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Something in his tone breaks the dam I've been desperately trying to hold together. A sob escapes me, raw and painful. Oscar turns me toward him, gathering me against his chest as I finally let go.

“I thought we had him,” I choke out between sobs, my fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. “I thought it was over.”

“I know, solnishko.” His arms tighten around me. “But this isn't a setback. It's progress. We’re closer than we were yesterday.”

I want to believe him. Need to believe him. But the disappointment of watching our digital lifeline disappear has left me hollow.

“What if he's suffering?” The words escape before I can stop them. My greatest fear finally given voice. I know what I endured in that place, but Luca…he may not have been afforded anesthesia like I had been during my procedures. “What if by the time we find him, he's...”

“Don't," Oscar says firmly. “Luca is alive. The sample proves that.”

The certainty in his voice anchors me, even as tears continue to stream down my face. Oscar's thumb gently wipes them away, his touch so tender it makes my heart ache.

“Two days,” I mutter, trying to convince myself. “We can do this.”

“We can,” he agrees. “And we will.”

The sliding door opens again, and Z steps onto the balcony. His expression softening when he sees my tear-streaked face. Without a word, he moves to my other side, his hand settling on the small of my back.

“We got this far,” he says quietly. “We're not stopping now.”

His presence, combined with Oscar's, creates a cocoon of safety I hadn't realized I needed. The night air wraps around us, the distant sounds fade away as my sobs finally slow.

“What do you need, moya koroleva?”

“I need it to be over,” I sob, the words raw and painful as they scrape past my throat. “I need to stop failing him.”

Another sob wracks my body, but this time it transforms into something else—a sound closer to a growl than a cry. My fingers curl into fists at my sides as I pull away from Oscar's embrace.

“We were so close,” I hiss, slamming my palm against the metal railing. The sting shoots up my arm, but I welcome the pain. It's cleaner than the ache in my chest. “So fucking close!”

“We still are close,” Oscar tries, his voice placating.

“Don’t!” I scream, spinning around to face him, my whole-body trembling with emotion that won’t be contained. “Don’t tell me to calm down! I don’t want calm—I want my brother back! I want The Collector’s head on a pike! I want?—”

My voice cracks, the scream tearing out of me before it collapses into silence, strangled by the grief and fury clawing up my throat like barbed wire I can’t choke down.

“You're right,” Z agrees, “Being calm won't help.”

Oscar shoots him a warning look, but Z ignores it, stepping closer to me.

“Come on,” he says, taking my wrist. His grip is firm, but not painful, as he tugs me toward the door. “I have a better idea.”

"Where are we going?" I demand.

“To the gym.”

“The gym?” I stare at him incredulously. “You want me to work out right now?”

“I want you to hit something,” he clarifies. When everything is falling apart and you can't control it, at least you can control how hard your fist connects with something. And right now, you need to hit something before you explode.”

I consider arguing, but there's a certain logic to his suggestion. He’s right.

"Fine.”

Z's grip on my wrist loosens as I follow him willingly toward the door. Oscar trails behind us, his presence a silent support as we make our way down to the basement gym.

The lights flicker to life, revealing the modest space where Talon has been training me.