The chain is harder. It's attached to a cuff around her wrist, connected to the bolt in the wall. I examine the mechanism—there's a release catch, hidden on the underside of the cuff. I find it, press it, and the metal falls away.
She throws her arms around me.
I catch her, pull her close, hold her so tight I'm afraid I might break her. She's shaking—her whole body trembling against mine—and I realize I'm shaking too. This man who has killed without hesitation, who has carved information out of traitors and executed enemies without remorse—I'm trembling like a child because she's alive. Because she's in my arms. Because I almost lost her.
"I thought—" Her voice is muffled against my chest. "I thought you wouldn't find me in time. I thought—"
"I'm here." I press my lips to her hair, breathing her in. "I'm here. I've got you."
We stay like that for a moment. Just one moment, stolen from the chaos above us.
Then I pull back.
"We have to move. Sergei—"
"He's still here. I heard him giving orders when the fighting started."
"Good." I help her to her feet, steadying her when she sways. "Can you walk?"
"Yes."
She's lying. I can see it in the way she holds herself, the way she winces when she puts weight on her left leg. But she's not going to let that stop her. Neither am I.
I pull a pistol from one of the dead guards and hold it out to her.
"Do you know how to use this?"
She takes it, checks the magazine, racks the slide. The movements are clumsy but competent.
"I'll figure it out."
"If anyone comes at you who isn't me, point and shoot. Don't hesitate."
She nods, her jaw set, her eyes hard.
"Stay behind me," I say. "Stay close."
"Okay."
I turn toward the door, weapon raised, every sense alert.
Time to finish this.
We move through the corridor, stepping over bodies, past the cells I've already checked. Bianca doesn't flinch at thecarnage—doesn't hesitate, doesn't slow. She stays close behind me, the pistol held steady in both hands.
The stairwell is still clear. I lead us up, one level, pausing at the landing to listen. Gunfire above—closer now. Dmitri's assault is pushing deeper into the compound.
"This way," I say.
We emerge into the main building—a warehouse space, vast and shadowy, stacked with crates and industrial equipment. Emergency lights cast everything in red, throwing strange shadows across the concrete floor.
Three of Sergei's men are running toward the front entrance, their backs to us. I drop two of them before they know I'm there. The third spins, weapon rising—
Bianca shoots him.
The bullet catches him in the shoulder, spinning him around. I finish him with a headshot before he can recover.
I look at Bianca. She's staring at the body, her face pale, the pistol trembling slightly in her grip.
