Page 10

He moves through the room like smoke, purposeful but unhurried, taking the seat across from mine without invitation. Up close, he looks exactly the same yet somehow different—same predatory grace, same controlled intensity, but something new lurking behind those eyes. Something almost like concern.

"Hello, Nova," he says, voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. "Or should I call you Sofia now?"

I smile, brittle as thin ice. "Killion. What a pleasant surprise. Let me guess—you just happened to be in the neighborhood?"

"I've been tracking you since Prague." No preamble, no bullshit. Pure Killion efficiency. "You're making some questionable alliances."

"Says the man who used me as expendable bait."

His jaw tightens fractionally—a tell so slight anyone else would miss it. "Is that what Volkov told you?"

"He showed me the files. The communications. My name circled in red with 'acceptable collateral' written beside it." I keep my voice steady, even as rage bubbles beneath the surface like magma under thin crust. "Pretty compelling evidence you were planning to feed me to the wolves."

"Doctored," he says, the word precise as a scalpel.

"Every communication altered just enough to be believable.

It's what Volkov does—psychological warfare, turning assets, creating doubt where there was certainty.

" His eyes never leave mine, searching for weaknesses, for cracks in my armor. "He's using you, Nova."

The sound of my name on his lips sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. "And you weren't?"

"I was training you. There's a difference."

"Is there? Because from where I'm sitting, everyone wants to use the pretty girl with the talent for deception. Volkov, Harlow, you—just different flavors of the same poison."

His hand moves across the table, not touching mine but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"If I wanted you dead, you would be. Think about it.

The extraction team at the apartment—why did they fire warning shots first?

Why announce their presence when they could have just put a bullet in your head when your back was turned? "

The question lands like a grenade in my lap, uncomfortable because it makes a certain twisted sense. The team at the safehouse had been loud, clumsy almost—nothing like the silent precision I'd expect from Killion's operatives.

“They weren’t even my team. I hired mercenaries for the job,” he said with a faint sense of urgency. “Casualties were never the plan. I just needed Harlow.”

"Maybe you're just getting sloppy in your old age," I counter, but doubt has wormed its way in, a parasite feeding on certainty.

"Bullshit." The curse sounds strange from him, like a priest breaking vows. "You're smarter than that. You know me better."

And I do, is the thing. Three months of brutal training, of being broken and remade under his watchful eye—I know Killion's methods. Know his ruthless precision. Know he doesn't waste resources, doesn't make unnecessary noise, doesn't play games he can't win.

"Why are you here?" I ask, unwilling to concede but needing to understand.

"To stop you from making a catastrophic mistake." He leans forward, voice dropping even lower. "Harlow isn't coming. He was tipped off—probably by Volkov himself. This whole thing is a setup."

"That makes no sense. Why would Volkov tip off the very person he’s sworn to take out?"

"I can’t tell you everything —you’re not ready but trust me when I say there are things in play that will absolutely change the board.

You’re playing a game without the instructions and you’re going to get taken out.

Volkov is using you for his own purposes.

Trust me, I know Volkov in ways you don’t. ”

“Sounds kinky,” I retort, not falling for his bullshit but also, not completely discrediting it either. Hell, who can tell which end is up in this crazy game?

His eyes search mine, looking for the operative he trained, the weapon he honed. "What has he told you about Vahnya?"

The name hits like a slap. "That she was his wife. That you left her to die in Budapest. That Harlow's been experimenting on her as part of some mind-control program."

Killion's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes—pain, maybe, or resignation.

"Half-truths wrapped around a core of lies.

Vahnya Orlova was one of ours—a deep-cover operative assigned to infiltrate Russia's Foreign Intelligence Service. She and Volkov were lovers, but not married.”

My head spins with competing narratives, with versions of truth so tangled I can't see where one ends and another begins.

"Budapest was supposed to be an extraction. Things didn’t go to plan," Killion continues.

"Vahnya had uncovered evidence of Volkov selling secrets to private contractors—the same network Harlow eventually connected with.

We were bringing her in when Volkov intervened.

Three of my team died that day. Vahnya was wounded but survived.

She's been in protective custody ever since. "

"And I'm supposed to just believe you? Take your word over the evidence I've seen with my own eyes?"

"I don't expect you to believe anything without proof." He slides a phone across the table—slim, black, encrypted. "Verify it yourself. Call this number. Ask for Vahyna.”

I stare at the phone like it might bite. "Why should I trust this isn't just another trap?"

"Because despite everything, you know me, Nova. You know what I am. What I'm not." His eyes hold mine, unflinching. "And what I'm not is a man who betrays his own."

The moment stretches between us, taut as a trip wire. In my pocket, the tranquilizer pen feels suddenly heavy, a decision waiting to be made. I could end this now—two clicks and Killion drops, can be delivered to Volkov gift-wrapped with a bow. One problem solved.

Or I could be walking straight into another layer of deception, another level of the game where I'm still just a pawn being moved across the board.

The hotel lobby beyond the bar suddenly feels too quiet, too still. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, that animal instinct for danger cutting through confusion.

"Something's wrong," I murmur, scanning the room. "Where is everyone?"

Killion's posture shifts subtly, combat-ready despite his casual appearance. "When did you last hear from Volkov?"

"Thirty minutes ago. He was securing the service corridor."

"And you didn't find it strange he hasn't checked in?"

Before I can answer, the first explosion rocks the building—distant enough to be muffled but strong enough to rattle crystal glasses along the bar. Guests look up in confusion, murmurs rippling through the room.

Killion's hand closes around my wrist, his grip iron. "We need to move. Now."

"What the hell was that?"

"That," he says grimly, "was the sound of Volkov burning bridges. I told you he couldn’t be trusted."

Another explosion, closer this time, followed by the scream of fire alarms. Smoke begins curling under the door from the lobby, thin tendrils becoming choking clouds. Chaos erupts—people pushing toward exits, security guards trying to maintain order as panic spreads like contagion.

Killion pulls me to my feet, his body automatically positioning itself between me and the nearest threat, the handler protecting his asset even now. "East stairwell. We've got maybe two minutes before this place is completely compromised."

"Volkov and Mikhail?—"

"Are either behind this or caught in it. Either way, they're not your concern right now." His eyes harden. "Survival first. Questions later."

My training kicks in, overriding confusion. I follow him through the thickening smoke, Sofia Petrov's heels abandoned for fleet-footed survival. The stairwell is already filling with fleeing guests—perfect cover, terrible bottleneck.

"This wasn't the plan," I say as we descend, staying close to the wall where the crush is thinnest. "Volkov wouldn't risk this kind of chaos unless?—"

"Unless he was desperate," Killion finishes. "Or unless this was the plan all along and you weren't privy to it."

The second option lands like lead in my stomach. Had I misjudged again? Trusted the wrong monster? The night in that broken-down safehouse, the raw connection I'd thought I'd found with two men as damaged as me—had it all been an act?

We hit the ground floor, pushing through emergency exits into the winter air where smoke billows black against gray sky.

Police sirens wail in the distance, fire crews already responding.

The street is chaos—hotel guests in various states of undress and panic, security attempting crowd control, onlookers with phones raised to capture the spectacle.

Perfect cover for an escape. Or an ambush.

Killion guides me through the crowd with practiced efficiency, one hand at the small of my back, eyes constantly scanning for threats. The touch is professional, impersonal, yet it burns through my clothes like a brand.

"My extraction team is three blocks north," he says, voice low enough that only I can hear. "We'll be wheels up within the hour, back in secure territory by nightfall."

"And if I don't want to go with you?"

He stops, fixing me with that penetrating stare that's always made me feel transparent. "Then walk away. Right now. But understand what you're walking towards. Volkov isn't your ally, Nova. He's using you to get to me, to get to Vahnya, to finish what he started in Budapest."

"And you're not using me?"

"I invested in you," he corrects. "There's a difference."

Something pricks at my consciousness —he keeps calling me Nova, not Landry. A tiny voice of intuition is whispering at the back of my skull that his reasoning matters.

Behind us, a third explosion rocks the Hotel Imperial, this one larger than the others. Glass shards rain onto the street as windows blow out, screams rising in harmony with wailing sirens. In the confusion, I could disappear—lose myself in the crowd, find my own way, trust no one but myself.

It would be the smart play. The safe play.

Instead, I find myself saying: "That phone. The one you wanted me to call Vahnya on. Give it to me."

His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes does—a flicker of what might be relief. He hands over the slim device, our fingers brushing in the exchange.

"One call," he says. "Then you decide."

I take the phone, stepping away from him for the illusion of privacy. The number is pre-dialed. All I have to do is press connect and find out if everything I've believed for the past week has been another elaborate lie.

Behind me, Vienna burns. Before me, Killion waits. And somewhere in this city, Volkov moves like a shark through bloodied waters.

I press the button, raising the phone to my ear.

Time to find out which devil gets my soul today.