"No."
She doesn't flinch. Doesn't pull away. Just nods slowly, like she's filing the information away for later processing.
"Thank you for telling me," she says.
"Bianca—"
"Don't." She presses a finger to my lips. "Don't apologize. Don't explain. I asked, and you answered. That's what I wanted."
She holds my gaze for a moment longer, something passing between us that I can't name. Then she steps back, breaking the contact.
"Now. That briefing you promised me. I want to see the security layout."
I should refuse. Should insist that she stay out of the tactical details, that protecting her is my job and she should focus on staying safe.
But she's looking at me with those gold-flecked eyes, stubborn and determined, and I realize that I'm not going to win this fight.
"All right," I say. "Get dressed. I'll have Alexei pull up the schematics."
She smiles—small, fierce, triumphant. Then she turns to find the rest of her clothes.
I watch her go, something shifting in my chest. She's not what I expected. Not soft, not fragile, not the innocent girl I fell for at a charity gala. She's becoming something else—someone forged in fire, tempered by betrayal.
Someone who might actually be able to survive this world.
I don't know what we are to each other. Don't know if last night was the beginning of something or just a collision of need and circumstance. But I know one thing for certain.
I've spent seventeen years learning how to destroy. Maybe it's time I learned how to protect something worth keeping.
Chapter 17 - Bianca
The schematics spread across Misha's desk look like blueprints for a prison.
Perimeter walls marked in red. Guard positions in blue. Potential breach points circled in black, each one annotated with response protocols and contingency measures. The estate I've been living in—the gothic mansion with its gargoyles and overgrown gardens—reduced to lines and angles and tactical vulnerabilities.
"The north wall is our weakest point," Alexei says, tapping a section of the map. "The drainage system creates a gap in our sensor coverage. We've added additional patrols, but if Sergei's people have done their reconnaissance, they'll know about it."
I nod, trying to absorb the information, but my mind keeps slipping. Misha is standing by the window, arms crossed, watching the briefing with an expression I can't read. Every few minutes, his eyes drift to me, and I feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.
Last night. His hands on my body. His voice in my ear. The way he said my name like it was something sacred.
I force myself to focus on the map.
"What about the east gate?" I ask. "You mentioned it needed upgrades."
Alexei glances at Misha before answering—a quick, almost imperceptible check for permission. I notice. Of course I notice. I'm an outsider here, tolerated because Misha wants me present, but not yet trusted. Not yet part of this world.
"The electronic lock has been replaced," Alexei says. "And we've added redundant cameras. It's secure."
"Secure enough for a full assault?"
Another glance at Misha. "That depends on the size of the force."
"Which we don't know, because we lost track of Sergei."
Alexei's jaw tightens. "We're working on reacquiring him. Our sources in Portland are—"
"Compromised, clearly, or you wouldn't have lost him in the first place."
