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I blink, realizing that I've never allowed myself to think that far ahead. Names meant attachment, and attachment meant vulnerability, which I couldn't afford until now.

"I don't know," I admit, watching my breath form crystalline clouds in the frigid air. "I've been so focused on finding him that I never thought about it.”

"You'll know when you see him," Oscar says softly. "The right name will come to you."

A soft crackle in our earpieces interrupts the moment. "Perimeter secured," Z's voice comes through. "East entrance clear. You're good to move."

I exchange a glance with Oscar, both of us immediately shifting into action mode. We rise from our crouched positions, keeping low as we move across the snow-covered clearing toward the lodge. My heart thunders in my chest, each step bringing me closer to the child I've fought so desperately to reach.

"Stay behind me," Oscar orders as we approach the east entrance—a service door partially concealed by ornamental shrubbery. Despite his injuries, he positions himself protectively in front of me.

The door is secured with both a keypad and a biometric scanner. I remove Victor's hand from the insulated bag, suppressing a shudder as I press the cold, stiff fingers against the glowing panel. For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happens. Then a soft beep and the lock disengages with a mechanical click.

"We're in," I relay into my comm as Oscar eases the door open, weapon raised.

The interior of the lodge is warm after the biting cold outside, the air heavy with the scent of pine and wood smoke. We move silently through a utility corridor, passing a laundry room and storage closets.

"Thermal readings show two heat signatures in the room at the end of this hall. One adult-sized, one small."

My son. My breath catches in my throat.

“And the other guards?”

"Moving toward the west wing. Looks like Alex and Luca's distraction is working."

We advance down the corridor, our footsteps silent on the plush carpet.

A soft cry pierces the silence—high-pitched, unmistakably infantile. The sound stops me in my tracks, a physical force slamming into my chest. My son's voice. The first time I've ever heard it.

Oscar's hand closes around my arm, steadying me as emotion threatens to overwhelm my focus. "Steady. We're almost there."

We reach the end of the hallway where a wooden door stands between us and my child. I press my ear against it, listening. The infant's cries have quieted to soft whimpers, followed by gentle shushing sounds. A woman's voice.

"A nanny," Oscar breathes.

"Or a guard. We need to be sure."

Oscar nods, positioning himself to the side of the door. I take a deep breath, forcing my racing heart to slow as I grasp the handle. With one fluid motion, I push the door open, weapon raised.

The room beyond is a nursery straight from a fairy tale. Soft golden light spills from a crystal chandelier, illuminating hand-painted murals of Russian forests and mythical creatures. A massive crib carved from wood dominates the center, draped with silken canopies.

Beside it stands a woman in her sixties, silver-streaked hair pulled into a severe bun. She wears a simple black dress with a white apron, her weathered hands frozen in the act of tucking ablanket around the crib's occupant. Her eyes widen with alarm as she takes in my weapon, my blood-splattered tactical gear.

“Step away from the crib,” I order in broken Russian.

The woman’s expression hardens, her body instinctively shifting to shield the crib.

“Who are you?” she demands, voice steady, showing no fear despite the gun aimed at her chest. “Where are the guards?”

“They’re indisposed,” Oscar answers as he steps in behind me. “Move away from the child. Now.”

Something flickers across the woman’s face as she studies me—something sharp, assessing. Recognition settles in, followed closely by a quiet resignation.

“You’re her,” she says softly. “The mother.”

My finger twitches slightly on the trigger. “Step away from my son.”

She hesitates, glancing between Oscar and me before settling on my face again. “He looks like you,” she murmurs, more to herself than to us. “I always wondered why the child’s eyes were green when neither of his parents had them.”