“I won’t.”
He waves his hand in dismissal.
I leave his office and head back toward my room, but halfway there I change direction and go to the gardens instead.
The evening air is cool. Guards patrol the perimeter, but they ignore me. I’m not important enough to warrant attention.
I find a bench near the rose bushes and sit down. This is where I saw Sasha reading yesterday. Where she was wearing the scarf I bought her in St. Petersburg.
The roses are in full bloom. Red, white, and pink. Someone tends these gardens carefully. Probably not something Dmitri handles personally, but he hired someone who knows what they’re doing.
Sasha would appreciate that attention to detail. She’s always noticing things other people miss.
I sit there until the sun sets completely and the compound lights come on. Then I force myself to stand and walk back to my room.
Boris is waiting outside my door.
“Package for you,” he states, holding out a small envelope.
I take it. “From who?”
“Does it matter?” He walks away without explaining.
I go inside and close the door. Lock it. Then I open the envelope.
A single piece of paper is inside. Sasha’s handwriting. Just one line.
It was real for me, too.
I read it three times. Four. Five.
Then I sit on the bed and hold that note like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
Because right now, it is.
She believes me. Or at least she’s starting to. And that means I haven’t completely destroyed everything between us.
I fold the note carefully and put it in my wallet.
Right next to the photo of my uncle that I’ve carried for fifteen years. The picture is faded now, edges worn from being handled. My uncle standing in front of his restaurant, grinning at the camera like he owned the world.
He taught me that some things are worth more than money or success. Worth more than any mission or operation. He taught me about loyalty and family and what it means to protect the people you love.
I forgot those lessons somewhere along the way. Let the Agency turn me into someone who valued efficiency over humanity. Who saw people as assets or targets instead of human beings with their own stories and pain.
Sasha reminded me who I used to be. Who I could be again if I’m willing to do the work.
The two most important things I own. The two pieces of my life that matter.
I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Tomorrow I’ll call Adrian again. Feed him more lies. Play the part of the loyal operative.
But tonight, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—Sasha and I still have a chance.
And that belief is worth more than any contract Adrian could ever offer me.
23
Sasha
