She didn’t hear the words.
She heard the truth.
“Someone broke,” she says softly.
“I’m not sure if he actually broke, or they just think he did.”
She sits up, pulling the sheet around herself. “And Malenkov believed it.”
“Yes.”
She nods once, already thinking. Already working the angles.
“I’ll find what he gained,” she says.
It isn’t bravado.
It’s inevitability.
I cross the room and kneel in front of her, taking her hands.
“This just got more dangerous.”
Her gaze locks on mine. “It always was.”
I lean in, resting my forehead against hers.
“I won’t lose them again,” I vow.
She squeezes my hands. “Then don’t waste the time they bought you.”
37
Lena
Location: Outer Banks, North Carolina — Two Hours Later
The shift is subtle.
That’s what almost makes me miss it.
Almost.
Malenkov’s digital footprint changes pattern—not volume. Not aggression.
Precision.
He closes three shell companies and opens two new ones under different jurisdictions, rerouting funds through a logistics firm I’ve never seen before.
That’s not escalation.
That’s repositioning.
I lean closer to my screen, heart pounding—not fear, not panic.
Recognition.
“He got something,” I whisper.
