I cross the room and pick up the drink I’d poured earlier. There’s a hum beneath my skin. One I won’t be able to quiet until I see her again.
I glance at the clock. It’s late but not too late to plan.
Tomorrow, I’ll go to the office. Deal with the digital wreckage. Speak with Elena. Tighten the walls around us. We’re being hunted, and I’m not about to let someone like Spalding take another single inch.
But Astrid—that’s the real fracture. Not the files. Not the Feds. Just her.
She thinks she has to do this alone. Thinks I’ll fold her into my world like a piece of collateral. But she’s not a liability. She’s the only thing that’s ever made this life feel like something more than survival.
And if I have to prove that to her, day by day, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.
CHAPTER 25
ASTRID
Iwake to a feeling of emptiness, the kind that presses against your chest like a weight.
My fingers trail across the empty sheets beside me. No Yuri. No sound of his breathing. No warmth from his body. Just the dull hum of the refrigerator and the rain tapping softly on the window.
I lie in the bed for a moment, willing the ache in my chest to go away. I’ve always been fine on my own, but right now I wish I weren’t.
Eventually, I drag myself to the shower, letting the water wash over me until my skin turns pink and the fog on the mirror swallows any reflection. I towel off, wrap myself in a robe, and make a cup of tea.
I sit by the window and stare out at my little slice of the city. The awnings below are beaded with rain, and everything looks just slightly blurred, like a painting smudged at the edges.
I think about yesterday. About the mansion, the women.
They were sharp, all of them. Confident. Intimidating in the way only women who’ve seen too much and stayed standing can be. But underneath the armor—behind the heels and the manicured nails—I saw flashes of something softer. Laughter and camaraderie passed between them like currency. Fierce loyalty wrapped in steel.
And the children…
Their little voices, bright and unburdened, echoing up the stairs, untouched by the world their fathers navigate like a chessboard. It was happy chaos. Safe. In its own impossible way, it felt like a life.
I shake the thoughts away, dress quickly in dark jeans, a soft sweater, and a coat that hides the little curve of my belly, and head out.
The city is damp and pulsing as I reach the El. I swipe my card, slide between the doors, and settle into a seat, my fingers resting lightly over my stomach.
Work will be tense today. No doubt the FBI raid still lingers in everyone’s mind like smoke. Whispers in corners. Eyes watching everyone, wondering who knew what.
I feel a tension in the air behind me. Like something I can’t hear but can still feel. I glance over my shoulder.
Nothing.
But I can’t shake the sense someone’s watching me, that I’m not alone.
The train slows and I stand. When the doors slide open, I step out onto the station platform. The back of my neck tingles. I zip my coat up to my neck and keep walking.
The feeling grows heavier with each step.
It’s like a wire pulled taut behind me, thrumming in the back of my skull. I turn again, heart pounding. Still no one. Just the usual Chicago foot traffic, everyone hustling along, heads down, earbuds in, wrapped in their own little worlds.
I breathe. Try to focus. But when I glance up at the station sign, my stomach sinks. I got off at the wrong stop. Damn it.
I’d been so lost in my head I got off one stop too early. Walking the rest of the way is quicker than waiting on another train, so I cross the street and turn toward work, the early morning fog curling around me like smoke.
The feeling of being followed doesn’t fade. If anything, it sharpens. I walk faster.
I hear the sound of measured footstep behind me. Like someone trying not to be noticed. I don’t turn around. My pace quickens, my heartbeat keeping time with my boots pounding the pavement.
