The air cools as I descend, the warmth from the study fire not quite reaching the upper floors. Alexander stands in the foyer, arms crossed, his face illuminated by the low lamp on the side table.
He's alert, as always—eyes sharp, posture ready. Five years with me, and he's never let his guard down. Loyal, or at least as loyal as anyone can be in this life. Even in these dark times, I know I can trust this man.
"Boss," he says, nodding once. No questions yet, but I see them brewing.
I reach the bottom step and meet his gaze. "I'm heading out. Keep an eye on the boy. He doesn't leave his room. No matter what. If he tries, handle it quietly. No harm, just back to bed."
Alexander's brow furrows slightly. "You sure about going alone? Outside the grounds? It's dark, and with the trouble..."
I wave it off.
"The man I'm meeting. I trust him. Known him for years. This isn't a setup."
Alexander shifts his weight, not fully convinced, but he knows better than to push too hard. "Alright. I'll watch him. No matter what happens."
"Everything's fine," I reassure him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Just a talk. Back soon."
Alexander nods, though his eyes linger on me as I grab my coat from the hook by the door. I can feel his concern, but it's misplaced.
I step out into the night, the cool air hitting my face like a slap. The woodland surrounds the house, thick and dark, trees whispering in the faint breeze. No moon tonight, just stars scattered overhead, sharp as knife points. I pull my coat tighter and start walking, sticking to the familiar path that winds through the undergrowth. Leaves crunch under my boots, but I move quietly out of habit—years of training, of slipping through shadows unseen.
The compound's perimeter is secure, but I know every inch, every weak spot I've reinforced myself. Trust is a luxury in my world, even with my own property. As I push deeper into the woods, my mind wanders back to Eddie...
That promise he made—eyes wide, voice soft. Does he mean it? Or is it just exhaustion talking? He’s tried to run a couple of times now, each attempt bolder than the last. Smart boy. Resourceful. But naive about the dangers outside these walls.
If he got out, if the wrong people found him… I shake the thought away.
Focus on the meeting. My guest will have answers, or at least leads. That's what matters.
The secret entrance comes into view after ten minutes of walking—a metal door camouflaged behind a wall of thick undergrowth, vines and branches woven over it like nature's own lock.
I brush them aside, revealing the rusted handle. It's old, from the property's previous owners, but I've kept it functional, oiledthe hinges myself. No electronic locks here—no trace. I turn the key—alwayson me—and push it open with a low creak.
The door swings inward, revealing a narrow tunnel that leads beyond the compound's fence.
On the other side… Ivan waits.
He's a shadow against the trees, lean and still, dressed in black like always. No coat despite the chill. Ivan doesn't feel cold, or at least that's the myth. His face is sharp, scarred from old fights, eyes bright blue and unreadable. We've known each other for over a decade, back from when he was part of a crew, before his family was wiped out in that massacre. Petrov's doing, or so the rumors went.
Ivan survived by chance—or skill—and went solo after.
He’s an assassin for hire now, but selective. Loyal to no one, debts to few.
"Viktor," Ivan says, voice gravelly, extending a hand.
I clasp it firmly, the shake brief but solid. "Ivan. Good to see you breathing."
He snorts—a rare sound. "Same. What's the play?"
I lean against the doorframe, scanning the darkness behind him out of habit. "Gallery downtown. Meeting to close a deal on the building. Associate drops… ambush. I take out the shooter, but more come. Grabbed a witness on the way out. A boy. Holed up with me now."
Ivan's eyes narrow. "Inside job?"
"Likely,” I say. “Traitors in the family. Various names are possible."
He nods slowly, processing. "I'll dig. You know me, I’ve got contacts in the shadows. Quiet ones. I’ll get to the bottom of this."
"Appreciated. But payment?—"
