She sees me coming. Her eyes—God, those eyes—light up in a way that makes everything else fall away. The blood, the bodies, the smoke, the ruined warehouse… all of it fades.
“Are you okay?” I drop to a crouch in front of her, hands moving instinctively to check her shoulders, her arms, legs, scanning her for any injury the paramedics may have missed. “Anything broken? Bruised? Did they?—”
“I’m fine,” she says quickly, cupping my cheek. “And so are the babies. They checked. I promise.”
I let out a long breath. My forehead drops gently to hers, the contact grounding. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“You’re one to talk.”
We stay like that for a long, silent beat, heartbeats syncing. Then I pull back just enough to look at her fully. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
She opens her mouth but hesitates. “Actually,” she says, her voice soft, “there’s something I need to tell you first.”
Something in her shifts. I see the faint furrow of her brow. The tension behind her smile.
My spine straightens, the edge returning to my voice. “What is it?”
Her fingers tighten slightly on mine. Something’s coming. I just don’t know if I’m ready for it.
Astrid’s hand stays curled around mine, but her gaze drifts back toward the chaos of the warehouse—flashing lights, the sharp voices of agents corralling what’s left of Spalding’s disaster. The scene is too loud, too bright.
“Can we walk?” she asks quietly. “I just need a minute. Away from this.”
“Of course.”
I guide her past the EMTs and the low hum of federal radios, past the black SUVs and shattered glass. The night air wraps around us like a blanket. Lev is speaking with one of the FBI leads. They’re watching us, just enough to keep track. Which means I don’t have to look over my shoulder for once. Not for danger, anyway.
“You can tell me anything. Whatever it is, we’re going to be okay.”
She nods, her throat working as she searches for the right words. She reaches into her coat. “I have something to show you.”
I blink. “Okay.”
She pulls out three small, familiar shapes—USB drives—the dull metal catching the moonlight. I don’t register them as mine right away. Not until she places them in my hand. And then the realization crashes in.
“These are—” I break off. “From my office.”
The same ones I thought had vanished. The ones I was certain the FBI had seized during their raid. Sensitive files. Quiet offshore accounts. Records I never wanted public.
“I thought the Bureau had these,” I say slowly.
“They almost did,” she replies. “But I got to them first. When Spalding kidnapped me, he took them from me, and I feared what was initially meant to save you might become your undoing. But then after you shot him, while he was on the ground unable to move, I snatched them back. I did a quick pat down when no one was looking and found them in his pants pocket.”
I stare at her, relief hitting me first, sharp and fierce, followed by confusion. “You got to them just in time. That’s a good thing, right? So why are you looking at me like that?”
She sighs. “Because I took them.”
My brows lift. “You just said you saved them.”
“I did. But I didn’t give them back to you, Yuri. I kept them for myself. Even after everything.”
My pulse steadies but my thoughts race. “Why?”
She looks away. “Because I didn’t know if I could stay. I didn’t know if this world—your world—was one I could live in. Not without having a way out.”
My hand tightens around the drives. “So they were insurance.”
She nods. “Yes. Security. A door if I needed one. But then they fell into the wrong hands. And that door almost got me killed.”
