Lila wipes at her face and drops her hands to her sides, straightening her shoulders like she can pull herself back together through sheer will. I keep my palm against my abdomen for another breath, feeling the warmth beneath it, then let my hand lower to the chair.
Ivan thinks he has leverage. Arkady thinks he has control. They believe keeping us in the same room makes us smaller, easier to contain. They let us hear them. Let us see how they move and how quickly they turn on their own.
That was their mistake. They don’t know Kiren the way I do.
I close my eyes and picture him the way he goes quiet before he acts, and the way the air moves around him when he decides something is finished. He won’t rush. He won’t guess. He’ll come. And when he does, this stops being their story.
6
KIREN
The lake house sits back from the road behind a wall of pines that dulls both wind and sound. The porch lights glow softly against the falling dusk with an ordinary domestic warmth that feels deliberately arranged. I remain inside the vehicle long enough for Polina to complete her sweep before I open the door and step into the cold.
“There are four heat signatures inside,” she reports through the secure phone line. “Two in the primary living space. One near the rear corridor. One in the kitchen. All adult male proportions. No irregular movement.”
I keep my eyes on the front window, watching the faint outline of figures pass behind the curtains.
“Vehicles?” I ask.
“One SUV tied to a dissolved transport shell. One pickup truck with altered plates. Both arrived within the last ninety minutes. No departures.”
“Any thermal scan showing someone restrained?”
There’s a brief pause while she adjusts the angle from the satellite to her computer.
“No one appears restrained.”
I remain beside the vehicle, one hand resting against the door frame as I draw in a slow breath and keep my attention on the movement inside the house.
If Rowan were inside, the silhouettes would betray it. Men don’t move the same when they’re restraining someone. They compensate without meaning to. They guard the space even when they think they look relaxed. No one in that house is guarding anyone.
“Cut the exterior power,” I instruct.
The porch lights cut out immediately, leaving only the interior lamps burning behind the glass, visible now from every angle in the dark.
Mikel comes to my left without a word, his collar turned up against the wind, and his hands bare despite the cold. He doesn’t glance at me. His attention stays on the windows, on the angles of the roofline, and on the places a man would choose if he expected to shoot or run.
“The perimeter is sealed,” he informs me quietly.
Karp is already in position along the tree line, absorbed into the shadows the way he prefers. The rest of the team spreads east without instruction. No one hurries. There’s no reason to.
I step away from the vehicle, the gravel crunching under my boots before I adjust my pace. The air cuts across my face and works beneath my collar, carrying the scent of lake water anddamp earth. I keep my eyes on the front windows while Polina’s voice returns in my ear.
“Cellular signals just spiked inside. Attempted outgoing call.”
“Jammer,” I reply.
The signal drops immediately. For several seconds, there’s no reaction, which tells me they weren’t expecting an interruption. Then the front curtain lifts slightly, just enough to confirm someone is looking into the darkness. The rear door opens abruptly as one of the men inside steps out.
Then he runs.
Not well or with planning, just with urgency. He runs hard toward the tree line, his shoulders angled forward, and his boots slipping on frost as he tries to gain speed. He manages only a few strides before Karp intercepts him, driving him into the ground hard enough to empty his lungs but not fracture his bones. Karp’s forearm presses between the man’s shoulder blades while his other hand secures the wrist and turns it inward just enough to remove resistance.
A gunshot cracks from inside the house, glass bursting outward as a round tears through the window frame and strikes the gravel near my boot. Mikel pivots and returns fire in two precise shots that cut the movement behind the glass. The smell of burned powder reaches us seconds later.
Another door bursts open from the kitchen entrance, and a second man steps out with his weapon raised, panic widening his stance before one of our men drives him sideways against the porch railing. The handgun discharges into wood as he falls, splinters scattering while the weapon is stripped from his grip.
The exchange ends as quickly as it began, and the lake takes the noise with it.
