hot against your ear, and began to count in a low, steady voice. One. Two.
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Every thought blurred into one overwhelming truth you’d been too scared to say out loud, even to Steve. Especially to Steve.
“Stop!” Steve shouted. “Please—”
“Three.”
“I’m pregnant!” you blurted.
The words echoed, louder than the machinery, louder than your heartbeat.
Everything froze.
The gun lifted slightly. The interrogator’s brows furrowed in confusion. Robin’s mouth fell open. Steve went utterly still, the fight draining from him in a heartbeat as he stared at you like the world had tilted off its axis.
“Wh—what?” he whispered.
Before anyone could react, a shrill alarm tore through the base, red lights flashing to life. Shouting erupted down the hallway, boots pounding, orders barked in frantic Russian.
The interrogator cursed and snapped something to his men, yanking the gun away as they rushed for the door. The room emptied in seconds, the alarm still screaming.
Steve stared at you, eyes wide and glassy. “You… you’re—?” His voice broke.
“I didn’t know what else to say,” you whispered, tears finally spilling. “I’m sorry.”
Before he could answer, the door burst open again—but this time it was Dustin, wild-eyed and grinning, Erica right behind him holding something that definitely looked explosive.
“Did we miss anything?” Erica said brightly.
Robin let out a hysterical laugh. “You have perfect timing.”
Dustin rushed to you and Steve, already working at the ropes. “Long story, save it for later. We gotta go. Like, now.”
As the ropes fell away and Steve caught you against his chest, trembling, he pressed his forehead to yours despite the pain. “We’re getting out,” he murmured fiercely. “All of us. I promise.”