It wasn’t just external anymore.
It was internal.
A deep cramping sensation twisted through my pelvis — violent contractions pulling at my core like something was being forcibly expelled.
My vision blurred.
Black edges crept into my sight.
The room spun.
Voices around me faded into a distant echo.
I felt it.
The life inside me — fragile, newly forming — slipping away in a final catastrophic surge of pain.
One last cramp.
One final release.
Then —
Nothing.
The agony didn’t disappear.
But something essential had gone silent.
My body went limp against the marble as my strength drained out of me.
Darkness swallowed my vision completely.
Chapter 14
RUSLAN BARANOV
The private jet touched down on the private airstrip outside Los Angeles just after midnight.
The landing gear kissed the runway with a heavy thud, engines whining as they slowed — then gradually falling into an unnatural hush.
I was already moving before the aircraft fully stopped.
The door slid open.
The stairs deployed.
I didn’t wait for them to lock into place.
Boots hit tarmac in a dead run.
Eight hours in the air had felt like eight years of forced stillness — every minute stretched thin by the encrypted message that had detonated across my screen mid-flight.
Petros.
Perimeter breached.
Multiple hostiles.
