He leaned back, folding his arms. “It’s okay, you know. To care a little.”
“It’s not about caring. It’s about the mission.”
He hummed. “If you say so.”
I rubbed my forehead, exhaling slowly. “We’ll have to keep an eye on him. And her. Viktor is impulsive. And she’s clever enough to tag him if she wanted to.”
Andrei blinked. “Tag him?”
“A tracker,” I said. “I can’t be certain, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.”
He laughed. “You think she marked him like a stray cat?”
“She had opportunity.”
“And Viktor wouldn’t notice?” Andrei grinned. “Yeah. That tracks.”
I groaned. “Should we check?”
“Absolutely not,” he said. “If he has one and we cut it out of him, he’ll cry for a week, and one will probably inevitably end up my ass.”
“Or mine,” I muttered.
He nodded solemnly. “True. And you’re too old for butt-tracking, brother.”
I closed my eyes. “I hate this family.”
“No, you don’t,” Andrei said with a soft smile.
“This mission is going to be hell,” I spat.
Andrei nodded, taking another sip of his coffee.
“Yep,” he agreed. “But at least it won’t be boring.”
By the time Revenant’s senior staff summoned us to the main conference room, it was mid-afternoon. Gray clouds pressed low over St. Petersburg, swallowing the skyline in a slurry of ice and smog. Revenant’s headquarters sat over it all like a glass monolith, pretending not to rot from the inside.
The conference room was a perfect reflection of the organization itself. It was obsessively clean, aggressively modern, and entirely without soul. There was a long black table at the center of the room. Chrome fixtures. Floor-to-ceiling windows that let the winter light spill in like diluted steel.
My two brothers trailed in behind me.
Viktor in his usual stride—lazy confidence, hands in pockets, smirk edging the corner of his mouth like he knew something no one else in the room did.
Andrei was right behind him—alert, measured, collected but with that telltale glint of mischief in his eyes that always made me feel like I was shepherding a fox through a henhouse.
I took the seat at the center of our side of the table, the one Revenant left out for me intentionally. The chair opposite belonged to the commander of Revenant’s operations—silver-haired, pale-eyed, and wearing a tailored suit that cost more than most men’s funerals.
He waited until we settled before speaking.
“Thank you for your punctuality, gentlemen,” he said, folding his hands neatly.
I nodded once. “You requested another meeting?”
“A final review before we complete our arrangement,” he said. “Your organization is prepared to oversee the movement of the drone shipment?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Your team provided specifications. We’ve reviewed the internal protocols. The Dragunovs will handle delivery, route planning, and security.”
“And one of you,” he said, “will meet with Bashir al-Khayran in person.”
