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“Been better,” he replies through what sounds like gritted teeth. “Any chance this is a rescue?”

“Doubtful. Your sister needs more time.”

The road beneath us changes—smoother now, likely asphalt rather than the gravel drive of the facility. We're on a public highway now. We're being moved long-distance, not just between buildings on the compound.

The minutes stretch into what must be hours, the rhythm of the road hypnotic beneath the roar of the engine. My body settles into the pain, finding that strange meditative state where agony becomes just another sensation to catalog rather than something to fight against.

A new sound penetrates my awareness. Distant at first, then growing louder with each passing second. The distinctive whine of jet engines, the roar of a plane passing low overhead.

My blood turns to ice.

“Do you hear that?”

“An airplane," he confirms.

The van slows, turning onto what feels like a service road—the suspension bouncing over potholes, jostling my broken ribs. The plane sounds grow louder, almost deafening now. We're near an airport. Too near for coincidence.

My mind connects the pieces with sickening clarity. Vesper must have made her move against Victor Petrov. The 72-hour deadline…she's acted faster than Mikhail anticipated. And now we're being transported, insurance policies to be cashed in or discarded depending on her success.

“They're taking us to the airport,” I declare, leaning closer to Luca. “Russia. They’re sending us to Russia.”

“Why Russia?” Luca's voice is strained, fear bleeding through the forced calm of his words.

“Because that's where she'd be going. Vesper must have found a way into Petrov territory. She's making her move against Victor.”

“So soon?”

“It's the only explanation for why they're moving us now.” I feel the van slowing, turning in what must be a wide arc. “Mikhail wouldn't risk transporting us unless something's changed.”

The van comes to an abrupt halt. Doors slam open at the front, followed by the sound of boots on pavement. The back doors wrench open, letting in a blast of cold air that cuts through my thin clothes.

“Out,” a voice commands as hands grab my arms, yanking me forward.

My feet hit pavement, knees buckling before strong hands steady me. The hood is ripped from my head, the sudden brightness blinding. I squint against the light, forcing my eyes to adjust.

We're on a private airfield. A sleek Gulfstream waits on the tarmac, its engines already spooling up, stairs extended from its fuselage. Armed men form a perimeter around us, their faces hidden behind balaclavas, weapons held at the ready.

Luca stands beside me, blinking into the harsh daylight as the guards bark orders and herd us toward the waiting transport. His face is pale beneath the bruises, the kind that look worse in the sun. Sickly purples and fading yellow marks mapping every hit he didn’t dodge.

He moves stiffly, jaw clenched like he’s holding something back. Pain. Rage. Probably both. He’s quieter than I remember.Harder too. Back at St. Jude’s, he was always the golden boy. His sister’s protector, and his father’s perfect heir. I was the fuse waiting to be lit on the other side of the divide.

Oscar and Zaire were the only ones who didn’t care about the blood on my hands. They accepted me into their circle without hesitation, no judgment, no questions. Talon was the same. But Luca? He watched me. Always.

Like prey watching a predator, trying to figure out when I’d make my move or if I would at all.

He thought I didn’t notice. But I always did. Even then, there was something sharp in the way he looked at me. Like he wasn’t sure whether to keep his distance…or get closer just to understand what made me tick.

And maybe part of me wanted him to.

that’s why I can’t stop noticing him now. Noticing the way he doesn’t flinch, even when the guard shoves him forward. The way he stays on his feet, even after everything.

I remind myself this isn’t about him. It’s about Vesper. She’s the reason we’re here. The reason they’re keeping us breathing. She’s the one I promised myself I’d protect, no matter the cost. Still, I catch myself glancing at Luca again.

We’re nothing alike. And yet…here we are.

“Move,” a guard snaps, the butt of his rifle slamming into my shoulder, forcing me forward.

The wind howls across the tarmac, sharp and bitter, thick with the stench of jet fuel and oncoming rain. Overhead, the engines scream like warnings, the roar vibrating through my ribs. Each step sends a fresh jolt of pain through my body, but I stay upright. I have to. One stumble, one crack in my armor, and they’ll bury me in a shallow grave before we ever touch down in Moscow.