“Good,” he says. “Don’t stop.”
I turn down a side street, heart racing, scanning reflections in windows, listening for footsteps.
“Lena,” Ronan says, voice low and lethal. “This wasn’t a coincidence.”
“I know.”
“This was a test.”
I swallow hard. “Then he’s closer than we thought.”
“No,” Ronan corrects. “He’s already crossed the line.”
I duck into a bookstore, forcing myself to breathe, to look normal, to disappear.
“I’m not backing down,” I tell him quietly.
“I know,” Ronan says.
And then—softer:
“That’s what scares him.”
I hang up and lean against a shelf, knees weak.
The world keeps moving around me. Shoppers browsing. Pages turning.
But something fundamental has shifted.
Malenkov didn’t come for me directly.
He brushed past my life.
Just enough to let me know—
I’m visible now.
44
Ronan
Location: Coastal North Carolina — Private Residence
Time: Night
Idon’t raise my voice.
I don’t have to.
The second Lena walks through the door, and I see the dried blood flecked in her hair—from glass thatalmosttook her eye—I feel something inside me go ice-cold and lethal.
I shut the door behind her and lock it.
She watches me carefully. “Ronan—”
“You’re done going out,” I say evenly.
Her jaw tightens instantly. “Excuse me?”
