The wood clicks softly, and the shelf shifts forward.
Warm light spills out.
This safe room looks like a small second nursery crossed with a quiet den. Soft rugs. A low couch with folded blankets. A tiny table with picture books. A night-light shaped like a star. Someone built this for comfort, not confinement. Or Sergei knew what was coming and decided to set things up beforehand. I’m inclined to believe the latter.
Nadia lifts her head. “Mama?” she whispers.
I carry her inside. Vera follows and shuts the shelf behind us, the latch clicking back into place.
“It’s a drill,” I murmur, easing Nadia onto the couch. “Remember our rule?”
She nods, pressing her bear to her chest. “Be still. Be brave.”
“Exactly.” I kiss her forehead. “I’ll come back.”
Vera settles beside her, pulling a blanket over both of them. She gives me one firm nod—a promise. I kiss her forehead, brush her hair back, and let my hand rest there for one breath longer than I should. Then I step out and seal the door. The lock thumps into place, metal sinking into metal.
When I turn back, the hallway is pitch black except for the faint red wash from the emergency backup light at the far end. The lullaby thrums through the ceiling, vibrating faintly in my teeth.
I slip into the control alcove beside the panic room, pull up the safe room feeds. Nadia sits perfectly still on the floor, bear held tightly, back straight, chin lifted just like I taught her. My heart pulls, sharp and protective.
I cut elevator access, reroute all calls to the internal server, and sever external lines. Whoever is in the system will now feel the drop. I hope he panics. I hope he knows I’m not asleep anymore.
In the darkness, Sergei’s voice cuts through like a blade.
“Lights,” he orders in the kitchen.
Nothing changes. The Courier has full override.
“Mikhail,” he says, quieter now, dangerous in its restraint, “explain.”
“I—I don’t know what’s happening,” Mikhail stammers. I hear him bump into the counter. “Something tripped the breakers. Need to check the—” There’s a sharp intake of breath but it doesn’t muffle the sound of metal scraping. My blood runs cold.
I move fast toward the kitchen doorway just as Sergei catches Mikhail’s wrist. The sound is unmistakable, a muffled scream, bone shifting under pressure. A dull thud follows, then a clatter as the blade skitters across tile.
“You disappoint me,” Sergei says, his tone soft. Not loud. Soft—like a man about to break something fragile.
“Sergei, please—” Mikhail gasps.
“Talk,” Sergei commands.
“It’s not what you think,” Mikhail blurts. “The feed at the mansion glitched. It was corrupted. I cleaned it. That’s all.”
Liar.
I slide into the kitchen shadows, fingers grazing the wall to orient myself. Sweat and the faint sweetness of yesterday’s pancakes linger in the air, a strange mix of fear and the life we almost had. Sergei stands ahead of me, outlined faintly by the city glow through the balcony glass. “He scrubbed the hour,” I say. “Not corrupted. Erased with his signature.”
Mikhail whips toward my voice, panic tightening his breath. “Raina—no, no, I would never?—”
Sergei hits him back into the wall in one step, his grip closing under Mikhail’s jaw. “Don’t use her name,” he says.
Mikhail shuts up instantly.
I pull the decoy logs onto the kitchen screen. They glow dim blue in the darkness, casting a cold wash over all of us. The numbers line up perfectly.
I point. “These timestamps come from your machine. The way you code and the way you time your edits—it’s all here. You wiped the hour and let someone in.”
“I had no choice,” Mikhail whispers.
