21. Alexei #2
“I speak a lot of languages,” Clara replies.
“Yes, but Russian was not listed.”
A heavy sigh comes through the speaker. “I already regret agreeing to this mission,” Clara murmurs.
Ruslan chuckles. “Why’s that?”
“Because if you can’t see that Alexei is madly in love with Elena,” she says flatly, “then you’re a liability to me in this field.”
A few of Petrova’s people glance up from their screens. I groan but keep my eyes forward.
Ruslan’s laugh comes through again, softer this time. “I mean, Да.” Yes. “I noticed. I’ve also noticed that whole… protectiveness between you two.”
“That,” Clara says, final as a slammed door, “is because we’re good friends. Sometimes work partners. We’ve been through a lot together. Nothing more than sibling affection.”
Ruslan grins. “Good.”
There is an intake of breath. “Why is that good?”
“Ты другой,” he replies too quickly.
“What did he say?” Elena asks me.
I sigh. “He said, ‘You’re different.’ It’s a way of saying someone stands out.”
Even in these circumstances, a small grin manages to tug at her lips.
My finger presses the talk key before I can think better of it. “Focus,” I demand, letting my voice drop into something colder, harder. “The only thing that matters is this mission and bringing Hannah home.”
Silence snaps back into place.
Then Braydon’s voice cuts through, all business now. “Sir, I’m a mile south of the site. I’ve got cameras.”
I straighten. “Hunting?”
“No,” he answers.. Lower. Certain. “Coverage. Confirming it is a setup.”
“Have we been made?” I ask.
“No,” Braydon replies after a brief pause. “Not yet.”
I turn sharply. “Maurice. Put Braydon’s position on screen. Full overlay.”
The screens shift, maps bloom across the monitors, red markers bleeding across terrain as Braydon’s marker moves across the screen. Elena steps closer without thinking. I angle my body toward her, our arms brush, the contact small but deliberate. An anchor. A promise.
Whatever waits ahead, it’s already moving.
The feed shifts.
At first, it’s only a flicker of movement, a shadow that glides between trees, moonlight snagging on frost-bitten branches. Clara and Ruslan instinctively slow, their silhouettes tightening, shoulders rolling forward like predators that have caught a scent they don’t trust.
I’m not used to being behind the monitors, tracking every heartbeat and footstep through screens and signals, but it isn’t where I want to be.
I might be a king, but my skills are better suited to security measures.
I thrive in the middle of the storm, anticipating threats, directing moves, reading shifts in the air, especially with Clara as my partner.
Over the years working together, we move in sync, anticipate each other’s calls, and cover angles before the enemy breathes.
As much as not being out there, Clara and I have to put our trust in Ruslan.
Elena needs me here more. Being her husband isn’t only about protecting her physical safety.
Right now, she needs steady hands and a calm mind more than ever.
Every decision I make from here still serves her, but with every second, I ache to step into the field and guard her with my own two eyes instead of pixels.
Then the camera steadies.
There’s a woman ahead of them.
My chest constricts with that same sharp ache you feel before entering the heart of the fight, no guarantees, just the fragile hope that all the hours we spent planning and training will be enough.
Same height. Same build. Blonde hair caught loose around her shoulders, clothes torn enough to look convincing. Hannah is positioned where the light finds her, where anyone searching would be drawn straight in. A chess piece, positioned with care.
I feel it in the room without being there… before anyone says it, the subtle shift in the air. The wrongness crawling up my spine.
“Something’s off,” Clara murmurs into the comm.
Ruslan exhales slowly. “Yeah. It’s heavy.”
They take a few more steps.
Every instinct I had screamed for them to stop. Nothing about the scene felt earned. Hannah wasn’t waiting to be rescued... she was waiting for something else.
The angle changes and the crawling feeling spreads out across my back.
And the truth snaps into focus.
Hannah isn’t standing.
She’s tied up.
Thick rope bites into her wrists and chest, binding her to the trunk of an old tree, bark gouged and scarred as if it’s seen this kind of violence before.
A gag cuts across Hannah’s mouth. Her eyes, wide and glassy in the night, dart back and forth rapidly, before locking onto the approaching figures.
Her head jerks violently toward the trunk as Clara and Ruslan close in, her body collapsing into the tree like she believes it might swallow her whole.
No. This is too easy. We know it’s a trap, but the closer they get, the more my instincts tell us to pull away.
“That’s her,” Ruslan announces, voice tight. “And she’s not alone.”
Movement ripples through the trees, too controlled, too precise to be wildlife. Shapes detach themselves from darkness. I hear the slide shift into place seconds before the gun’s glint makes itself known in the light. Our trap finally bares its teeth.
Clara doesn’t hesitate. “Confirmed. Hostiles present.” A pause. Then, in typical Clara fashion, dry as ever, “Guess it’s the hard way.”
“Primary objective,” I cut in sharply. “Get Hannah. Get out. Nothing else matters.”
“Copy,” Clara confirms. “Story of my life.”
She taps Ruslan’s shoulder once, silent, practiced, and splits off into the woods. The tracker and drones above are the only eyes on her movements.
The first report of gunfire startles Elena, her body stiffening, her shoulders lifting, and her eyes flying open as she instinctively leans toward the camera feed.
“Is… is this always what it’s like for you?” Elena’s voice is barely a breath.
I lift my eyes from the screen and meet hers. “Not always.” I pause, choosing each word like a move on a board. “We run through every angle we can think of. You can’t account for everything, but you learn to read the moment, anticipate the shift, and react without hesitation.”
She nods, but her eyes betray the worry my words haven’t soothed.
“We’ll get her back,” I reassure.
Her lips press into a tentative smile. “I know.” She lets out a slow exhale, more frustration than relief. “It’s… part of me wants you there because you’re good at what you do. The other part?—”