Four
Devon somehow weaved his magic and secured them a ride with the military on a humanitarian mission to Poland. Whether the flight had originally been planned was questionable, as the cargo hold had ample room for their vehicles and weaponry.
A combination Anya thought she'd left behind. But she preferred these scents to antiseptics—antiseptics meant loss, and Anya never surrendered to losing.
Engines roared beyond the reinforced fuselage, a deep, relentless vibration that crawled up through deck plating and settled in the bones. Red tactical lights painted everyone in blood and shadow, faces half-lit, unreadable—soldiers and ghosts alike.
Charlie Team lined the jump seats along the bulkhead—men and women armored in tactical gear, eyes bright with anticipation and trust. No one questioned Justin’s authority. This was a team forged in fire, and tonight, every spark was ready to ignite.
It was nothing less than impressive—a team coiled and ready, every kinetic glance promising violence or victory.
Ice sat opposite where she stood, helmet resting against his knee, idly tightening the strap of his rifle sling like a man who had done it a thousand times and would do it a thousand more.
Justin also chose to stand instead of sitting. That didn’t surprise her. Some operators required movement during transit; others needed stillness. Justin needed visibility.
He braced one hand against the edge of the metal operations table bolted to the deck as the transport banked. Maps from a portable projector crawled over the steel—Baltic coastline glowing ghost-blue in the gloom, their next battlefield flickering beneath their fingertips.
Devon’s voice filtered through the overhead comm channel. As always, he was calm and controlled but surrounded by the faint background noise of keyboards. “I’m pushing the purge list now.”
White text flickered across the projection, flashing with an array of names—dozens of them.
Anya edged closer to the table, arms crossed tight, weight shifting onto the balls of her feet—always ready to move, because motion kept her mind sharp and her heart out of reach.
“Confirmed twelve eliminations tied to the prototype intake batch,” Devon continued. “Eight in the last month.”
Ice, attention off his rifle and on the screen, whistled softly. “That’s not cleanup.”
Jesse’s voice came through the channel next. “That’s consolidation.”
Devon agreed immediately. “Yes.”
Anya’s eyes moved down the list.
Sergei Orlov—Neutralized
Katarina Iliev—Neutralized
Artem Kovac—Extraction Failed
Silent Night was clinical, precise, and unforgiving in its operations.
Her gaze kept moving. Then it stopped, and her heart plummeted to her gut in dread.
Alexei Morozov—Status: Pending Termination
The aircraft vibrated with life around her. Team voices faded to static. Anya’s world shrank to the name burning on the screen and the cold certainty coiling in her gut—a single line separating survival from loss.
Pending termination. Not dead—yet. A countdown, not a verdict. Not as long as she was breathing.
Her mind didn’t spiral. It snapped tight to a rooftop in Prague, three years and a thousand lifetimes ago—cold wind, concrete dust, Alexei at her shoulder. Two heartbeats in perfect sync. Shots landing like echoes. Now, just a name trapped on a kill list.
Her body adjusted unconsciously now, recalibrating angles and spacing the way it always had when he was near.
Except that the space behind her was empty. There was only a name on a list.
“…offshore routing?” Justin’s voice cut through the noise.
Anya blinked once. The aircraft snapped back into focus.
Charlie Two was leaning forward across the table.
Devon had pulled up a satellite overlay.
Jesse remained silent on the communication line, his gaze fixed through a camera in the war room near Devon.
The rhythmic clatter of Devon’s keyboard echoed behind him, but Jesse stayed perfectly still, refraining from interrupting Justin.
It was intriguing to see him allow an operator—albeit a team leader—to take the lead in the briefing.
Justin continued. “They’re not rebuilding the program.”
The group on the plane shifted slightly, with some leaning in closer than before.
Ice raised an eyebrow. “Then what the hell are they doing?”
Justin tapped the map projection with one finger. “They’re eliminating volatility.”
Anya looked up.
He didn’t raise his voice or push the cluster around him. He simply laid the logic out. “Anyone who survived the original program understands the architecture,” he continued. “Anyone who adapts outside the conditioning protocols becomes unpredictable.”
Frosty nodded slowly. “So Sokolov clears the board.”
“Yes.” Justin’s finger traced the purge list. “Anyone who knows how Silent Night works dies before the next generation launches.”
Ice leaned back in his seat. “Purge before relaunch.”
“Yes.” Justin didn’t look at Jesse while he spoke.
That caught Anya’s attention.
Most operators performed for command when they briefed.
Justin didn’t. He spoke like the room already belonged to him—a gravity that pulled every stray thought and plan into his orbit.
Jesse didn’t interrupt. That registered in her mind.
Devon switched the projection to a regional map. “The Kaliningrad server cluster is active again. Encryption signatures match the old conditioning protocols.”
Anya stepped forward slightly. “Then the infrastructure’s centralized.”
“For now,” Justin said.
She met his eyes. “Which means he’s confident.”
Justin nodded once. “And arrogance creates timing windows.” He didn’t look away.
Neither did she.
For a fraction of a second, the rest of the aircraft blurred into noise—the engine vibration, Devon’s voice, Ice shifting in his seat—all of it falling behind the quiet line of understanding between them.
He adjusted his stance slightly as the aircraft shifted again. Closer. Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Enough that she felt it. Her shoulder brushed his as the projection flickered across the table. Deliberate. Not corrected.
Justin’s hand shifted on the edge of the table, steadying against the turbulence—close enough that if either of them moved wrong, they’d touch.
Neither moved. Not yet. The tension was electric—one breath away from contact, one heartbeat short of something breaking.
Then the moment passed. The aircraft steadied. The room snapped back into focus.
The smallest flicker of agreement passed between them.
He shifted the projection again.
Logistics nodes appeared across the Baltic shipping lanes.
“We hit funding first,” Justin said. “Quietly.”
Charlie Two leaned forward. “Cut the spine.”
“Not yet,” Justin corrected calmly. “We squeeze.”
The aircraft hit a pocket of turbulence. The deck shuddered beneath their boots.
Charlie Team didn’t even look up. They were glued to the floor and focused on Justin’s intel briefing.
“He’ll move assets before abandoning them,” Justin continued. “That’s when we see him.”
Jesse finally spoke. “And when he moves?”
Anya answered. “We’re waiting.”
The words settled into the aircraft cabin like a piece locking into place.
Justin looked at her, not with surprise, but with recognition. They were thinking the same thing.
Devon cleared his throat. “There’s a secondary personnel rotation node tied to Gdansk.”
The map shifted again. This time, it was the Polish coastline and its shipyards.
Justin studied it. “That’s our lever.” He turned slightly, addressing Charlie Team without raising his voice. “Prep for forward observation. We confirm movement before contact.”
Ice grinned faintly. “Finally.”
Anya felt something shift inside her—a flicker of defiance, a silent oath that this time, no one she called her own would be left behind. Not while she had breath left to fight.
Silent Night wanted isolation. Instead, the aircraft felt anchored.
Justin wasn’t trying to control her. He wasn’t stepping around her either. He simply filled the space leadership required—clean and direct.
Jesse’s voice came again. “Franks.”
Justin looked up at their organizational leader. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re running point.”
There was no hesitation in Justin. “Yes, sir.” He nodded.
Anya waited for the territorial flare. It didn’t come. She realized that Justin running point didn’t diminish her. It positioned them.
Justin finally looked at her. “You’ll take overwatch on Gdansk.”
Her answer came instantly. “Understood.” There was no resistance or dispute. Only alignment.
Devon pushed a countdown timeline onto the projection. “If we disrupt funding within forty-eight hours, we force relocation.”
Anya’s eyes drifted back to the purge list. Alexei’s name still burned there. Pending termination. Her heart said, “Not today.”
Justin followed her gaze this time. He didn’t speak immediately. Then quietly, he said, “We’re ahead of him.”
It wasn’t comfort. No, she wouldn’t want that. It was strategy.
Her jaw unclenched slightly. “Good.”
The aircraft leveled out as it crossed the Baltic air corridor.
Charlie Team began checking gear.
Ice tightened the strap on his rifle again.
Charlie Three loaded fresh magazines.
Devon and Jesse’s projections shifted to encrypted comm channels.
The briefing was over. The mission had begun.
Jesse’s voice came through one last time. “This isn’t containment.”
Silence filled the aircraft.
“We finish it this time.”
Anya met the projection where Jesse’s icon now glowed. “We will.”
The channel clicked off.
Justin remained beside the table, reviewing the Gdansk schematics.
Anya watched him longer than was necessary.
“You’re not subtle,” he said without looking up.
“About what?”
“Assessing me.”
A faint pulse of heat stirred beneath her ribs. “You’re operating in my space,” she replied evenly. “Assessment is required.”
Justin glanced up. There was no challenge in his gaze. Just steadiness. “Good. Keep doing it.”
For a second, neither of them moved.
The aircraft groaned around them, steel and storm and distance pressing close, but the space between them felt quieter than it should have.
Justin’s hand shifted on the table.
Anya’s gaze dropped to it before lifting back to his face.
A small, dangerous pause stretched between them.
Then his thumb tapped once against the edge of the map beside her hand. A signal. Barely anything.
Still, she felt it like contact. Her mouth curved faintly. “Noted.”
His eyes warmed by a fraction. “Good.”
Then he looked back down at the schematics, as if nothing had happened. But something had.
Her pulse shifted once. It was welcoming yet unwelcoming. Now wasn’t the time for her body to react. Now was the time for her mind to take control.
Silent Night believed taking Alexei would break her. They thought shuffling pieces on the board could fracture her resolve.
Instead, they’d dropped a new variable into her world—a force that didn’t compete for space. He simply occupied it, on his terms and, increasingly, on hers.
The aircraft continued through the dark.
Toward Gdansk.
Toward Sokolov.
Toward the next move in a war that was no longer just about survival—it was personal, and this time, everyone on the board would know exactly who they were dealing with.
And this time—
They were coming ready.