Then his expression shifts. Recognition crosses his features—understanding that this setup looks staged, that the evacuation evidence is too obvious, too convenient.
That he's walked into a trap.
He pulls out a phone. Starts to dial.
"No," I breathe, the word escaping without permission.
Luc's already reaching for his own phone. "He's calling for backup."
Lazarev lifts the phone to his ear, mouth moving as he gives orders to someone on the other end. No response from Remy through the comm. Radio silence maintained just like he said.
Lazarev moves toward the window, scanning the street below like he's trying to spot where we're watching from, phone still pressed to his ear.
"Where is Remy?" My voice cracks slightly, fear bleeding through despite every attempt at control. "Why isn't he responding?"
"He's maintaining operational security." Luc's jaw sets, tension visible in the muscle. "But Lazarev just called in reinforcements. If a team arrives before Remy detonates, they'll sweep the building systematically. They'll find his position."
On screen, Lazarev ends the call. Turns toward the door, weapon coming up like he's expecting company any second.
That's when the apartment erupts.
Remy doesn't wait for reinforcements to arrive. The shaped charges detonate in precise sequence, turning the apartment into an inferno so massive that even on the grainy phone feed I can see fire blooming through windows, heat shimmer visible in the air itself.
The blast is devastating. Directional and contained exactly like Remy promised, but absolutely devastating within the target zone.
Even from blocks away, I feel it. The window beside me trembles. A deep concussive thud rolls through the air, rattling in my chest cavity like something trying to tear loose, followed immediately by the shriek of car alarms and breaking glass.
The phone feed goes black—thermal overload, the device destroyed by temperatures hot enough to melt metal and plastic into slag.
From the window, I watch the apartment consumed by fire. Flames lick through shattered windows, angry orange against the darkening sky. Smoke billows upward in thick black columns that blot out what's left of the evening light. Heat shimmer is visible even at this distance—air wavering like liquid above the burning unit.
Glass continues falling in tinkling crashes as windows blow out from thermal stress. Wood snaps and groans—support beams warping under extreme heat inside the apartment.
The shaped charges did their job perfectly. Directional blast, destruction completely contained to the target apartment.Neighboring units show lights coming on, residents at their windows, but the walls held. No structural damage beyond the kill zone. No civilian casualties.
Just one apartment burning like a funeral pyre.
No sign of Lazarev. No sign of movement from the burning apartment. No way to confirm the kill.
Emergency sirens wail in the distance, growing louder. Fire trucks responding, police converging on the scene.
The comm crackles—static, then silence.
No word from Remy. No confirmation he's alive, no signal that the operation succeeded, no update on extraction status.
Just flames consuming the apartment, smoke billowing from broken windows, and silence where Remy's voice should be.
I stare at the black screen where the feed used to be, then out the window at the devastation. Lazarev walked into the trap. Remy detonated before reinforcements could arrive. But there's no body, no confirmation Lazarev died in that inferno.
And there's no way to know if Remy made it out.
"He'll extract." Luc's hand finds my shoulder, steadying, grounding. But even his voice sounds less certain than before.
"Then why—" The words stick in my throat.
"Because he's moving through an active scene. Police, fire crews, witnesses everywhere. He'll make contact when he's clear and secure."
The logic makes sense. But logic doesn't stop my pulse from hammering. Doesn't quiet the images flooding my mind—Remy trapped under rubble, bleeding out in some alley while emergency crews search the wrong location, caught by police responding to the explosion.
