"It's not revenge either."
"No," I agree because she's right. "But it's a start. And right now, we need to focus on survival. On getting you patched up properly. On planning the next move instead of mourning the move we didn't make."
She goes quiet and stares out the window at darkness rushing past. I can practically hear her mind working.
The safe house appears after forty minutes of driving. This one is smaller, more remote than usual. Tucked into desert that stretches in all directions like an ocean of sand and scrub brush. I park in the attached garage and wait for the door to close before killing the engine.
"Stay here." I pull my weapon and clear the interior room by room. When I'm satisfied we're alone, I return to help Sofiya out of the car.
She's gone gray around the edges. Shock finally catching up with adrenaline's retreat. I lift her despite her weak protest and carry her inside to the bedroom where medical supplies wait in neat rows on the dresser.
"I can walk," she mutters against my chest.
"You can barely stand." I set her on the bed and start pulling supplies down. "Let me do this. Let me help."
She doesn't argue further. Just sits there while I work, cleaning wounds with steady hands that have cleaned hundreds of wounds before. I apply antibiotic ointment and fresh bandages,wrapping her knee properly, check her pupils for signs of concussion. She flinches but doesn’t make a sound as I make quick work of stitching up her cuts. I finish bandaging with her looking at me like I'm either her salvation or her destruction.
She reaches up and touches the X tattooed below my eye. Her fingers are gentle despite everything. I catch her hand and press it flat against my face. Her eyes fill with tears that don't fall. She blinks them back with visible effort.
I release her hand reluctantly and return to cleaning wounds because touching her in ways that aren't medical feels dangerous right now. When I finish bandaging the last cut, I step back and give her space to breathe without my presence crowding her.
"You should rest. Your body needs time to heal."
"What about Father?" She doesn't lie down. "What about the men who'll be coming for us?"
"We have until morning at least." I move to the window and check sight lines out of habit. "Viktor needs time to stabilize Father. Get him to a hospital or the compound's medical facility. By the time they're organized enough to mount a search, we'll be gone."
"Gone where?"
“To finish the job or die trying.”
She finally lies back against the pillows, her face turning paler than before. "I'm so tired. Too tired to think about next steps or plans or anything beyond this moment."
"Then don't." I move closer again. I can’t seem to help myself. "Just rest. I'll keep watch."
"You need rest too."
"I'm used to functioning without it." I settle into the chair beside the bed and keep my weapon within easy reach. "Besides, someone needs to stay alert in case I'm wrong about our timeline."
Her eyes drift closed despite obvious effort to keep them open. "Wake me if anything happens."
"I will." I won’t.
I watch her breathing even out and the tension slowly drain from her body as exhaustion claims her completely. She looks younger in sleep. More vulnerable. Less like the hardened warrior who killed a man with her shoe and more like the girl Father's men destroyed in the desert.
The X on my face throbs. Phantom pain from a tattoo I got specifically so I'd never forget this moment. Never forget what I failed to prevent. Never forget the choice I made that turned me into something I could barely stand to see in mirrors.
When she wakes, we spend the next hours mapping assault vectors, timing guard changes, and identifying weak points in compound security. Our combined knowledge creats a strategy that's achievable instead of suicidal. We account for variables,plan contingencies, accept casualties we might take while minimizing innocent deaths.
By the time darkness falls again, we have something resembling a workable plan.
"We move tomorrow night." I stand and stretch, joints popping. "That gives you time to heal just a little bit more and gives me time to gather additional resources."
She moves toward the bedroom and pauses at the door. "Don't leave tonight. Stay with me."
The vulnerability in her voice undoes something in my chest. I've heard men beg for mercy, heard women scream in fear, heard every variation of human emotion distilled to its rawest form. But this quiet request from a woman who's spent ten years trusting no one hits different.
Hits harder.
