The room detonates into chaos.
Guards shout. Weapons rise. Chairs scrape back. Someone screams an order that gets lost in the noise.
Anton spins instantly, his composure breaking for the first time, eyes darting toward the source of the attack. “What the—”
More gunfire. Closer now. Coordinated. Controlled. Not random.
An assault.
A real one.
And in the middle of it all—I don’t move.
I stay seated. Still. Watching.
Because I already know.
My lips curve slightly before I can stop it.
Is it Timofey?
Is he really here?
Chapter 30 – Timofey
We hit Moscow under the cover of night.
The city looks the same at a glance—lights, movement, life continuing like nothing is wrong—but I know better. I feel it the moment we cross into the operational perimeter.
Something is already burning.
My phone buzzes once as the convoy slows near the outer routes of the Petrov estate. I don’t need to open it to know what it says. The sound of distant explosions answers it for me.
Then the second hit lands.
A flash of light blooms ahead—too bright, too close—followed by the deep, rolling shockwave of an explosion tearing through the estate grounds.
“Contact!” Misha shouts from the front vehicle. “Multiple entry points—unknown units already inside the perimeter! The Petrov estate is already under attack!”
I’m already moving before he finishes.
Door open. Weapon up.
“Move,” I snap.
The convoy breaks formation instantly. No hesitation. No waiting for confirmation. This is no longer an operation—it’s a breach in progress.
We hit the edge of the estate, and everything collapses into war.
Gunfire cuts through the night air in sharp bursts. Return fire answers from the walls, from the trees, from positions that weren’t there hours ago. The gardens—once structured, controlled, pristine—are now torn apart by movement and fire.
Explosions ripple through hedges and stone paths. Decorative structures collapse into smoke and debris. The ground itself feels unstable, like the estate is being erased piece by piece.
I don’t slow down. I don’t assess. Not fully. Not anymore.
I push forward with my men.
“Left flank compromised!” someone yells.
