Vladislav Orlov.A man I trained. A man who installed the defenses of my estate with hands I trusted.
Harper steps closer, reading the name over my shoulder. Her breath skims my cheek, unsteady.
“He usedmycode to trigger the assault,” she whispers.
“He used you to destroy our life,” I correct quietly.
She leans closer to the file, studying it with a focus that borders on lethal. The firelight turns her chocolate eyes to molten amber.
Iosif watches us both, something almost melancholic in his gaze.
“Whatever you plan to do next… it won’t be simple.”
I close the folder. “It never is.”
As night settles like ink over water, the lake behind the cabin freezes in slow pulses, cracking softly as if exhaling. Harper sits beside me on the old sofa, knees pulled to her chest. Iosif sleeps in the other room, though I doubt he’s truly asleep.
She speaks without looking at me.
“We’re going back to the city.” It isn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“Under what identities?”
“Ones that can move unseen.”
Her fingers curl against the fabric of her pants.
“Damian… exposing Orlov won’t undo what Anton did.”
“No,” I agree. “But if we don’t root him out, he’ll destroy more than we’ve already lost.”
She nods slowly. Snow shadows drift across her face as the wind shifts outside.
“And if we fail?” she murmurs.
“Then we fail together.”
Her eyes are sharp, vulnerable, luminous in the dim light. The silence between us isn’t cold anymore. It’s a promise without the arrogance of certainty.
I extend my hand. She hesitates barely, then places her hand in mine. Her fingers are cold as I close my grip around them.
“We go at dawn,” I say.
She holds my gaze. “Then dawn will have to keep up.”
Chapter 18 - Harper
The city feels different when you’re no longer yourself.
The moment you walk Moscow’s streets under a borrowed name, something changes. Every streetlight becomes a spotlight, every passing glance feels too sharp, every reflection in a window looks like it’s judging you.
We’ve been here five days.
Five days of pretending to be a woman who doesn’t flinch at shadows or scan every room twice, a woman who doesn’t wake up drenched in sweat, a woman who didn’t emerge from the shallow husk of an innocent girl.
Damian says it wasn’t my fault, but guilt doesn’t listen to logic.
