“Come on,” I hiss under my breath, tugging at them. “Come out, come out?—”
They don’t. The backings are screwed too tight, the angle too odd for me to undo them myself.
Oh, God.
What if Mikhail heard everything? What if he heard Maksim’s people talking about his fiancée? What if he’s already decided Leo’s usefulness is over, that my son is a liability now instead of leverage because his fiancée is being threatened?
The image of Leo’s small hands clutching his wooden train flashes through my mind and my stomach flips.
I can’t let that happen.
I press my forehead to the cool edge of the dresser, my palms flat against it, breathing hard.
Think. Think.
I need to contact him. I need to get ahead of this before it spins out of control. Maybe I can spin it, make it sound like Maksim and his people don’t know who she is, that they’re chasing a dead lead. Maybe I can feed him a story so convincing, he’ll have no reason to doubt me and therefore will have no reason to hurt Leo.
I have to get ahold of that burner phone and contact him before I run out of time.
11
MAKSIM
“What the hell was that?” Roman mutters at the end of the hallway, his voice edged with irritation.
I step back from the door, letting my hand fall from where I’d been knocking, the skin of my knuckles still buzzing from the contact. For the life of me, I can’t pinpoint what triggered Ivy’s sudden flight. One second, she’d been sitting at the table quietly, sorting through files, and the next, she was bolting from the room as if she’d been running from Mikhail himself.
Had we said something to upset her? Mentioned something that dragged her back to the hell she’d just crawled out of? Us mentioning Mikhail had a fiancée? Or was it simply the weight of everything crashing down on her at once?
All of it is a distinct possibility, each one twisting my stomach tighter until it feels nauseating.
The locked door says enough. It’s a silent request for space, a line drawn in the sand I can’t cross no matter how badly Iwant to. And while it stings for her to shut me out, especially after last night, I force myself to understand.
None of this is easy for her. Not after what she’s endured. It’s only been a little over twenty-four hours since I got her back and with Leo still out there, dealing with any of this can’t be easy.
The impulse to break down that door and demand answers gnaws at me, but that’s not what she needs. That’s not what will help. I breathe out slowly, dragging a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots to try to ground myself before the frustration boils over.
I start down the hallway, my footsteps heavy. Roman steps aside to let me pass, his broad shoulders brushing mine as I move past. His eyes are on me, sharp and intent, scanning my expression for any tell of what’s going through my head.
He’s not the only one. The rest of my inner circle are just as curious, their expectant silence loud.
They want to know what happened, what Ivy’s hiding, why she’s retreating now when we’re supposed to be working together, but for the moment, all I can give them is the same thing she’s given me.Trust.
I let out a short sigh, running a hand over my jaw. “I’m not sure, but let’s continue with what we were working on. I’ll talk to her later.”
Roman’s brow lifts—just slightly, a barely-there twitch—but I catch it. The only outward sign of his skepticism. I don’t comment on it. I don’t have the bandwidth right now to pick a fight with him too.
He follows me silently as I return to the table, the others already drifting back into their roles. The murmur of conversation resumes with the light tapping of Matvey’s keyboard like a machine slowly restarting. But Roman doesn’t sit. He stays beside me, arms crossed, shadowing my movements with that unreadable look on his face.
Ignoring him, my gaze drops to the spread of documents Ivy had been reviewing before she bolted. The mess of photos, maps, surveillance stills, and reports lie strewn across the surface in slightly chaotic piles, a visual echo of our operation.
My eyes settle on the folder we’d managed to secure from Emily’s school—a win I’d thought would bring us closer to locating her.
The top flap is open.
I freeze, narrowing my eyes. It hadn’t been open before…
Carefully, I flip it the rest of the way open, exposing the contents Ivy must have seen. The file is thin—just enough documentation to give us a sense of Emily’s day-to-day life at the school before all of this. Some background info, emergency contacts, a few staff notes, and a faculty ID photo clipped to the top page.
