Focused.
Because this is what Malenkov does when his toys are taken away.
He hurts other people.
I look at Ronan.
He meets my gaze instantly. No questions. No hesitation.
“I can still move,” I say.
He studies me for exactly one second.
“I know,” he answers. “But this time, you don’t do it alone.”
Good.
Because Malenkov just reminded us of something important.
The rescue is over.
The war isn’t.
And Black Crown?
That’s not an ending.
It’s a declaration.
73
Ronan
Location: Airborne — Eastern Europe
Time: 1251 Hours
The helicopter banks hard.
Not evasive.
Intentional.
I brace one hand against the bulkhead and lean into the movement, eyes locked on the tactical display Lena just pushed to my HUD—three red markers pulse against civilian overlays—roads, villages, transit corridors.
Black Crown.
Malenkov didn’t choose military targets.
He chosepeople.
“Talk to me,” I say.
Lena doesn’t waste words. “It’s a layered contingency. Sleeper assets, pre-positioned equipment, timed triggers. Designed to activate only if he loses high-value leverage.”
My jaw tightens.
Ethan. Lance. Jonah, Cal, and Marcus.
