“A run?” He frowns. “Doctors said no strain until?—”
“The doctors said a lot of things. Most don’t apply anymore.” I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Just a light jog. Nothing crazy.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No need. I know you have business calls to make, and I could use some time alone to think.”
He doesn’t like it—I can see the reluctance in the way he works his jaw—but he relents. “Stay within sight of the house.”
“Of course.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m laced up on the porch. Dmitri watches from the kitchen window. I give him a sunny wave and take the gravel path.
The act falls away the moment I’m out of sight.
My stride opens up, eating ground. Instinct maps everything—sight lines, cover, exits. The dream followed me into daylight.
At the trees, I cut left and vanish. I move through the forest like a ghost, placing each step to minimize noise while maintaining speed.
My body remembers how to use natural cover, stalk targets, and watch without being watched.
Thirty meters. Low branch. One shot would take that bird clean. I don’t remember learning it; I just know.
It lives in muscle and reflex, not thought.
I find a clearing where fallen logs create a natural obstacle course. I begin testing my physical limits. Balance beam work across narrow branches. Jumps between uneven surfaces. Combat rolls that flow seamlessly into defensive positions.
Every move feels burned into me, like muscle memory I was never meant to forget.
Which means Dmitri lied about my past. No more questioning it.
I should be devastated. I’m not. Relief hits instead.
The lies finally make sense. I was never his confused little art curator. I’m a trained operative, and my cover’s been blown.
Now the only question is whether Dmitri knew all along, or if he’s been played just like me.
He seems to genuinely care for me and be concerned for my well-being, but that could be part of an elaborate deception.
I need more information before I make any decisions about how to proceed.
I complete my circuit of the grounds and return to the house at the same easy jog I started with, making sure to appear winded and slightly tired when I reach the front porch.
“How was it?” Dmitri asks when I enter the kitchen.
“Exactly what I needed. The fresh air helped clear my head.” I grab a water bottle from the refrigerator and take a deep swig. “Any urgent business problems demanding your attention?”
“Nothing that can’t wait. I was thinking we could explore the lake this afternoon. Maybe take a picnic.”
“Sounds lovely.” And it does, despite everything. Whatever role Dmitri is playing in my current situation, my feelings for him appear to be authentic. The chemistry between us, the way my body responds to his touch, and the growing emotional connection… none of it feels manufactured.
Which makes this whole situation infinitely more confusing.
“I’m going to shower and change,” I tell him. “All that running worked up quite a sweat.”
“Need any help with that shower?”
My thighs squeeze together at the image of him washing every inch of my body while water falls around us, but as tempting as that is, my mind is too much of a mess to even think about that right now.
