“No one sees you like this. Only me.”
She shudders, her chest heaving. I grip her chin tighter, locking her in place like she’s already mine to command.
“Tonight, I show you what being mine feels like.”
21
Katya
Gunfire echoes in my head before I even open my eyes.
“Target drill in thirty,” the wall speakers crackle. “Agent Sidorov, assume position.”
My hands move on their own. Makarov. Weight, grip, the tiny hitch in the trigger. Mine like a second spine.
Others file into place. My vision tunnels. Only the kill box exists.
Three targets. One hostage. Rules: neutralize, preserve, finish under two minutes.
I advance through the mock apartment, clearing each room with movements so fluid they feel choreographed. Slice the pie. Keep the sight line. Show nothing but the muzzle. My body doesn’t ask permission.
Target one pops. Two to center. He’s falling before I think the word “shoot”.
Number two hides behind the hostage. Amateur. I shift a hair and thread the shot. He drops. The civilian breathes.
Number three crouches behind a table. I’d already pinned him by the cadence of his breath.
“Time,” the voice calls. “One minute, forty-three seconds. Excellent work, Agent.”
I lower the gun and face the glass. A man in a crisp uniform nods his approval. His face remains frustratingly blurry, but when he speaks, I know I’ve heard the voice before.
“Your scores keep breaking the curve,” he says. “How do you feel about moving to wet work?”
“Ready, sir.” The response comes automatically.
“Good. Deep cover next. You’re Alexandra Volkova, art curator. Hold it as long as needed to pull intel on?—”
His voice drifts off, and the dream fractures.
I wake with my heart hammering against my ribs and sweat coating my skin. I need several seconds to remember where I am.
Dmitri’s estate. Our make-believe getaway.
“Bad dream again?” Dmitri’s voice is rough with sleep.
I calm my breathing and roll toward him. Instinct says hide it. “The accident,” I lie. “Glass. People screaming. I’m fine.”
“You were talking in your sleep. Something about target practice and clearance times.”
My stomach drops. “Probably something from a movie. You know how dreams mix random memories.”
He props himself up on one elbow and rubs his eyes. “Sounded pretty specific for random movie fragments.”
“Dreams lie.” I stretch, fake a yawn. “What time is it?”
“Early. Sun’s barely up.”
“Perfect. I’m going on a run before the heat.”
