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Three days passwithout a word from Dimitry.

Three days that feel like three years.

Three days of being back in hell, of corrosive doubts that eat away at me until I think I’ll go mad.

My grand plan, which seemed so logical while I was sitting on the patio of a luxury Thai villa, now seems like fucking insanity.

I feel guilty for raising my friends’ hopes. Even more at the danger I’m putting them in. And beyond all of that, my certainty that any of this could actually work fades by the minute.

How did I forgot just how many guards there are? How enormous and well protected this place is? Even if Dimitry and Leon can actually get inside that auction room, what exactly are they going to do?

No matter what I told the girls on that first night back in my bunk, regardless of what I know Dimitry has done in his life, this is too much.

He’s going to die here. We all will. And it will be my fucking fault.

My fingers shake as I try to focus on the messages in front of me. My bruises haven’t made the demands of my supervisors any kinder; if anything, like last time, they enjoy bullying me even more. I haven’t been able to make target since I got back. I ran the Loop yesterday, and the way I’m going, I’ll be running it again today.

The problem is that my heart leaps with every new profile I’m sent, only to plunge again moments later when I open it and realize it isn’t Dimitry.

As if to mock me, the notification bell pings at the top of my screen, indicating I’ve been sent a new profile. I swallowthe surge of nerves and click to open. I look at the photograph, and my heart completely stops.

A picture of a wooden horse figurine, with a quote above it: “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.”The profile name is Otis Seuss.Odysseus.

The profile name Dimitry and I made up together while we lay naked in bed, a bottle of wine between us.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

Lucky has attached a brief to the profile, as she always does:Recent inheritance. Single, fat, lonely. Works in a museum. Lived alone with mother until recently. Looking for love, has money to invest, start small.

Hands shaking, I press the keys.Hi, Otis. My name is Helen. I like your profile pic.

Three dots appear, and I wait, my heart racing wildly.

The dots disappear, replaced by a message:Hey, Helen. I like your profile pic, too. I normally Skip most people, but yours got my attention.

Tears spring into my eyes. I inhale deeply and compose my face, glancing around to make sure nobody has noticed.

Dimitry is on the other end of those dots.

He’s alive. He’s out there.

He’s going to come for me.

I draw a shuddering breath.

Tell me about yourself,I type, my fingers clumsy on the keyboard.What do you like doing?

I’m not sure I should answer that.The response comes immediately.I might get in trouble for violating community guidelines.

I almost have to stuff my fingers in my mouth to stop an involuntary gurgle of laughter.Oh,I type,so you’re a bad boy, huh?

The dots barely show up before the reply appears.Well, I’m certainly no Mary fucking Poppins.

My heart slows to a thick, heavy beat that pounds through my head. I stare at the words, reading them over and over.

It can’t be a coincidence.

Poppinswas the code word Alexei Petrovsky used last year to contact Mickey, Roman’s tech genius godson. That code word saved Roman’s daughters. It’s been an inside joke between us all ever since.