Konstantin moves before I even realize I’m swaying. His arms come around me, solid, unyielding, pulling me into his chest like he’s afraid I might splinter apart if he doesn’t hold me together. His hand presses between my shoulders, firm and grounding, his jaw tight above my head.
“You’re not alone,” he murmurs into my hair. Not soft. Not soothing. Certain. “Not ever.”
And that’s when I break.
Not the quiet, hollow breaking from before. Not the numb collapse of grief.
This is fire.
I cry into his chest, fists clenched in his shirt, breath coming hard and furious. The tears burn as they fall—rage-fed, betrayal-soaked, clear-eyed. Every image collides in my head at once: my father’s handwriting, Reed’s voice, the lie placed so gently in my hands.
My father wasn’t lost.
He was murdered.
And someone he trusted opened the door.
And now they want me.
Konstantin’s body goes rigid around me, like something ancient and lethal has finished deciding.
“Reed dies first,” he says aloud.
Not a threat. Not a promise.
A verdict.
I don’t argue.
I don’t plead for mercy.
I lift my head just enough to breathe the words against his chest, my voice steady in a way that surprises even me.
“Make him pay.”
His arms tighten.
And I know—with deep, unshakable, terrifying certainty—that he will.
Chapter 20 – Konstantin
I prepare for war the way I always have—methodical, silent, ruthless.
The surveillance room hums around me, screens flickering with live feeds, weapons arranged with meticulous care. The warehouse blueprint glows on the main display, every entrance memorized, every blind spot already covered. By nightfall, this will be over.
The door opens behind me.
I don’t turn. I don’t need to. I see their reflections in the screens in front of me.
Lev. Dimitri. Roman. Mike.
I sigh and rub my thumb along the edge of the desk. “Before any of you start,” I say evenly, “no. I’m not being talked out of this. And no—I’m not bringing a parade with me.”
Roman snorts. “Shut up. Walking into a trap alone is a terrible plan.”
Mike leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “They’ll both be there tonight,” he says. “Reed and Markov. Same time. Same place.”
That gets my attention. I turn slowly.