I exhale sharply, the betrayal raw. “She chose her side.”
I turn toward the stairwell, heart pounding with fury and determination. The others follow closely behind, each stepechoing our resolve, each breath sharpening our rage. Every second matters now, every heartbeat brings us closer to Astrid.
De la Rosa wants a war. Spalding wants leverage.
They’ll get neither.
They’ll get annihilation.
The armory smells like oil and cold steel.
It's tucked beneath the oldest wing of the estate—stone walls, narrow corridors, a holdover from a time when the Ivanovs prepared for war. Inside, everything gleams with ruthless purpose; rows of rifles, crates of ammunition, the glint of polished slides and carbon steel.
Luk slams a magazine into place, the click echoing like an exclamation point. Lev straps on his vest, face expressionless, methodical. Alexei double-checks his rifle.
It’s almost ceremonial, the way we gear up. We’ve done this before, dozens of times. But this time feels different.
Elena stands near the shelves, her laptop sitting open on an overturned weapons crate, her fingers working the keyboard as she coordinates with the crew in the field. She’s calm, efficient, and lethal in her own way—her mind is just as deadly as our weapons. She glances at me as I secure my holster, her eyes sharp.
“They’ll be expecting us,” she says.
“Good.” I glance at Luk, who’s busy tightening a tactical belt over his vest. “Remember that time in Prague? When the Armenians thought they could outmaneuver us in that subway garage?”
He grins, eyes glinting. “Yeah. Lev pretended to be drunk so they’d underestimate him.”
Lev gives a faint smile. “Worked, didn’t it?”
Alexei chuckles. “You retched on their boots. That’s commitment.”
Elena cracks a grin.
It’s dark humor, but it holds us together, threading the years between then and now, reminding us of who we are and what we’ve survived. Each battle has left scars and taught lessons. This one will be no different.
But it might be the last.
I finish lacing my boots, adjusting the weight of the vest on my shoulders. My hand hovers over my sidearm.
Astrid’s face flashes through my mind. Her warmth, her brilliance, her stubbornness. The way she looked at me the last time I saw her.
The memory hurts. But it sharpens everything.
I take a slow breath.
We’re almost ready.
My phone buzzes with an unknown number. I glance at the screen. It’s not one of our encrypted channels. Not one of the burner numbers we use for business.
A chill crawls up my spine.
I answer it. There’s a brief pause on the other end then a voice. Calculating. Amused.
“Hello, Yuri.”
I step away from the others, phone to my ear. “Spalding.” My jaw clenches. “Bold of you to call me directly.”
“I’m a bold man,” he replies. “I think it’s time we talked. Face-to-face.”
“I don’t waste my breath on pieces of shit like you.”
