He reaches for my waist with both hands now, guiding me gently out of the doorway. His touch is warm and solid, the opposite of everything spinning inside me. “We leave at dusk. Albert and Kolya will prep the vehicles.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing it down even though it doesn't want to move. “Okay.”
He searches my face again, his eyes moving between mine as if there’s more he wants to say. The moment stretches between us, loaded with unspoken things. But he lets it drop, whatever concern or suspicion he might have, dissolving as he decides not to push.
The house becomes a flurry of quiet preparation over the next few hours. Footsteps echo through the hallways, and muffled conversations drift up from the lower level. Albert moves outside, loading luggage into the back of one SUV, his movements methodical. Through the window, I watch him lift two large suitcases like they weigh nothing.
Kolya checks both vehicles, opening compartments and inspecting the tires with careful attention. He circles each SUV twice, running his hands along the wheel wells and peeringunderneath. Then he scans the tree line, his hand resting near his waistband where I know his weapon sits.
Vega stays close to my leg, his warm body brushing my thigh each time I adjust my weight. The contact is reassuring, his solid presence the only thing keeping me balanced as the cabin transforms into a staging area for our departure.
I stare out at the mountain landscape. The pines stand tall and silent, their branches heavy with the light dusting of snow that fell overnight. The white coating glitters in the afternoon sun, each flake absorbing the light and reflecting it back. Somewhere out there, Hope is trapped. I press my palm against the cold glass, the chill seeping into my skin.
Behind me, I hear Luka enter the room. His footsteps are recognizable now, the particular rhythm and heaviness of his gait something I’ve learned to identify without looking.
“Are you packed?” he asks.
“Most of it.” I don't move from the window, my eyes still fixed on the tree line.
“We will send for anything you forget.” His voice is closer now, just behind my shoulder. I feel his presence before his hand settles on my lower back, warm through the fabric of my sweater. “This move is temporary, Sage. Once Hope is safe, we can discuss coming back here.”
I turn from the window to face him, forcing my expression into a mask of calm. “I know you're trying to protect me.”
“I am.” No hesitation, no doubt. Just pure certainty.
The guilt threatens to choke me. I reach up and touch his chest, my palm resting over his heart. I can feel it beating through his shirt, slow and even.
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words catching in my throat.
His expression softens marginally. He covers my hand with his own, pressing it more firmly against his chest. “You do not need to thank me for keeping you alive.”
Heat curls low in my stomach at the feel of his hand covering mine, a pull I can’t ignore anymore. Even in the middle of this nightmare, the connection between us keeps tightening, sure and undeniable.
Time moves too quickly after that. The sun slides lower in the sky, painting the snow-covered landscape in shades of orange and pink. Shadows lengthen across the ground, stretching between the pines. Misha appears in the doorway to tell us the vehicles are ready.
Luka keeps a hand near his weapon as we descend the stairs. His eyes scan every corner and every shadow.
When he opens the passenger door of the SUV for me, I force my body to move forward. My legs feel disconnected from my brain, operating on autopilot while my mind races. My fingers curl around the cold metal frame as I climb inside. Vega jumps onto the floor space at my feet, settling immediately. Luka shuts the door gently, the click sounding too final.
The convoy rolls out seconds later. The tires crunch over gravel, each small stone popping beneath the rubber. Mist rises from the pines as we pass, swirling like breath in cold air.
I look out the window as the cabin disappears behind the curve of the mountain. One moment, it's visible through the trees, windows glowing warm in the twilight. The next, it's gone, swallowed by the forest. The place that felt like a cage now feels like the last piece of ground I understood.
The farther we drive, the smaller the mountains look in the distance. I lean my head against the cool glass and shut my eyes for a moment just to keep myself from unraveling. The vibration of the road hums through my bones, and my heartbeat pulses faintly in the side of my throat.
When I open my eyes again, the mountain pass is behind us. The narrow road has widened into a highway. The air feels different, thinner somehow. The sky widens, gray and washed out as the sun continues its descent.
Seattle grows closer with every mile we take away from home. The private jet sits waiting on the tarmac when we arrive at the small regional airport. The Barinov crest gleams faintly near the tail, reflecting the remaining light. Men move with purpose around the aircraft, loading equipment and checking the engines, each knowing their role without needing direction.
Luka escorts me up the steps with his hand resting lightly on my back. The metal stairs ring beneath our feet. His touch is gentle but insistent, guiding me forward. The moment the cabin door closes behind us, I feel the last thread of Aspen Ridge snap.
The jet's interior is exactly what I expected. Cream leather seats arranged in clusters, polished wood accents, soft lighting that glows from hidden fixtures. A flight attendant nods respectfully as we enter.
Luka guides me to a seat by the window and settles beside me. Vega takes up position at our feet, his body warm and reassuring against my ankle. Luka leans close, his breath brushing my hair. “This is temporary. Once Hope is safe, we will come home.”
I don't respond. I can't. The word home lingers inside me, delicate and uncertain, as the engines roar to life beneath us. The sound builds from a low rumble to a full-throated growl, vibrating through the seats and floor. The jet begins to move, rolling forward along the tarmac.
The acceleration presses me back into the seat as we pick up speed. The runway blurs past, white lights marking the edges becoming streaks of brightness. Then we're lifting, the nose rising as the wheels leave the ground.
