2. Delfino
2
DELFINO
T he night air in Sofia, Bulgaria, bit through my coat as I made my way down Angel Kanchev Street, my boots nearly silent on the wet cobblestones. The city was starting to shut down. Delivery trucks rumbled past brightly painted buildings while cafés closed their metal shutters.
I knew of one spot that would be the perfect cover for meeting an old friend—also known as collecting intelligence that could get us both killed.
The memory of Jekyll reading me bedtime stories flooded back as I walked—his voice changing for each character, making me laugh even as I aged and pretended to be too old for such things. He’d been more than my stepfather; he’d been my hero. Now, every memory was tainted, corrupted by the knowledge that, while he was teaching me about justice and loyalty, he’d been betraying everything he claimed to believe in.
Typhon had become my rock after Jekyll’s “death.” He’d guided me through my grief and mentored me when I carved my own path into intelligence work. Our relationship evolved from guardian and ward to something closer to siblings.
My disappearance would hurt him, and while I regretted that, eventually he’d understand my search wasn’t solely about one man’s betrayal. It was about understanding who I really was, if everything I’d built my life on was a lie.
Denitsa Vihren, code name Zephyr, was waiting at our arranged meeting spot when I arrived an hour later. The hole-in-the-wall café catered to university students, so it stayed open later than most others.
She looked exactly as she had during our graduate-school days in London—cropped platinum hair, thin build, and wearing an oversized sweater. The large mug on the table revealed the kind of desperate caffeine addiction we’d shared that came from working too many overnight surveillance shifts.
I’d chosen my backup identity carefully—Mara Kova?, a Croatian art historian. The papers were flawless, crafted during those long nights in Typhon’s flat when I’d told Hornet I was working on victim-counseling reports. Each time he’d brought me tea, lingering in the doorway with concern shadowing his expression, guilt twisted deeper in my chest. But I couldn’t risk him discovering what I was planning. Not when I knew he’d try to stop me, driven by his unwavering sense of duty to Typhon.
“You’re insane,” Zephyr said by way of greeting, sliding a paper cup of Turkish coffee across the table. “When you contacted me about Jekyll, I thought perhaps you’d gone over the edge.”
I wrapped my cold fingers around the cup, breathing in the rich aroma. “You know I’m right about him.”
She leaned forward, voice dropping. “I know you’re grieving…”
“I have proof.” I pulled out my phone, showing her the surveillance photos I’d gathered over the past three months. Jekyll moving through Belgrade, entering and exiting buildings known to house FSB—Russia’s Federal Security Service—operations. Meeting with Russian operatives in Montenegro, his manner so casual it suggested a long familiarity. Strangely, he made no effort to hide from the cameras—almost as if he wanted to be seen.
“These could mean anything,” said Zephyr, studying one photo where Jekyll stood talking with a known trafficking suspect. “He could be?—”
“What? A lookalike? Someone working undercover? After these years?” I shook my head. “No. It’s him.”
“ Bo?e moj .” Zephyr gasped, scrolling through more photos. “How did you get these?”
“I have contacts.” I didn’t mention the countless nights I’d spent building a network of informants while in London, supposedly “under protection.” Or how each piece of intelligence was both a victory and a violation. “Jekyll’s been tracking major trafficking operations across Eastern Europe. I want to know why.”
“Kima.” She used my real name despite my warning look. “You’re not thinking clearly. If he really is alive and working with the Russians, he’s more dangerous than—” She froze, fixated on something over my shoulder.
I casually reached for my coffee, using the movement to check the reflection in the café window. Two men had entered, their stiff postures and scanning gazes screaming surveillance training. My mind flashed to all the training sessions with Hornet, his hands positioning my shoulders as he pushed me to get better at spotting surveillance, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered instructions. The memory sent an unwelcome flutter through my stomach.
“Back exit?” I murmured, already calculating escape routes.
“Through the kitchen, leads to an alley.” Zephyr’s hand disappeared under the table, reaching for the weapon I knew she carried. “But there’s probably more waiting.”
I forced myself to breathe slowly. God, I missed Hornet’s steady presence with an intensity that shocked me. He would have already mapped every exit and identified each threat, all while making it look as though we were simply in the midst of a conversation.
“Send what else you can find on Jekyll’s movements to my secure server,” I said, standing as if to head to the restroom. “I’ll contact you when I’m clear.”
“Kima, wait.” Zephyr surveyed the room, lowering her voice a second time. “There are rumors that intelligence assets are being moved through the Balkans. If what you said is true, that’s probably where his focus is. Whatever you’re planning—be careful.”
“Copy that,” I said, already moving. The kitchen staff barely glanced up as I slipped past, aided by my muscle memory from countless extraction drills. The kind that Typhon had insisted on, his protective instincts never quite letting go even as I proved myself as an agent. The alley door opened silently under my touch.
Air, already a few degrees colder, hit my face as I emerged into a narrow passage between buildings. A flash of movement to my left revealed another surveillance team. I turned right, keeping my pace unhurried despite my every instinct screaming to run. Once again, Marras’ repeated warnings echoed in my head. “Walk, don’t run. Use the crowd.”
Three blocks later, I ducked into a metro station, allowing myself to be swallowed by the evening commuter rush. Only then did I let my hands shake, pressing my forehead against the cold tile wall as the reality of what I’d learned from Zephyr settled over me.
Intelligence assets were being moved through the Balkans. That meant against their will. Was that Typhon’s intended fate if Unit 23 hadn’t rescued him? Once relocated, then what? No one in their right mind would think someone with his background would turn. I nearly laughed at the irony of the thought. Jekyll had. But barring that, what other reason would there be for trafficking men and women trained to notice every detail, to escape by any means possible when captured?
My phone buzzed with an incoming alert from one of my monitoring programs. Jekyll had been spotted in Moscow, attending a charity gala popular with both legitimate businessmen and organized-crime figures. What the fuck was he up to? Nothing about the movements I’d been able to track in the last three months made any sense.
As I boarded the metro toward the airport, my first thought was of Hornet. He’d eventually track me here. He was too good of an agent not to. More, he knew me better than anyone. While someone else might not pick up on the subtleties, he would, regardless of how good of a disguise I wore.
“I’m sorry, Devin,” I whispered, using his given first name and wishing I’d been able to trust him enough to ask for his help. In the end, I knew I couldn’t. It would’ve been his sworn duty to report my plans to Typhon, at which point, the two would’ve done everything they could to prevent me from leaving.
Stealth was my only option, and even then, it had taken weeks of planning for me to put all the pieces of my departure together.
The weight of my mission settled over me as I considered my next move. I wasn’t only chasing a traitorous bastard—I was chasing answers about who I really was. Everything I’d become—an intelligence officer, a trauma counselor, a woman who’d learned to keep her heart guarded—had been first shaped by Jekyll’s influence and, now, by his betrayal.
It was time to face his ghost, even if it meant leaving behind the man I loved as well as the mentor who’d become family.
Moscow waited and, with it, hopefully, answers. I just prayed the price I’d have to pay for them wouldn’t be too high.
I caught the last flight out, and since I was flying commercial, it meant a ninety-minute layover in Istanbul. I’d land in Moscow at dawn, and if Hornet had already tracked me and was en route, he’d beat me there. If he did, would he be alone? I already knew Typhon wouldn’t be with him. He was in the States, attending the wedding of another Unit 23-er, as they called themselves. Unless he’d somehow figured out I was on my way to Russia’s capital city. In which case, he’d be there too, and my search would end hours after it began. I couldn’t allow that to happen.
I had six hours of flight time to figure out how to avoid one or both men—two of the top agents in international intelligence.
With zero ideas, I shut my eyes, hoping I’d sleep and wake refreshed enough to think clearly. Instead, all I saw was Hornet’s face the last time we were together. When I’d said good night, but what I really meant was goodbye.