Just like that, the noise dies.
It cuts off so abruptly it almost rings.
Out there, they’re screaming for salvation.
Back here…it’s quiet as the grave. No call of rapture being present...at least not at the moment.
The corridor stretches ahead of me, dimly lit.
Too easy.
You’re slipping, Galina. Too far removed from power—you’ve declawed yourself. It seems most of their security is out front, managing the crowd, controlling the narrative, protecting the image.
Which makes my hands a lot less dirty.
My steps don’t slow, but my awareness sharpens, each door I pass getting a glance, a pause, a calculation, my hand hovering just close enough to my jacket to reach the weapon beneath it without looking like I’m about to draw.
One room.
Empty.
Second.
Nothing.
Third.
Clear.
Good. All as reported. Unless, of course, Jonathon has decided to set an ambush for me at the destination he so kindly provided. A peaceful calm begins to settle.
If this place is still standing…
Niko was never here.
Because men like my uncle don’t get taken.
They don’t get cornered.
They don’t get caught.
Which means that smug bastard is probably waiting for me. I do hope he has a tumbler of whiskey ready—with just a splash of water. Entire families long dead have tried to bring Niko down, to drag him to his knees, to prove something to the worldby ending him, and every single one of them learned the same lesson.
You don’t hunt a predator.
You can only hope to avoid him.
My father taught me how to build power.
How to take it.
How to hold it.
But Niko…
Niko taught me what matters when everything else is stripped away.
Loyalty.
