A city map flares on another screen. Red markers bloom—safe houses, transit points, extraction routes. A tightening net.
“They’re accelerating,” Mike says. “Which means you rattled them.”
I think of Raelyn on the balcony. The grief burned away, leaving fury behind.
“Good,” I say coldly. “Let them run.”
Mike snorts. “You know, most men panic when the city starts rearranging itself to steal their wife.”
“I’m not most men.”
“No,” he agrees easily. “You’re worse.”
I don’t smile.
He moves to the sideboard like he owns the place, reaches for a bottle I don’t remember authorizing, and pours two drinks with insulting confidence. He slides one toward me.
“You need it,” he says. “Your face is doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The one that makes people disappear.”
I take the glass anyway. The burn grounds me.
Mike leans back against the console, studying me over the rim of his own drink. “You didn’t use to look like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re already planning the funerals.”
“I am.”
He chuckles, low and amused. “Marriage really did soften you.”
That gets a sound out of me. Not a laugh. But close.
“Say that again,” I warn.
He lifts his glass in surrender. “Relax. As long as the Rusnaks are breathing, no harm comes to your wife.”
Something tight in my chest loosens—just a fraction. I don’t thank him. I don’t need to.
“I know,” I say instead. “Why’d you really come?” I ask. “Tell me the truth.”
Mike frowns, shoulders rolling in a careless shrug. “Maybe I missed my family.”
I scoff before I can stop myself.
He laughs, unbothered. “What? I can’t miss family?”
“You’re a Rusnak,” I say flatly. “We don’t operate with emotions. We disappear for years. We stay away from blood and walls and history. That doesn’t make our loyalty weaker.”
Mike doesn’t answer right away. He tips back the rest of his drink and swallows it in one go. The glass clicks softly as he sets it down.
“Maybe,” he says slowly. “But do you agree that a time comes when you stop wanting to be alone? When distance stops feeling strategic and starts feeling…empty?”
I study him. The tattoos. The eyes that have seen too much and still keep score.