The memory spikes through me with brutal, unwelcome clarity. It’s as if I’m back there again, stepping into that room with the carpet fibers lifting under my shoes.
Harper doesn’t look away. Her stillness makes the words easier to spill.
“One drive was missing,” I say. “Just one. And the lockbox it was kept in was open, like someone had ripped it apart instead of picking it.” My throat feels scraped raw. “I knew instantly it was Anton. No one else had the codes. Only family.”
The wordfamilytastes like lead on my tongue.
She leans forward, hands clasped between her knees, a faint crease forming between her brows. Concern carves itself across her expression.
“I’ve been searching for that drive ever since,” I admit. It’s the one truth I’ve never spoken aloud, not to Iosif, not to Kiro, not to anyone in the organization. Saying it now feels like dropping a confession onto holy ground.
I don’t know why I’m telling her this. There is no point in letting her know the softest part of me so casually, but—
There is quite nothing else I can offer her.
Her voice is barely above a whisper.
“And Anton’s last layer of code… you think it leads to it.”
“I don’t think.” I hold her gaze. “I know.”
She draws a slow breath, the kind that signals resolve rather than fear.
“Then we’ll find it.”
We.
She says it without hesitation, without calculation, without the self-protection I’ve come to expect from everyone around me. The word feels somewhat like a balm against frayed edges. A completely foreign feeling, if I say so.
Right when the clock is about to strike four in the morning, Kiro’s message comes through. Harper and I both straighten as the alert pings across the shared network.
Kiro’s voice crackles through the encrypted line before I even accept the call fully.
“We’ve confirmed infiltration. Anton’s men are inside the Moscow data hub.”
A cold weight drops into my gut. The small line has finally been crossed. Now everything after this moment will tilt differently, permanently.
Harper stiffens beside me, her fingers curling around the edge of her chair.
“How many?” I ask.
“At least six verified, possibly more. They’re splitting into compartments, masking their digital footprints. Whoever’s directing them is disciplined.”
Anton. It can be no one but that shithead. This bloodless violence is his exact brand.
I exhale through my nose, slow and controlled. Harper watches me with a look that is half anticipation, half warning. She already knows I’m making a decision.
I turn to her fully. “We don’t have the luxury of staying quiet.”
Her brows pull in. “What are you thinking?”
Iosif enters the room, his entrance noticed by Harper a second too late. That’s just how sharply this man moves. He looks at me, then at Harper, then at the glowing screens. I can see the pattern forming in his mind, the pieces aligning into something dangerous.
I stand, the motion abrupt enough to send a ripple of tension through the space. The room feels too small for the thought forming in my mind.
“We force them into the open,” I say.
Iosif’s head tilts, interest flickering like the brief flare of a match.
