Chapter 32
ASTRID
The world slips in and out, like light through torn fabric.
Darkness. Motion. A low rumble beneath me—the unmistakable rhythm of wheels over road.
Voices.
The rough interior of a van swims into view. Dim light. Metal walls. My head rests awkwardly against a crate. My wrists are bound, my hands numb. My limbs feel like they belong to someone else.
Across from me, Tatiana is on the phone. Her voice is low and curt. I have no idea who she’s talking to.
“Yes,” she says. “We have her. She’s en route.” A pause. “She’s sedated, not dead. Don’t be dramatic.”
I try to move. My fingers twitch but everything below my waist feels as heavy as lead.
“I want assurances,” Tatiana snaps. “After this, I want my seat at the table. No more stalling.” She mumbles something I can’t hear before saying, “I’ll handle Yuri. I know how to cause him doubt. He already has it, he just won’t admit it yet.”
My heart pounds against my ribs. I focus everything I have on moving. Blinking. Breathing through the nausea. My brain’s still fogged with whatever they pumped into me, but the fear cuts through it like acid.
The babies.
I try to speak, but it comes out as barely a whimper.
Tatiana turns toward me. “She’s awake,” she says. “I’ll call you when we arrive.”
She hangs up and steps closer, crouching down beside me. The light shifts, outlining her like some sainted statue. Her eyes, though, are sharp and cruel. “As long as you play nice,” she says softly, brushing hair from my face with mock tenderness, “you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Her voice dips. “The Ivanovs, on the other hand…” A small shrug. “We’ll see.”
I try to speak, to tell her she doesn’t understand who she’s dealing with. Yuri will never stop looking for me. Elena, Lev, someone, will come for me. But my mouth won’t cooperate. The words dissolve before they leave my tongue.
The van lurches, then slows. We’re stopping.
Tatiana rises, smoothing her coat like she’s arriving at brunch. She knocks once on the metal wall. “She’s awake.”
The van door creaks open, letting in a wash of light before slamming shut again. And then she’s gone and I’m alone. I’m not sure I can move.
The van jolts forward again, then slows, tires crunching over gravel.
We’re out of the city, that much I’m certain of. No horns. No distant sirens. Just the wind and the low whine of the engine tapering off.
I fade in and out. My body’s still feels heavy, nerves dull beneath the drug.
The doors open with a low squeak.
Tatiana’s voice filters back in. “Get her inside. Carefully.”
Hands grab me—firm, but not cruel. They haul me upright and my knees buckle. I can’t stand on my own. My limbs hang loose, uncooperative. My head lolls. I try to speak, but it’s nothing more than a garbled breath, more plea than sentence.
I’m dragged out into the late afternoon light. It’s overcast—bright but washed out—like the color’s been drained from the world.
The building in front of us is five stories high, plain brick with darkened windows and no signage. It could be anything. Insurance. Records storage. A forgotten satellite office.
Inside, the lights hum. The floors are linoleum, worn through at the edges. There’s no art on the walls. No receptionist. Just a hallway lined with closed doors.
I’m taken to one of them. The guards don’t speak.
They open the door. Spalding’s waiting inside.
He’s neatly dressed in a crisp button-down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s not physically imposing, but there’s something clinical in his stillness.
The guards place me in a chair. The ropes are removed from my wrists and replaced by zip-ties, pulled tight. My vision’s still blurry, but I can see the amusement in his eyes.
“Well, well, well,” he says. “There she is.”
His voice is smooth. Polished. Confident.
“You’re going to be very, very important in the next few days.”
I manage to lift my head. The effort costs me. “Why…”
Spalding smiles faintly. “Because Yuri Ivanov is many things, but reasonable is not one of them.” He walks around the desk just close enough to loom in my periphery.
“I tried the clean way,” he continues. “The quiet way. But he made his choice. And now we have to adjust.” He crouches slightly, looking me in the eye. “You’re not a hostage, Astrid. You’re leverage. And as long as you cooperate, you’ll be fine.”
He says it like a doctor offering bad news gently. Nothing personal. Just strategy.
I see it now—the cruel edges. The rot beneath the smile.
“You won’t get away with this,” I whisper.
He chuckles. “Getting away with things is what I do.” He straightens, smooths his shirt cuffs, and nods to the guards. “Get her settled somewhere comfortable.”
Then he’s gone.
The guards lift me again. I’m too tired to resist. My mind spins with scattered thoughts, but only one name anchors me.
Yuri.
If he’s looking for me—and I know he is—he won’t stop until he finds me.
He’ll burn the world down.
Along with anyone who stands in his way.