“Come in.”
The door opens, and Lukyan steps inside.
I don’t miss the urgency on his face.
That alone is enough to straighten my posture.
“What?”
He doesn’t waste time.
He crosses the room in a few quick strides and stops in front of my desk, his expression dark, shoulders tight like he’s holding something heavy in place.
“Intel just came in,” he says. “I had some of my men watching out for Anton.”
“Okay?”
He exhales once before continuing.
“Several soldiers connected to Anton Petrov have been spotted in the city.”
My fingers still against the desk.
Not random. Not scattered.
Placed.
“How many?” I ask.
“Enough to notice a pattern,” Lukyan replies. “They’re not moving like outsiders. They’re coordinated.”
A beat.
“They’re infiltrating New York City for Valeria.”
The word settles between us like a loaded weapon.
My jaw tightens.
Anton didn’t just send a warning.
He sent men.
Into my city.
Into my territory.
I lean back slightly, processing fast, mapping it out in my head.
This isn’t about fear anymore.
It’s positioning.
Preparation.
War.
“If Anton has boots on the ground here…” I murmur.
