He stares at me for a long moment, then slowly places the weapon in my palm. The metal is warm from his grip, heavier than I expected. I hand it back to Maksim without looking.
"Where will you go?" I ask.
"I don't know." Damir wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "Far away. Somewhere they can't find me."
"They'll find you," Maksim growls, but he's not shooting and for that I'm grateful. I'm shaking, terrified that any second, that boom of Maksim's weapon will sound and blood will pour out of my brother, but it doesn't come.
"I know."
He starts to turn away, then stops. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you chose him. He'll keep you safe."
"I didn't choose him because he'll keep me safe." I look back at Maksim, who's watching us with careful eyes. "I chose him because I love him."
Damir nods slowly. "I hope that's enough."
"It is."
He walks toward the far end of the platform, and every footstep sounds like a nail in a coffin. I watch him disappear into the shadows, and I know I'll never see him again. The brother I loved died years ago, replaced by this stranger who wore his face and spoke his name.
"We need to go," Maksim says. "His people will be looking for him."
I nod, but I don't move. Not yet. I stand in the abandoned metro station, surrounded by the debris of my old life, and I letmyself grieve. Not for the man who just walked away, but for the brother I lost long before tonight.
"Zoya."
I turn to find Maksim beside me, his hand extended. I take it, feeling the warm strength of his fingers around mine.
"I'm ready," I say.
We walk toward the stairs together, leaving the shadows behind.
28
MAKSIM
The tunnel system branches in three directions ahead of us, and I hear them before I see them—the soft scrape of boots on concrete, the metallic click of safeties being released. Karpin men. They think they have us cornered.
They're wrong.
I count their breathing patterns, map their positions by the echo of their movement. Three men, maybe four. They're trying to box us in, but they've made a critical error. They don't know these tunnels the way I do.
"Stay behind me," I tell Zoya, my voice low. "When I move, you move."
She nods, her face pale in the dim light. Her hand rests on her stomach, protective and instinctive. I've seen that gesture a hundred times since we learned about the baby, and it never fails to make my chest tighten.
The first man rounds the corner with his weapon raised, and I put two bullets in his chest before he can fire. He drops clean, his gun clattering across the concrete. The sound echoes through the tunnels, and I know we've lost the element of surprise.
"Vetrov!" The shout comes from somewhere to our left. "Come out and we'll make it quick!"
I don't answer. Instead, I move through the shadows, using the support columns and debris as cover and keeping Zoya safely behind me. The second man tries to flank us from the right, but I'm already there. My knife finds his throat before he can pull the trigger, and he goes down gurgling blood.
"Two down," I mutter, wiping the blade on his shirt.
The third man is smarter. He hangs back, waiting for me to make a mistake. I can hear him breathing, thirty feet away, pressed against a maintenance door. He's trying to be patient, but fear makes men stupid.
I work my way around the edge of the platform, keeping low. Zoya follows with silent footsteps. When I'm close enough, I make my move.
The man sees me coming and raises his gun, but I'm already diving. The shot goes wide, sparking off the tunnel wall. I tackle him into the maintenance door, and it gives way under our combined weight. We crash through into a narrow service corridor, and I feel his elbow connect with my ribs.
