Brooklyn moved quickly, pulling shirts, jeans and her military jacket from the dresser and shoving them into a duffel bag. The bag already bulged, straps strained from the weight. She wasn't thinking about comfort.
Her hands shook as she zipped the bag closed. The door pushed open without a knock. Ryan stepped inside. His eyes immediately found the bag. He froze, taking in the sight of her packing like she was preparing for deployment.
"What are you doing, Brook?" he asked, his voice low but sharp.
Brooklyn stopped, her back stiff. She didn't turn to him right away, just tightened her grip on the duffel handle. Finally, she met his eyes. "I'm going to look for the truth myself."
Ryan stepped further into the room, shutting the door softly behind him. His expression carried both anger and worry. "Brook... you'll only make things worse. You know what'll happen if they find out that you ran."
"You heard Jones..." she cut in, her voice trembling with fury."there is no hope for me, so I'd rather spend the last days I have fighting than let myself be a prisoner in my own home."
Ryan's jaw tightened. "And you think my doing this, you'll be making things easy?"
"I don't think. I know." She swung the duffel onto her shoulder, her eyes burning with determination. "You've been chasing the truth alone. I want in, Ryan."
Ryan just stood there.He could see she'd already made up her mind. The stubborn set of her shoulders was all the answer he needed.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fine. I know a place you can lay low in, while we keep digging."
Her lips twitched, the faintest shadow of relief showing. "You don't have to get involved..."
"I'm not asking." Ryan cut her off.
"Alright, then." she said with a grin.
"But outside, the two guards are standing at their posts by the front of the house. There was no way you can walk out the door without being caught."
"Just meet me at the back street."
She pulled the window open. A cool night breeze swept in, brushing her hair back. She slung the duffel strap across her chest and looked down. From the second floor, the yard below looked steep, but manageable. Beyond that, the neighbor's high fence. Another yard.
Ryan frowned as he watched her climb onto the sill. "You're insane."
"Probably." she muttered, and then jumped.
The landing was rough, her knees buckling against the grass. She swallowed the jolt of pain, already moving. She sprinted across the backyard, vaulted the neighbor's wooden fence with a grunt and dropped into the shadows of the next property.
Meanwhile, Ryan adjusted his jacket and walked calmly out through the front door. The guards nodded at him. He gave them a curt wave like nothing was unusual, got into his car and drove off down the street at an easy pace.
Two blocks away, he turned down a back street and slowed. Brooklyn emerged from the shadows, duffel slung across her back, breathing hard but steady. She slipped into the passenger seat without a word.
For a moment, they just sat there, the hum of the engine filling the silence. Then Ryan glanced at her. "There's no turning back now."
Brooklyn stared straight ahead, her jaw set. "I never wanted to."
Ryan pressed his foot to the pedal. The car rolled forward, headlights off until they hit the main road. The house, the guards, the quiet prison she'd been kept in faded behind them.
They disappeared into the night.