Nico crouches, studying the decoy. Even in my terror, I notice the barely perceptible wince as he favors his injured side—wounds I tended to less than twenty-four hours ago, believing him worthy of my care. Before I knew it was all a lie.
Blake is with him, their flashlight beams converging on the evidence I planted. They think they’ve found me. They’re wrong. A surge of fierce, cold triumph moves through me. I have outsmarted Nicolás Varela.
As they continue their examination, I begin my retreat, inching backward through the wet leaves. A twig snaps beneath my knee. I freeze, but thunder rumbles, masking the sound. Neither man turns. I ease into the deeper shadows, finally rising into a half-crouch. Pain lances through my bare feet, but I swallow the cry. Physical pain is nothing compared to the betrayals I’m running from.
My mother’s face flashes in my mind—the photograph in that North Korean uniform, her handwriting on that damning note: Asset now in place.
I was her asset. Her pawn. Just as I was Nico’s.
The thought propels me deeper into the woods, away from the search party, away from the man who held me while I slept, who made me feel things I’d never felt before—all while knowing my entire life was a lie. I pick a direction away from the lights, away from the voices, and move as quickly as my battered body allows, following no path but instinct and the desperate need to put distance between myself and everything I thought I knew.
Hours bleed together.The initial triumph curdles into the grim reality of survival. Hunger is a hollow ache, thirst a fire in my throat. Every step on my bruised and bleeding feet is a fresh agony. I am completely lost.
The thought of my career, my scholarships, every byline—was any of it real? Or was it all part of my mother’s grand design? And Nico… God, the vulnerability in his eyes when fever took him. Was that calculated, too? It must have been. The man I thought I was falling for doesn’t exist.
A wave of dizziness forces me to grab a tree for support. The light is fading. Soon it will be full dark. No shelter, no food, no water. Real fear grips me now—not the panicked fear of capture, but the cold, rational fear of dying out here alone.
I push away from the tree, forcing myself onward. To stand still is to surrender, and I cannot surrender. Not to this forest, not to him. But each step is harder than the last, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision. A root catches my foot, sending me sprawling. I land hard, the air forced from my lungs. I lie there,face pressed against the wet grass, my body trembling.Get up, Lea.But my limbs refuse.
No.The voice in my head is sharp.Get up or fucking die here.
With monumental effort, I push myself to my feet. I stagger forward, driven by a primitive instinct to keep moving. Night has fully claimed the forest. Branches slash at my face. An owl’s hoot becomes Nico calling my name.
“Not real,” I mutter, the words slurring. “None of it is real.”
I stumble again, sliding down a tree trunk to the ground. My legs will not carry me any farther. I draw my knees to my chest, my teeth chattering from a cold that has settled in my bones.My father.The questions swirl in my fading consciousness.Did he know?My eyelids grow heavy.Just a brief rest…
As consciousness slips away, a new sensation registers. Faint but distinctive. Wood smoke.
My eyes snap open. Hope, fierce and desperate, floods my system. I force myself to stand, my legs shaking violently. Through the dense trees, a faint glow. Light. A cabin? It doesn’t matter. It’s my only chance.
I take a stumbling step toward it, then another. The journey is a blur of pain and will, the promise of that warm glow pulling me forward like a lifeline. Suddenly, the trees thin. It’s a small cabin in a tiny clearing, windows glowing, a thin column of smoke rising from a stone chimney. Salvation.
I stumble across the clearing, my vision narrowing to a tunnel focused on the rough-hewn door. I reach the small porch, my legs finally giving out as I collapse against the door frame. With a trembling hand, I rap weakly on the wood. I try again, louder.
“Help,” I call, my voice hoarse. “Please… help me.”
From inside, footsteps. Solid. Measured. The latch clicks. The door swings inward.
Warm light spills out, blinding me. I blink, my vision clearing to focus on the figure silhouetted in the doorway. Broad shoulders, tall frame, a perfectly composed stance.
Recognition comes instantly. Standing there is Nicolás Varela.
His expression is calm as he surveys my bedraggled state. No surprise, no concern, no relief. Nothing but the controlled mask he wears in his most dangerous negotiations.
“Hello, Lea,” he says. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Darkness rushes in from all sides as I realize I never escaped at all.
CHAPTER THREE
NICO
I stand at the window,watching the tree line where I know she’ll eventually emerge. She has no choice. These woods hold nothing but death for those who don’t know them, and Lea Song, for all her cleverness, is a city creature.
The waiting is an irritation. I am not a patient man by nature; my patience is a cultivated trait, a strategic choice. And right now, it has frayed to a single, taut thread. I check my watch. Almost twelve hours since she fled. Twelve hours of this pointless, childish game.
The chill of the cabin seeps into my bones, a dampness that has nothing to do with the storm outside. A fire. That’s what’s missing. I move to the stone fireplace where dry logs and kindling are neatly stacked. I strike a match and touch it to the paper. Flames catch, licking at the kindling before greedily consuming the logs. I watch as the fire grows, the room filling with warmth and the scent of burning oak. The smoke will carry on the damp air, a signal. For a lost animal, the smell of smokemeans danger. But for a lost, freezing girl, it means salvation. It is the perfect lure.
