Page 136 of Hunt Me

“Your careers end. Your agencies get dismantled. Your families receive attention from every intelligence agency that’s been trying to expose this for years.”

The silence stretches, broken only by the soft hum of ventilation.

Kendall’s shoulders sag. “We’ll need time?—”

“You have until that timer expires.” Nikolai stands, buttoning his suit jacket with fluid efficiency. “Make your choice.”

Kendall narrows her eyes at him and then proceeds to read the contract Nikolai had drafted. Once she’s finished, she picksup her pen and signs it, passing it on to Walsh and then on to Hawkins.

“Immunity from prosecution for intelligence gathering activities conducted between March 15th and the present date.” Kendall’s voice carries professional detachment, but her hand trembles as she slides the signed agreement across the table. “Full investigation into Sentinel Operations to commence within seventy-two hours. Public statement regarding Project Nightshade’s termination will be released tomorrow at nine AM.”

Nikolai nods once. “Acceptable.”

He folds the document and tucks it inside his jacket. The movement seems casual, but I catch the tension in his shoulders—the awareness that paper promises mean nothing without leverage to enforce them.

Kendall stands, smoothing her blazer. “The files you’ve distributed to journalists?—”

“Will remain in their possession.” Alexi’s tone brooks no negotiation. “Insurance.”

“That wasn’t part of?—”

“It is now.” Nikolai’s interruption carries absolute finality.

Hawkins pushes back from the table, chair scraping against linoleum. His jaw works, grinding teeth audible in the recycled air. “This isn’t over.”

The words hang heavy with unspoken threat.

“No,” Dmitri agrees, smile sharp as a blade. “It isn’t.”

Because we all understand the reality beneath the signed agreements and negotiated terms, they’re letting us walk because destroying us means destroying themselves. But the moment that calculation shifts, the moment our usefulness expires or our leverage weakens?—

The knives come out.

We file toward the door in measured silence. Alexi’s hand finds the small of my back, fingers spreading possessive warmth through the fabric of my suit.

Behind us, Kendall’s voice cuts through our retreat. “Mitchell.”

I pause, half-turning.

Her expression remains professionally neutral, but her eyes carry a sharper edge. Warning, maybe. Or recognition of what we’ve become to each other—permanent liabilities in a world that trades in clean eliminations.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

The words settle like a promise and a threat in equal measure.

I don’t respond. Just turn and follow Nikolai out, feeling Kendall’s gaze track me until the door swings shut.

35

EPILOGUE

Three weeks later, the Ivanov estate feels less like a fortress and more like home.

I lean against the kitchen island, watching Sofia attempt to explain modern art theory to Erik while he cleans his Glock. Katarina sits beside him, translating Sofia’s academic enthusiasm into something resembling coherent sentences.

“I’m saying Rothko’s color fields create emotional resonance through chromatic relationships?—”

“He painted rectangles.” Erik doesn’t look up from his weapon. “Large rectangles.”