“Yes.”
Because Malenkov doesn’t trade people like us.
Heusesus.
Footsteps echo again—closer this time. One man stops outside the door. Another lingers farther down the corridor.
Security posture just changed.
I lean forward as much as the chains allow. Lower my voice.
“Listen to me,” I say. “Whatever happens next—do exactly what I do. No sudden movements. No questions.”
Her eyes flicker. “You sound confident for someone in chains.”
I force a thin smile.
“I’m not confident,” I say. “I’m counting on someone smarter than both of us.”
She studies me for a long moment. Then nods once.
“I trust people who don’t panic,” she says.
Good answer.
The door slides open.
A man steps inside—clean uniform, neutral expression, eyes that don’t linger. He looks between us like we’re inventory.
“Transfer delayed,” he says flatly. “Temporary holding.”
I feel it then.
Not hope.
Timing.
This delay wasn’t meant for us.
It was meant forhim.
The man exits. The door seals again.
I let my head fall back against the wall, eyes closed, breathing controlled.
Somewhere above ground, Lena Hart is watching clocks converge. I know this because the others were rescued.
Somewhere nearby, Ronan Pierce is letting this unfold exactly as it needs to.
I don’t know when they’ll strike.
I only know this—
Malenkov brought us together for leverage.
What he doesn’t realize…
Is that leverage works both ways.
