I’ve grown weak because of her, and weakness in my field means certain death. It means Anya might grow up without afather or not grow up at all.
I can’t allow that to happen.
So, I give the only answer I can to protect us all. “This?” The word comes out flat. “This is a mistake.”
I leave.
Before I can witness the ruin of my words, I’m down the corridor, deafening myself to the crying, the shuffling footsteps, the slamming of a door.
I numb myself to it all, knowing that it will cost me my soul. That it will cost me her.
My chest aches.
This is for the best.
The office door is barely closed behind me when I read Alexei’s face.
His jaw is clenched. Worry fills his eyes.
“What happened?” I ask, crossing to the desk.
He’s standing beside the map table, tablet in hand, his posture rigid.
“The doctor called in. Dmitri contacted him two days ago — said he’d been shot. By the time the doctor arrived at the location, Dmitri was already gone.”
I stop. “Did anyone speak to him directly? Why am I only hearing about this now?”
“The doctor didn’t report it. Dmitri told him not to. He only came to us today because Dmitri showed up at his practice this morning to have the wound redressed.” Alexei pauses, choosing his next words with care. “Whoever treated him initially knew what they were doing — the bleeding was stopped, the wound was stabilized. Without it, he’d likely be dead. But he refused to say who helped him.”
I lean against the desk, turning this over. “He went soft and checked into a hospital?”
The thought doesn’t sit right even as I say it. If Dmitri walked into a hospital, there would be records, his name in a system, a trail that leads directly back to my organization.
Dmitri wouldn’t take that risk. He’s too disciplined, too trained, too aware of what exposure means for all of us. But if not a hospital, then who has the medical skill to stabilize a gunshot wound outside of official channels?
“Doesn’t Ellie’s friend work at the hospital?” Alexei asks. “She’s a pediatrician, but she’d have the training. If he showed up at her door bleeding?—”
“She’d help him,” I finish the sentence. Of course she would.
Interesting.
Also, dangerous.
“What exactly is going on with those two?” The question is directed at Alexei, but it’s really directed at the situation — at the widening gap of information.
“He didn’t report. He’s not following protocol.”
“Keep a close eye on them,” I order. “I want to know every interaction, every location, every movement. If Dmitri has gone off the rails, I need to understand how far before I decide what to do about it.”
Alexei nods, already reaching for his phone to relay the order, when his intercom crackles to life. He listens for a few seconds. His expression shifts.
“What now?” I ask.
“We have a possible location on Dushku, verified forty minutes ago.” He sets the intercom down and reaches for the tablet, pulling up a satellite map. “But that’s not all. He attacked first.”
“Where?”
“Three sites. Simultaneous strikes.” His finger traces thepoints on the screen, red markers blooming across the city grid. “The warehouse on Kedzie. The restaurant on Michigan Avenue. And the distribution hub in Pilsen.”
