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“Alive and imprisoned by a psychopath!” I spit back.

“Because Vesper made a deal to keep us safe.” Oz's voice drops lower, forcing me to focus on his words. “She bought us time by agreeing to his terms. If we storm in there now, we destroy any chance of getting them out alive.”

I turn away, unable to face the logic in his argument. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I fight to contain the storm building inside me, threatening to tear me apart from within. The wall I punched throbs in rhythm with my heartbeat, blood seeping between my knuckles.

“Seventy-two hours,” Oz continues, pressing his advantage. “That's what she negotiated. Three days to figure out a counter-move.”

“What counter-move?" I demand, whirling back to face him. “You heard her. He wants her to assassinate Victor fucking Petrov and marry some puppet of his choosing. There's no counter-move to that kind of insanity.”

“There's always a move,” Oz insists. “We just haven't found it yet.”

I glance at Vesper, still seated on the couch. Something in Vesper's posture shifts, a subtle tension that draws me back from the brink of my rage. I force myself to breathe, to push down the violent impulses screaming for release.

“Did Alex say anything to you? Anything that might help us?”

“He tried,” she says, her fingers tracing the edge of the tablet. “Right before they dragged him away. He was fighting them, desperate to tell me something.”

I move closer, careful not to crowd her. “What did he say?”

“That I'm the key. The key to everything, according to him.” She shakes her head, that momentary spark fading completely. “But I don't know what the hell he was talking about. I'm not the key to anything. I'm the reason all of this is happening.”

The self-loathing in her voice pulls me back from my spiral of rage. I kneel before her, close but not touching.

“That's not true,” I tell her firmly. “None of this is your fault.”

“Isn't it? My grandfather orchestrated everything, my sale to you, Alex’s death, Luca's captivity, all because of who I am. Because of the blood in my veins.”

“Blood doesn't define you, Vesper.” I reach for her hand, relieved when she doesn't pull away this time. “Your choices do.”

Something shifts in her expression—a flicker, a barely visible crack in the emptiness she’s worn like armor since walking through that door.

“I have to do this. I don’t see another way.”

“There's always another way,” Talon interjects, moving to sit on her other side. “We just need to find it.”

Oz has already shifted into strategic mode, pacing the room with calculated steps as he processes everything we’ve learned. “Victor Petrov’s compound is heavily fortified,” he says, thinking aloud. “But every stronghold has vulnerabilities.”

“It's not just about getting in," Vesper counters, her voice stronger now. "It's about getting close enough to kill him, his son, and Bianca. Three separate targets, likely in different locations."

I squeeze her hand gently. “You're not seriously considering this.”

“What choice do I have?” She pulls her hand from mine, rising to her feet with a sudden burst of energy that seems to surprise even her. “He has my brother. He has Alex. And if I don't at least make him believe I'm trying to fulfill my end of the bargain, they're both dead.”

The air in the apartment thickens with tension, each of us processing the impossible situation from different angles. Vesper begins pacing, her movements jerky and unpredictable, like a wounded animal searching for escape.

“We need to think clearly,” Oz says, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. “The Collector, Mikhail, he's been planningthis for decades. Every move calculated, every contingency accounted for.”

“Except Alex,” I counter. “He couldn't have anticipated Alex building that backdoor into his systems. The one that died with him when—” I stop, correcting myself. “The one we thought died with him.”

Vesper freezes mid-stride. “The key. What if that's what Alex meant? Not me, but something I have. Something I know.”

Talon straightens, wincing as his injured shoulder protests the movement. “Like what? A password? Access codes?”

“I don't know,” she admits, frustration coloring her voice. “But Alex wouldn't have said it if it wasn't important. He was desperate to tell me something specific, even while they were beating him.”

My blood boils at the image her words conjure, but I force myself to focus. “What exactly did he say? Word for word.”

“‘You're the key, Vesper. The key to everything.’’’ She shakes her head. “That's all he said.”