Damian laughs, a sound stripped of warmth, metal scraping concrete.
“Markova,” he spits, voice cold enough to frost glass, “I don’t negotiate with ghosts.”
Her smile thins. The stale air becomes electric, vibrating like a live wire. Her guards cock their rifles, the sound speaking for itself.
“You always preferred the dramatic line,” she says. Then her gaze slides to me, dripping with contempt. “And you—tell me, Harper, how does it feel? Being the one that ruined the Blade? Did you think you could change him?”
I don’t rise to the bait. I don’t let the insult land anywhere but the floor. Instead, I press the small transmitter clipped inside my sleeve.
The signal light blinks green.
“I wouldn’t worry about my effect on him,” I answer, voice calm, almost bored. “I’d worry about yours. Because this conversation? It’s being streamed to multiple secure channels.”
Inessa freezes.
For the first time, her perfect mask cracks—a small fracture, but unmistakable. Hard to tell with women like her.
“Youlittle—”
Gunfire erupts outside the building, followed by shouting and boots skidding across marble and pavement alike.
Inessa’s men shift, their guns lowering slightly. Damian sees his chance and darts to stand between me and their guns.
“Kiro’s early,” Damian mutters.
The facility shakes with the impact of an explosion, ceiling dust raining down. One of Inessa’s men curses and fires blindly toward the hallway.
Damian grabs my wrist.
“Harper—go!”
I yank the drive free mid-download, gripping it tight. Not everything transferred, but it should be enough to expose Orlov and tear Anton’s network open.
Inessa lunges at us with a scream, whipping her gun out from her coat. A stray burst of gunfire from outside slices across her arm before her thumb can push off the safety, and she falls back with a snarl, clutching the wound. Unfortunately, it wasn’t fatal, but it’ll do for now.
Bye bye, asshole.
Damian and I sprint down the corridor, past server racks that flicker violently. Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder. I hear Kiro’s shouts somewhere in the chaos—an order, a location call-out—but my heartbeat drowns the words.
Damian kicks open a maintenance hatch. Cold air billows up from the tunnel below.
“Move,” he urges.
I drop into the darkness, landing on damp concrete. He follows instantly, sealing the hatch above us just as bullets slam into the metal.
The tunnels twist ahead of us, water dripping down the walls. Our breaths echo in ragged bursts. Every footstep feels amplified, every shadow alive with threat.
We run without looking back.
When we reach the exit grate, my hands shake from adrenaline. Damian lifts the rusted bars with a grunt and helps me crawl out into the night.
Snow hits my face in cold, sharp flakes. I inhale deeply, finally feeling like I can breathe. I didn’t realize how long I’d been holding my breath.
Sirens swirl faintly, far away as the horizon burns from Kiro’s diversion explosives.
Damian is breathing hard, coal-black hair dusted with ash, blood streaking across his temple—but alive.
The drive is still in my grip. My fingers tighten around it like it might vanish if I blink. He pulls me into him without hesitation, his arms firm and unyielding.
