The first man was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark clothes that fit a little too well. Brown hair slightly tousled,as if he’d run a hand through it while deciding whether the rules applied to him. His jawline was sharp, his dark blue eyes sharper, and the smirk he wore made the room tilt sideways.
The second man stood half a step behind him. Taller still. Straighter posture. Colder pale green eyes. Dark hair neatly cut, beard precisely trimmed, suit pressed to perfection. Every inch of him looked carved from exacting discipline and quiet threat.
The first one spoke first.
“Katya Volkov,” he said, voice warm and smooth, a lazy kind of charm dripping from every syllable. “Pleasure.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Do we know each other?”
“Not yet,” he said, sliding into the chair beside me like he owned it. “But I’m looking forward to it.”
The Revenant executive steepled his fingers. “Miss Volkov,” he said, “allow me to introduce your new team.”
He gestured to the smirking one first.
“This is Viktor Dragunov.”
Viktor flashed a grin that told me he was very used to getting his way.
Then the executive nodded to the second man.
“And this is Mikhail Dragunov. You’ll meet Andrei Dragunov later. He was delayed, unfortunately. You are to think of them as your partners.”
Partners?
I didn’t need any partners.
And I especially didn’t need two of them who were looking at me like they were already imagining peeling off my coat and finding out what was beneath it.
“I work alone,” I said bluntly.
Viktor didn’t blink. “Not anymore.”
I glared at him. He grinned.
The Revenant executive clasped his hands on the desk. “Your country fought for freedom, Katerina. Let us give that same chance to others.”
I felt the hook sink in.
Idealism was a dangerous thing.
Even more dangerous in the hands of men like him.
I nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Viktor leaned back, smug and satisfied. “This is going to be fun,” he murmured.
Mikhail’s eyes met mine, cool and assessing. He hadn’t said anything at all.
Revenant didn’t put their field agents in broom closets. When they wanted you loyal, they wrapped you in comfort and luxury, let you forget, for just long enough anyway, what the world looked like outside your penthouse.
My assigned suite was proof.
It wasn’t a room; it was a small apartment with hardwood floors, soft lighting, and thick rugs woven in deep jewel tones. The kind of luxury I never saw during the war. The bed was big enough for three people to sleep without touching. There was a minibar stocked with little glass bottles I wasn’t allowed to drink while I was out on assignment but were fair game right now.
A door on the far end opened into a shared courtyard balcony, enclosed in glass so you could sit outside without freezing to death. Whoever designed it had taste. There were soft lanterns hung from wrought-iron posts, and the snow fell around the glass, making it seem almost like being inside a snow globe. It was beautiful, a gilded cage of my own making.
I set my small bag down on the console table and walked through the space, touching nothing, observing everything. I never slept well in pristine rooms like this. Too many years listening for footsteps that meant danger. Too much silence. Too much death.
