“That’s it,” I say hoarsely. “That’s the same one. From the balcony.”
Konstantin’s body goes rigid. Not a flinch. Not a blink. Just a stillness so complete it’s terrifying.
“Same sender,” he says quietly. “Markov’s faction.”
Nik shifts his weight, uneasy.
Konstantin opens the envelope slowly, like he’s defusing a bomb.
Inside is a single photo.
Blurry. Grainy.
A warehouse—corrugated metal, rusted edges, a half-collapsed loading dock I somehow recognize without knowing why.
Then the caption.
COME ALONE. OR THE GIRL PAYS THE SAME PRICE HER FATHER DID.
The words burn into my vision.
My blood turns to ice.
I don’t realize I’m shaking until Konstantin’s hand comes back, reaching for me without looking, gripping my wrist like he needs to anchor me to something solid.
“No,” I whisper. “No. You can’t—”
He doesn’t answer.
He stares at the photo, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. Whatever lives behind his eyes now is cold. Focused. Final.
Nik swears under his breath.
“They want to pull you out,” Nik says. “Isolate you.”
Konstantin folds the paper once. Then again. Precise. Controlled.
No! They’ve taken my father. Now they want my husband? No!
Konstantin’s fingers tighten around the paper until it crumples. His voice drops into something lethal, barely above a whisper.
“This is bait.”
Nik nods grimly. “Yeah. But there’s more.” He hesitates, then adds, “The warehouse—it matches one tied to Reed’s shell companies.”
My pulse stutters. Then races.
The room tilts.
That place.
That place.
The thought crashes into me fully formed and merciless: my father could have been there. Hurt there. Interrogated there. Maybe killed there. My stomach twists so violently that I have to grab the edge of the bed to stay upright.
Konstantin feels it immediately. His arm comes around me, anchoring me to his side, but his eyes have gone distant—already mapping routes, exits, contingencies.
“I’ll go,” he says.