Dr. Sorokina leads us deeper into the facility—a labyrinth of corridors, security checkpoints, and reinforced doors. Each section requires different access codes, biometric scans, or physical keys.
“This place is insane,” Elena whispers to me as we pass through what must be the third or fourth security door. “Like, apocalypse-ready insane.”
She’s not wrong. As we move deeper, I begin to grasp the scale of Eagle Point. The facility is massive—carved directly into the cliff, extending deep into the mountain. We pass medical suites, communications centers, what looks like an armory, and residential quarters.
“Children’s rooms are on the east wing,” Dr. Sorokina informs us, leading us down another corridor. “Everything has been prepared according to protocol.”
The “children’s wing” turns out to be a suite of interconnected bedrooms, each personalized for its intended occupant. Alya’s room has her favorite stuffed animals already placed on the bed. Lev and Nikolai’s room has books, games, even their preferred snacks stocked in small refrigerators.
“You’ve been here before?” I ask them, surprised by how comfortable they seem in this fortress.
“Drills,” Nikolai explains. “Every six months. But we’ve never stayed overnight.”
The thought of these children—8 and 12 years old—practicing evacuation drills and memorizing security protocols makes my heart ache. What kind of life demands that level of preparedness from children?
“Your room is through here, Mrs. Belov,” Dr. Sorokina says, opening another door to reveal a master suite. “Mr. and Mrs. Marquez, you’re adjacent.”
“Whoa, we’re not—” Elena begins.
“We’re not married,” Julian finishes, looking mortified. “She’s my sister’s friend.”
Dr. Sorokina’s expression doesn’t change. “My apologies. We’ll arrange separate accommodations.”
“I’ll bunk with Bella,” Elena says quickly. “Julian can have the other room.”
Yelena watches this exchange with thinly veiled disdain.
“I’ll be in my quarters,” she announces. “Children, you should rest.”
“But we’re not tired,” Lev protests.
“Rest doesn’t mean sleep,” she tells him firmly. “It means quiet activities. Books. Perhaps those electronic games you’re so fond of.”
Lev looks like he might argue, but one sharp look from his grandmother silences him.
“I want to stay with Mommy,” Alya says suddenly, her small hand finding mine again.
The word sends a jolt through me—both warmth and fear. I glance at Yelena, whose lips thin almost imperceptibly.
“Of course you can, sweetheart,” I tell Alya, ignoring Yelena’s disapproval.
An hour later, we’ve settled into an uneasy rhythm. The children are in the common area of their wing, playing a board game that Nikolai produced from somewhere. Julian and Lila have joined them, my brother seemingly determined to keep everyone’s spirits up with bad jokes and card tricks.
Elena and I stand in the kitchen—a sleek, modern space with high-end appliances and a fully stocked pantry.
“Want to tell me what’s really going on?” she asks, leaning against the counter as I make tea I don’t actually want.
“I don’t know much more than you do,” I say honestly. “Something about a bombing. Some rival family. Konstantin sending us here for safety.”
“Not that,” she says, lowering her voice. “The baby. The cramps. The fact that you look like you’re about to shatter into a million pieces.”
I set the kettle down with a clunk. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
“Elena—”
“No, Bella. We’re in a freaking bunker carved into a mountain because, apparently, your husband has the kind of enemies who plant bombs in churches. This is not the time for ‘I’m fine.’”
