"I want to be close," I say, an idea forming. "Not at the safehouse. Close to where you're going. Close enough to help if something goes wrong."
"Kira—" Maksim starts.
"I'm skilled," I cut him off. "You know I am. I won't go in. I'll stay back. But you might need cover. You might need backup. And I can provide that better than sitting in some apartment across the city wondering if you're dead."
The men exchange looks. I can see them weighing options, calculating risks.
"She has a point," Semyon says finally. "We could use all the help we can get. And she's right—she's skilled enough to provide cover fire if needed."
"She's pregnant," Maksim repeats.
"I'm also standing right here." I cross my arms. "And I'm going. The only question is whether I go with your blessing or without it."
His jaw clenches. I can see the war playing out behind his eyes—protectiveness versus pragmatism.
"You stay in the car," he says finally. "Far enough away to be safe. You don't engage unless absolutely necessary. And if things go wrong, you drive away. You don't try to save us. You get yourself and Anya to safety. Understood?"
"Maksim—"
"Those are my terms." His voice is steel. "Take them or stay behind."
I want to argue. But I know this is the best compromise I'll get.
"Fine," I say. "Anya and I wait in the getaway car. Far enough to be safe. But close enough to help if needed."
"I didn't agree to this," Anya protests. "Kira, I don't want to—"
"You'll be safer with us than alone," Semyon tells her. "And we need someone to drive if things go sideways. Can you do that?"
She looks terrified, but she nods. "If Kira's going, I'm going."
Maksim runs a hand through his hair, clearly hating this plan. But he doesn't have a better option.
"Get dressed," he says. "Warm clothes. Dark colors. We leave in ten minutes."
I move back to the bedroom, Anya following. We change quickly—black jeans, dark sweaters, boots. I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look pale, scared.
Good.I should be scared. We're walking into a trap to save a man who doesn't deserve saving.
But Maksim's right. I'll never forgive myself if we don't try.
In the living area, the men have packed everything. Weapons. Ammunition. Medical supplies. For some reason, seeing that massive first aid kit makes it all the more real. It’s been less than two weeks since I almost lost Maksim.
What if the third time is the charm?
"Ready?" Maksim asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He crosses to me, pulling me into his arms. The embrace is tight, desperate.
"If anything happens—" he starts.
"Nothing's going to happen," I interrupt. "We're going to get my father, and we're all going to survive. Understand?"
He doesn't answer. Just kisses me once.
When he pulls back, his eyes are haunted. "I love you."
