Zmeya launched herself at my ankles, claws finding purchase, meowing with a sound I'd never heard from her before. Notdemanding or playful but distressed. Urgent. Malysh paced at the foot of the bed, his small body rigid with agitation.
They'd watched her leave. Watched and couldn't stop her. Couldn't warn me.
"I know," I said, voice rough from sleep. "I know."
My hands were moving automatically now, checking the room with the methodical precision of someone cataloging a crime scene. Her shoes: gone. The practical sneakers she'd worn to PetSmart. Her jeans: gone from the chair where she'd folded them. The medical kit from my bathroom: gone.
The closet door hung open.
My jacket was gone. The black tactical one that she'd wrapped around herself at Brighton Beach. Missing from its hook.
She'd taken it.
The detail cracked something in my chest. She'd wanted me with her. Wanted my scent, my warmth, some piece of me to carry into whatever nightmare she was walking toward. Like a child taking a security blanket. Like someone who loved me enough to want my presence even while running from my protection.
The cash from my desk drawer was gone, too. Three hundred in twenties. She'd waited until I was deep asleep, then executed her escape with the same precision she'd use in surgery. Methodical. Deliberate. Every step calculated while she lay in my arms pretending to accept my reasoning.
The terror should have come next. The panic, the gut-churning fear that made men stupid and slow. I waited for it, braced for it.
It didn't come.
What came instead was something colder. Harder. A stillness that settled over my mind like ice forming on a lake, freezing everything underneath. The monster—the thing I'd spent years learning to cage, to control, to use only when necessary—woke fully for the first time in days.
This time, I didn't try to cage it.
My phone was in my hand. I didn't remember picking it up. Maks's name glowed on the screen.
He answered on the second ring. "Kostya? It's a little fucking early—"
"She's gone." My voice came out flat. Mechanical. The voice I used during interrogations, when emotion was a liability and precision was everything. "Track everything. Now."
Silence for one heartbeat. Then: "On it. Security feeds first?"
"Everything. Compound cameras, street cameras, traffic systems. I want to know every step she took from the moment she left this room."
I was already moving again, pulling on clothes with one hand while holding the phone. Tactical pants. Henley. Boots. Shoulder holster that slid on like a second skin.
"How long has she been gone?" Maks asked, and I could hear his fingers already flying over keys.
"Sheets are cold."
"Fuck." A pause, more typing. "East service entrance, 1:23 AM. She's on camera. I see her."
3:23 AM. It was now past seven. She'd been gone for over three hours. Three hours I'd slept while she walked into the exact trap I'd warned her about.
“I want all the public camera footage. Need to know where she went.”
"On it. You should call Nikolai," Maks said.
"I will. I want full mobilization. Every soldier, every asset. I want the city locked down."
"Kostya—"
I ended the call and made the next one. Nikolai picked up on the first ring—he never really slept, not deeply, the curse of leadership.
"She's gone," I said before he could speak. "Went to that warehouse. Three hours ago."
"I'm mobilizing teams." No questions, no hesitation. Just the immediate pivot to action that made him Pakhan. "Dmitry's already awake—I'll have him heading south in ten minutes."
