“And a therapist who can tell you that you have the emotional range of a parking cone.” Sophia smirks.
Ian points at her. “I have an enormous emotional range.”
“Name one emotion you’ve had this week.”
“Hunger.”
“That’s not an emotion.”
“It is when I feel it deeply enough.” He takes a swig of his beer, and my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I dig it out, stand, and swipe the screen to read Andrei’s text.
Compromised. Live tracker on my phone from Prague airport to your location. They know where you are. Get out now.
Three seconds. That’s how long it takes for the information to land, for the calculation to run, for everything in the room to change while every object remains perfectly still.
Ian reads my face. Sets his beer down.
“Remember the plan,” I say to him, and a knowing look passes between us.
“I made you a promise, didn’t I?”
I nod, and Sophia’s voice cuts through the tension behind me.
“What’s going on?”
I turn to face her. She’s still holding half a muffin, crumbs on her fingers, looking between us with that sharp, too-perceptive gaze that never misses anything.
Ian clears his throat, forcing the easy grin back onto his face like armor.
“Nothing you need to worry about yet, Crazy.” He takes her hand, lifts her off the couch. “But if you want to pack a small bag, clothes, those ridiculous slippers, whatever makes you feel steady, now would be a good time.”
She freezes. The playful light in her eyes dims instantly. “Reth?”
I step closer, voice low. “I need you to trust me and do what Ian says. Pack light. We may need to move fast.”
“What’s going on?”
“Now, Crazy.” Ian grabs her shoulders and guides her quickly up the stairs. I go to retrieve my karambit from the back of the liquor cabinet. The weight of it settles into my hand the way it always does—familiar, certain, the one constant in thirteen years of variables. I check it without thinking. Muscle memory older than almost anything else I have.
Ian reappears with his jacket on, two handguns holstered, a third weapon he hands to me without a word. I check the magazine. Full. Rack the slide.
The perimeter sensor goes off, and Ian stills. “How many?”
“Four.”
“Vehicles?”
I nod and stare at the face of the man I’ve trusted with my life on four continents. “Protect her?—”
“—when you can’t. I swear on my life, man.”
Sophia appears in the doorway with her coat half-buttoned, shoes on, eyes moving between us and the weapons with an expression I recognize—not panic, not shutdown. Just her, frightened and functional simultaneously, holding herself together the way she always does.
“What do you need me to do?” she says, but I hear the slight tremor in her voice. Something sharp shoots straight through my blackened heart.
“Stay behind Ian,” I say. “No matter what happens. Don’t stop moving.”
