“That’s him,” she whispers. “Anton.”
I trace the words with my eyes, not my hand. The letters slightly jagged, as if written in a hurry or with satisfaction.
“He knows we’re moving,” I say.
She turns toward me, hood falling back, wind tossing strands of hair into her face.
“Then he wants us to see this.”
“Yes.”
Her throat works once. “Why taunt us?”
“Because Anton doesn’t hunt blind.” I glance at the message again. “He hunts with theater.”
Her expression hardens.
“Then let’s not give him an encore.”
She’s brave in ways I never expected. We get back into the car and drive.
Around sunset, we reach the meeting point. It’s a frozen pier jutting into black water, ice fracturing around the posts like broken mirrors. A single cabin sits at the edge of the tree line, lantern light flickering in the window.
Harper tenses.
“Are you sure he’s alone?”
“Yes.”
She exhales slowly. “Then I’m ready.”
Iosif emerges from the cabin, wrapped in a heavy coat, beard rimed with frost. His eyes, as distant as ever, scan the tree line before settling on us.
“You’re both alive,” he says.
“Disappointed?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Only surprised. Anton’s narrative was convincing.”
Harper stiffens beside me. I place a grounding hand at the small of her back, and she breathes again. Warmth hits like a wall as we step inside the cabin. Iosif locks the door behind us, tosses another log onto the stove.
He doesn’t waste time.
“There’s someone inside your house,” he says. “Someone with access to the mainframe, someone who’s been feeding Anton small packets for years. And after the leak, after the attack, they’ve begun sending files to the federal agency as well.”
Harper freezes.
“Both sides?”
Iosif nods.
“He’s playing whoever pays most.”
My jaw tightens. “Name.”
Iosif lifts a folder from the table and hands it to me. The pages inside smell of ink and metal and ruin.
