“Like hell,” Lance says. “But I knew you’d screw it up eventually.”
I sag onto the bench as the bird lifts, vibration rattling my bones loose. The forest drops away beneath us, Malenkov’s world shrinking into something small and temporary.
Safe.
For half a heartbeat.
Then Lena’s voice sharpens.
“Ronan—Jonah—listen to me.”
The tone cuts through the fog instantly.
“What is it?” Ronan asks.
“I just intercepted a protocol activation,” she says. “Encrypted. Deep-level. Malenkov triggered something calledBlack Crown.”
The name hits wrong.
Too deliberate. Too ceremonial.
“What is it?” I ask.
A pause.
Then: “It’s not defensive.”
My pulse spikes.
“Jonah,” Lena continues, “your movement patterns—the hunters you drew uphill—they weren’t just guarding the prison.”
I close my eyes.
I already know where this is going.
“They were covering something else,” I say quietly.
“Yes,” she replies. “Black Crown is a contingency strike. External. Civilian-adjacent. Designed to force response.”
Ronan swears under his breath.
Ethan stirs on the stretcher, brow furrowing even unconscious—like his body recognizes the shift too.
Malenkov didn’t lose control.
He changed targets.
I grip the edge of the bench as another wave of pain rolls through me, grounding myself in it.
“Lena,” I say, voice steady now. “Where.”
She exhales once. Tight.
“Three locations. One is already active.”
The helicopter banks.
Inside, the mood changes—not frantic, not loud.
