The guard hesitates.
That hesitation?
That’s fear.
And fear means Malenkov’s control is already slipping.
I lean back as far as the restraints allow, chest screaming, lungs burning, and give the camera one last look.
A promise.
Ronan Pierce will come.
Jonah Elliot is already free.
And when this place burns—
It won’t be because we begged.
It’ll be because we endured.
The camera cuts.
The silence that follows is heavier than the pain.
And for the first time in four years—
I know we’ve already won something Malenkov can never take back.
64
Jonah
Location: Forested Ravine — Eastern Europe
Time: 1212 Hours
The forest goes quiet wrong.
Not peaceful.
Not natural.
The birds stop first.
I freeze mid-step, one hand braced against a fir trunk, breath slowing automatically. Marin halts behind me without being told—she’s learning fast.
Too fast for someone who’s just supposed to be running.
That tells me everything.
“They’re close,” she whispers.
“Yes,” I say. “And they think they’re early.”
Pain pulses through my ribs as I shift my weight. The guard’s boots are half a size too small. My shoulder screams where the baton caught bone instead of muscle.
I don’t care.
