I tear the casing open, fingers moving on instinct. Cut one wire—wrong choice and the corridor becomes a grave.
I don’t hesitate.
I cut two.
The device goes dead in my hands.
Silence floods the tunnel.
The runner’s laughter stops.
“Red Two neutralized,” Lena confirms. “Fallback aborted.”
I rise, pulse steady, ears straining for the next shoe to drop.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, my HUD flashes again—Red Three—farther out, faster moving, already adapting.
“Malenkov’s done waiting,” Lena says quietly. “Red Three’s mobile. Armed convoy.”
I straighten.
Good.
Finally, something honest.
“Route it,” I say. “We end this now.”
Jase stands, flexing his hand once. “You good?”
I glance at the street above—sunlight spilling down like nothing is wrong with the world.
“I’m exactly where I need to be,” I answer.
Because Malenkov’s contingencies are built on fear and reaction.
Mine are built onresolve.
And Red Three?
That’s where he learns the difference.
76
Ronan
Location: Red Three Intercept Zone — Eastern Europe
Time: 1309 Hours
The street opens up ahead of us.
Wide. Industrial. Too open for comfort.
Red Three’s convoy marker pulses at the far end—two vehicles, armored, moving fast and wrong for civilian traffic. They aren’t hiding anymore.
Malenkov has switched from subtle to desperate.
