“Thank you for … the tea,” I tell him.
“Anytime, Kat.”
That’s the first time he calls me Kat. Not Katerina. Not Miss Morozov. I return to the bedroom after emptying the mug and partially close the door. Just enough to block some of the light. Because I do not want to hear silence alone.
And somewhere between brandy warmth and mountain stillness, I let sleep take me knowing it never comes without a cost.
Chapter 6
Hawk
The coyotes fade. The forest resets. Silence returns in layers.I don’t put the gun back in the safe. Not yet. I kill the main lights and leave the fire low. Sit on the couch. Listen.
Cabins make noise. Wood expands. Wind shifts. Floorboards settle. You learn the difference between structure and threat. The difference matters.
Thirty minutes pass. Then forty. Her breathing down the hall evens out. Too even. Like someone who fell asleep because they had to.
I let my eyes close but don’t let myself drift. Then I hear it.
Soft. Broken. Not the kind of movement wood makes. Words.
I stand before I realize I’ve moved. The hallway is darker now. Firelight barely reaches the bedroom door.
Her voice slips through the crack. Low. Urgent. Russian first. Then English.
“…no more…”
Silence.
“…last job…”
The words cut clean through the quiet. Something cold settles low in my chest. My jaw tightens. Last job? That’s not socialite language. That’s operative language. But then I detected that about her early on.
She shifts in the bed. Sheets rustle.
“They said the diamonds were clean … no trace”
The line is slurred by sleep, but it’s clear.
Diamonds. The gala. My fingers clench into fists at my side.
“They said…” she whispers again. “…clean…”
A small, sharp inhale like she’s trying to wake herself. I don’t enter the room. I don’t speak.
I stand in the dark and let the pieces slide into place. Routine protection detail doesn’t require rooftop extraction. Routine clients don’t talk about last jobs. And they don’t whisper about clean diamonds like they’ve handled something that wasn’t.
She wasn’t afraid of the coyotes. She was afraid of what hunts in packs. And she’s not running from one person or two. It’s a group — a pack. She’s running from leverage.
The wind pushes once against the cabin wall. Inside the bedroom, she goes quiet again. Her breathing deepens and she seems quiet now.
I step back into the living room and sit down slowly. Safehouse Alpha was supposed to be temporary containment. It just became evaluation.
Because whatever she brought into that ballroom … it’s bigger than a threat in a service corridor. And if someone lied to her about clean diamonds … then someone lied to my team.
Morning comes in through the trees, not the windows. Light filters slow and gray across the ridge before it ever reaches the cabin. The fire has burned down to ash. The room smells like pine and cold stone. I’ve been awake for a long time. Habit.
The gun sits on the table within reach. I don’t move it when I stand. I just check it and slide it back into the safe beneath the floorboard.
