“Where are we going?” she asks.
“Somewhere quiet,” I say.
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” I agree. “It’s a direction.”
She studies me like she’s deciding whether I’m predictable. She won’t find that comforting. Safehouse Alpha sits thirty-eight minutes out on a mountain ridge with a landing pad. No lights unless activated. No curious neighbors.
I’ll consider it temporary. If command wants her moved again, they’ll move her. If I decide she needs to be moved again, they’ll listen. Because something about this doesn’t match the brief.
“You knew we were there tonight,” I say.
She doesn’t deny it this time. Her eyes shift toward the window instead.
“I was promised protection,” she says evenly.
Promised … by who? Not my lane. Except it just became my lane.
The wind smooths as we clear the last of the turbulence. Below us, everything looks controlled and organized. It never is.
I tighten my grip on the controls and make the decision official in my head. Maybe she’s not disappearing tonight. She’s being evaluated.
Until I know what just forced my hand … she’s not going anywhere without me.
Chapter 4
Katerina
The helicopter descends through a darkness that feels older than the city we left behind. No neon lights here. Just black ridgelines and the faint outline of trees waiting below.
Hawk doesn’t narrate the landing. He doesn’t reassure me. He simply lowers us through the last pocket of wind and sets the helicopter down with a precision that feels almost quiet.
The rotors slow and the world shrinks to the sound of ticking metal. For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then he unstraps and steps out into the cold. The kind that steals warmth without asking permission. I follow. My breath ghosts white in front of me.
The cabin sits thirty yards from the landing patch. Dark wood. Sloped roof. No exterior lights except the faint amber sensor glow near the door. It’s not a mansion. Not a bunker. It’s something in between.
Hawk moves ahead of me, scanning without looking like he’s scanning. He unlocks the door with a keypad code I pretend not to memorize. The door opens to darkness and the faint scent of old smoke and pine. He steps inside first.
I wait exactly one second before following. He crosses to the wall and flips a switch. Lights come alive. The interior is simple. Wide-plank floors. Stone fireplace. A heavy wool throw draped over the back of a couch that looks like it has seen winter before.
The fireplace draws my attention immediately. Wood stacked neatly beside it. Split clean. Prepared. He notices.
“Power’s stable,” he says. “But the fireplace runs regardless.”
He sets his headset on a side table and shrugs out of his jacket. Not casually. Efficiently.
“Bedroom’s through there,” he says, nodding toward a hallway. “Bathroom opposite.”
“You do this often?” I ask.
“Land helicopters in the mountains?” His mouth almost tilts. “When necessary.”
The cold has already crept into my bones. My gown was designed for admiration, not altitude. Silk offers nothing against mountain air.
He notices that too.
