He pauses. I’ve made a point he can’t easily dismiss.
“You went into those mountains with the explicit intent to execute him,” he says. “What changed?”
“He was wounded. Unarmed. I’m not an executioner.”
“You resigned from Aurora specifically to kill him.”
“In a fair fight. Not a slaughter.” I shake my head, the idea still repulsing me.
Viktor’s expression doesn’t shift. “What happened after the ambush?”
“A storm moved in. We had to find shelter. We stayed in a cave system overnight. The next morning, we headed back to the convoy but were intercepted by Syndicate snipers. We evaded. Made it to Timber Ridge. You extracted us.”
“And the rest?” His eyes are cold. Assessing.
I meet his gaze. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth. What happened between you and Commander Allon?”
“We survived together.”
“And?” he presses.
“And nothing.”
“Frost.” His voice drops. “I walked in on you seconds from something that wasn’t ‘nothing.’ You’re not objective about him anymore.”
“I can still think clearly. Make rational decisions. I brought him back instead of killing him. That was the right call.”
“You resigned to kill him,” Viktor counters. “You returned with him alive. That’s a complete reversal. And when I arrived, you were—” He stops. Reconsiders. “Your judgment has been affected.”
“My judgment is fine.”
“Is it?” He steps closer. “Because from where I’m standing, you can barely function knowing he’s in a cell below us.”
The accuracy stings. I say nothing.
Viktor’s expression softens slightly. Not much. Just enough that I see something other than the cold interrogator.
He pulls the chair out from my desk. Sits. The shift from standing to seated changes the dynamic—less interrogation, more… conversation.
“I know what Chance meant to you,” he says quietly. “His death became your foundation. Your purpose, your identity, everything. This isn’t judgment, Nadia. It’s concern.”
The shift to gentleness is harder to resist than aggression would be.
“I know it’s complicated,” I say, my voice quieter now. “But the way I see it, the Syndicate wants him dead. That means his intelligence is valuable. More valuable than personal vengeance.”
“That’s sound reasoning,” Viktor acknowledges. “And I agree. But that’s not the only reason you brought him back.”
“Yes it is.”
“No.” His gaze holds mine. “You brought him back because you couldn’t kill him. And you couldn’t kill him because something happened out there. Something you don’t understand and can’t control.”
I want to deny it. Want to argue. But he’s right.
“You’re not the first operative to face this,” Viktor says. “Proximity, survival situations, adrenaline—they create connections that aren’t rational. It happens.”
“That’s not what this is.” Not just that, anyway.
