“It could,” I agree. “But every instinct in me says there is truth wrapped in it. Someone with old access that Isaak once trusted enough to let near our business. Someone who knows how to use my weakness against me.”
Misha glances down at Ray’s body. “We will drag every file Isaak ever kept on the Sokolovs,” he decides. “Every defector, every ghost, and every dead man who might not be dead.”
“Do it,” I instruct.
“Do you want the prisoners to talk before or after we patch you up,” he adds, nodding toward the two men Albert mentioned.
“After,” I answer. “They are not going anywhere. And I do not want my blood distracting them while we give them reasons to cooperate.”
His mouth twists. “You look terrifying with or without the blood.”
“Save the compliments for later.”
He snorts, then gestures toward the entrance. “Med kit is in the van.”
I give a short nod and glance down at Vega. The dog’s fur is streaked with dark red across his chest and jaw. None of it is his. His tongue lolls briefly as he pants, then he bumps his head against my hand.
“You did good,” I murmur, rubbing his neck. “You earned a steak and that ridiculous toy Sage bought you.”
His ears flick at her name, and my throat tightens.
Sage.
She is back at the house, probably pacing that guest room, wondering what she has done by trusting me. She will want to know if we found anything. If this trip brought us closer to Hope or just spilled more blood on the road between them.
I look down at Ray one last time. This man took her sister, used her as leverage, and fed off her fear. Ending him should feel like a victory. Instead, it feels like standing on a cliff and realizing the fall is much further than I thought.
“We bag the bodies,” I instruct curtly. “Strip the weapons and phones, check their pockets for anything. I want every scrap of data they carried. Then call the cleanup crew. I do not want this place tied to us.”
The men move to obey. Kolya drags the nearest corpse away from the spreading blood. Albert heads off to check theprisoners. Misha steps aside to start barking orders into his radio.
I walk toward the exit with Vega at my heel, each step dragging more than the last. The pain in my arm now pulses with my heartbeat. It keeps me present when my thoughts want to spiral ahead to a future where Sage looks at me with the knowledge that I killed the last direct lead to her sister.
Outside, the cold air hits my face, washing away some of the warehouse stink. I lift my injured arm enough to peel back the sleeve and inspect the wound. The bullet tore a path along the outer muscle, bleeding but not life-threatening.
Misha joins me at the bottom of the loading dock steps with the med kit. He opens it and hands me a field dressing. “You need stitches later,” he remarks. “For now, this will hold.”
I wrap the bandage around my arm, the rough fabric pulling at torn skin. Vega sits in front of me, watching with intent focus, as if he expects the wrapping to hurt him too.
“Report when the scene is clear,” I tell Misha, once the blood flow slows. “I am taking Vega back in the first car.”
“You do not want to stay and supervise the interrogation,” he probes.
“You know how to ask questions,” I grind out. “You know what we need. Call me if one of them gives us something more than names we already know.”
He studies my face, then nods slowly. “You are going back to her.”
I do not bother to deny it.
“She will want answers,” he adds. “What will you give her?”
I look past him toward the dark line of the street, the waiting vehicles, the faint outline of the city beyond. “The truth,” I reply after a long moment. “Just not all at once.”
He accepts that with a short nod and claps the med kit closed. “Go. We will finish here.”
Vega and I make our way to the SUV. The driver opens the door without a word, his eyes darting to my arm and then away again. Vega hops inside, then turns and waits for me, his gaze never leaving my face for long. I slide in beside him and pull the door shut. The interior feels warmer than the warehouse, but it does not chase away the chill lodged in my chest.
On the ride back, I stare out at the city lights and let my mind dig into Ray’s last words. Ask the man she calls family. The phrase hooks under my ribs and pulls, sticking there. Isaak’s files will hold something. They have to. If they do not, I will tear this city apart until I find who he meant.
