Silence.
Ada clenches her jaw, glancing at Sawyer, who has yet to speak. He’s still watching me, but this time, there’s something in his eyes, something calculating.
‘‘You think he’s not gone,’’ Sawyer says carefully. ‘‘Explain.’’
I hesitate, just for a moment. The words sit heavy in my throat, thick and suffocating. But I force them out.
‘‘There are rumors,’’ I say. ‘‘Whispers in places where his name was supposed to have died out. I’ve seen things that don’t add up. News articles. Movements. Men who should be buried acting like they’re still taking orders.’’ I swallow. ‘‘And then there’s what he said. What the dying man said before he flatlined.’’
‘‘Hell is empty. Diable is here.’’
Sawyer exhales, shaking his head slightly. ‘‘You really believe it’s him?’’
I don’t hesitate. ‘‘Yes, his name runs like poison through the organization and Moscow. It’s about him. I don’t know what is happening, but something is wrong.’’
Ada closes her eyes for a second like she’s trying to will herself into patience. When she opens them again, they’re harder, colder.
‘‘This is a suicide mission,’’ she says.
‘‘Then I’ll die trying,’’ I answer.
Something in Ada snaps. ‘‘Goddamn it, Isabella!’’ She shoves past me, pacing, running a hand through her hair. I let the silence stretch between us. Then, slowly, I lift my chin.
‘‘I have been dying the past weeks, months. I can’t move on, I will not move on unless I know what truly happened.’’
Ada stares at me for a long moment. Then, finally—finally—she exhales, sharp and resigned.
‘‘Fine,’’ she mutters. ‘‘But if we do this, we do it my way. No reckless bullshit. No running off on your own.’’ She levels a glare at me. ‘‘I mean it, Isabella.’’
A slow smile tugs at the corner of my lips.
‘‘Deal.’’
Sawyer sighs, shaking his head. ‘‘Jesus. I must be out of my damn mind for agreeing to this.’’
‘‘Welcome to the club,’’ Ada mutters.
He shakes his head, pushing off the counter. “Fine. Whatever this is, I’m in. But if I’m in, I need more than cryptic warnings and half-truths.”
I nod. “I’ll tell you what I can.”
He doesn’t look entirely satisfied, but he doesn’t argue.
Sawyer rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he grabs a chair. Ada exhales sharply, rubbing at her temples like she already regrets agreeing to this.
I just sit back, the weight in my chest shifting, twisting into something steadier.
Something colder.
The weight in my chest settles, the cold finally sinking in, wrapping around my ribs like an embrace. I welcome it. I let it in.
Because I know now, this isn’t about revenge.
This is about retribution.
And when the Devil finally comes to collect—
I’ll be waiting.
