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          Shock held both he and Warrick frozen for the space of a moment when she fell to her knees, gasping. Confusion clouded his brain. Seizure? But no, there hadn’t been any word of such for nigh on to fifty years now.
          She was certainly American. Of that he was sure. But of all the things he might have expected to come of this encounter, it wasn’t this.

          His brother was carefully examining the dressing, watching what he touched. He looked at him. “She needs medical attention. This is far beyond our skills.”
          Darrow agreed. The girl’s eyes had closed, most likely due to exhaustion, but her pupils were active. She was listening—still conscious. “Let’s get back to the Hawk. We can scout the building later. She’s lost too much blood.”
          Her brown hair was matted and unbrushed, but it seemed clean. She’d been on the run for who knew how long, but she’d made the effort for self-care. What had happened to make her run?
          It hit him then.
          “Wick…” Darrow rose and turned to Warrick.
          His brother had returned from radioing and had taken the liberty of grabbing the girl’s meager supplies. “Dah?”
          “Does she remind you of anyone you might have seen on Broadcast recently?”

           “Darrow, she’s an even higher bounty on her head than we have,” Warrick’s voice sounded worried. “If word leaked that we were harboring her…”
          “It won’t happen. Not as long as I can help it.” As gently as possible, Darrow lifted her into his arms and gestured with his head towards the door. She was uncommonly light, but they still had several floors to traverse with no power to work the elevators. He wasn’t sure if going upward would be any worse than going down…
          “We’ll bring in Lara. We’ll give her a more permanent disguise.”
          “What if she runs?”
          “We won’t—can’t—let her. She’s far too valuable an asset. If she can learn to trust us, who knows the secrets she could share?”
          Warrick’s laugh was bitter. “I’m quite sure it was that kind of thinking that caused her to flee her own country. . .

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          “Dah, dah. Shuttin’ up,” Warrick responded, hands surrendered as he led the way to the door. He opened it for the both of them, allowing Darrow to exit first. Darrow felt his brother follow, but not before hearing him slap the miniscule camera onto the wall by the door frame. Can’t be too cautious. They’d know if any—thing came exploring.
          They would return. This building was promising.
          Had to be if an American traitor had seen fit to claim it first.

Photo by Jörg Angeli on Unsplash

           Warrick chuckled. “You’re the one who must always be the hero, saving all distressed damsels.”
          “Yeah, I believe the term is ‘damsel in distress’, and next time you’re sharing the load.”
          “Whoa. You are the one so blessed with brawn and muscle—I would have gladly shared the responsibility, but I must fly the Hawk. I need every ounce of strength and focus. And I’d advise, brother, to never let a girl hear you think she’s a ‘load.’ Not the best way to begin a relationship.”
          Darrow scoffed. “Every ounce—you could fly this in your sleep. Spare me the excuses,you  dork.”
          “Why, yes, I could. And I find offense in your latter statement, sir.”
          Darrow ignored the comment.
          “Wick, just fire her up. We’ve dallied too long,” he grunted, exasperated. His burden released a small groan as he laid her down, waiting for Warrick to charge their ride. He cursed himself for wasting time. His brother was right, they needed Lara.