He nods to the men holding me, and they start dragging me toward the ruined door. I fight every step—digging my heels in, twisting, screaming. But they're too strong, too well-trained, too prepared for exactly this kind of resistance.
Behind me, I hear Anna still fighting. Hear the sounds of a struggle, a sharp cry of pain, then a dull thud that makes my stomach lurch.
"Anna!" I try to turn, try to see what happened, but they won't let me. "Anna!"
No response.
"What did you do to her?" I demand, still struggling against my captors. "If you killed her—"
"Relax," the tall man says. "She's breathing. We're not here for her."
They don't know who she is, I realize. They think she's just some random woman, a friend or a servant, not Misha's sister. Not a Kashkin.
Small mercies.
They're dragging me through the ruined doorway now, over the debris and the shattered steel. I catch a glimpse of thecorridor beyond—Petrov's body slumped against the wall, two of Sergei's men lying dead nearby. He fought. He took some of them with him.
But it wasn't enough.
"Misha will kill you," I say, still fighting even though I know it's useless. "He'll find me, and he'll kill every single one of you."
"Misha is busy," the tall man says. "That's rather the point."
I twist in my captors' grip, manage to sink my teeth into the arm of the man on my left. He swears and loosens his hold just enough for me to tear free.
I don't run. There's nowhere to run. Instead, I grab the nearest object—a piece of debris from the ruined door, sharp-edged and heavy—and swing it at the tall man's head.
He catches my wrist before the blow lands. His grip is crushing, grinding the bones together until I cry out and drop my makeshift weapon.
"Enough," he says. His voice is calm, almost bored. "You can come quietly, or you can come drugged. Either way, you're coming."
I glare at him, panting, my wrist throbbing. "When Misha finds you—"
"When Misha finds us, we'll be long gone. And so will you." He produces a syringe from somewhere. "Last chance. Quiet, or drugged?"
I spit at him again.
He sighs, almost regretfully, and before I can react, I feel the needle pierce my neck.
The world goes soft at the edges. Warm. Heavy.
The last thing I see before the darkness takes me is the ruined safe room behind us, dust still settling, Anna's body crumpled in the corner.
The last thing I think is:The baby. Please let the baby be okay.
Then there's nothing at all.
***
I wake in fragments.
Cold air on my face. The rumble of an engine beneath me. Hands—rough, impersonal—adjusting my position.
I try to open my eyes, but my lids are too heavy. Try to move, but my limbs won't respond. The drug is still in my system, weighing me down, turning my body into a prison.
Voices filter through the haze.
"—said to keep her sedated until we're clear."
