Nineteen
Irina had wanted to be seen. Justin recognized it the moment she stepped out of the tree line, her face illuminated by the moonlight.
Hunters aiming to kill never announced themselves, but those seeking movement did.
As she vanished into the woods, Justin was already in motion. “Charlie Four, watch Antonov. Charlie Five, perimeter lockdown,” he whispered urgently. “Charlie Two and Three, with me.”
Boots hit the floor in three rooms as Charlie Team snapped into motion. The safe house lights remained off. No one hurried toward the door yet—because rushing into the dark was how people ended up trapped.
Justin moved away from the window, pivoting to face Anya. Her rifle was already raised, eyes sharp and unwavering, breath steady—she was a predator and absolutely stunning. “Do you see the direction?”
“North tree line,” she replied. “Thirty meters past the ridge.”
He nodded once.
Ice slid into the room, jacket half zipped, weapon already in hand. “That her?”
“Yes.” Justin nodded.
Ice grinned faintly. “I was hoping we’d meet again.”
Justin ignored that. “Thermal?”
Devon answered immediately through the comm. “Running now.”
A half-second pause. Then— “Contact moving north-northwest. Single heat signature. Fast.”
Justin exhaled once. Of course she was alone. Orlov would be somewhere else. Hunters split pressure the same way Charlie Team did. Which meant—
“This is bait,” Ice said.
“Yes,” Justin replied.
Anya spoke quietly. “And we’re taking it.”
Justin fixed her with a steady gaze. Her words weren’t born out of recklessness; they were carefully calculated.
Irina had made her intention clear—she wanted them to pursue her. It was a subtle invitation to leave the safety of the safe house, signaling that its purpose had been served.
Justin nodded. “Gucci stays with Antonov.”
“Copy.”
“Frosty, Ice, on me.” Then he looked at Anya. “You’re not staying.”
Her eyebrow lifted slightly. “Was that ever a possibility?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He approached the back door cautiously. The moment he pushed it open, a blast of wind struck them fiercely, icy and relentless, swirling snow sideways through the trees. Justin was the first to step into the raging storm, his heart pounding with anticipation.
Ice followed.
Anya slipped into position at Justin’s right without needing to be told, and it felt so right.
Frosty took the rear.
Four operators. Four weapons. Four shadows sliding into the woods.
Devon’s voice murmured in Justin’s ear. “She’s slowing.”
“Where?”
“Ridge line ahead of you.”
Justin scanned the terrain automatically.
The slope climbed steadily towards a jagged rock outcrop that sliced through the trees like a spiny backbone. Snow clung unevenly to the ground, hiding some footprints and revealing others.
It wasn’t subtle at all—Irina eagerly wanted them to follow.
“Thermal stable,” Devon said. “No secondary signatures.”
“Yet,” Ice muttered.
Justin moved with urgent speed, branches cracking loudly under his boots. Snow shifted and rustled beneath him, while the wind carried elusive scents and distant sounds in thin, whispering ribbons, distorting his sense of distance and heightening his sense of pursuit.
Anya stopped suddenly.
Justin halted instantly.
Ice froze behind them.
“What?” Justin asked.
She crouched slightly, studying the ground. “Footprints.”
“We know.”
“No,” she said quietly.
Justin stepped closer.
The tracks cut across the snow in a straight line. Irina’s. But halfway through the path, they disappeared.
Justin scanned the area carefully. Still nothing—no disturbances, no new trails, as if the place was untouched.
Ice exhaled softly. “She climbed.”
Justin followed Anya’s gaze upward, locking onto the ridge—a towering rock face glistening with snow and ice. Halfway up, movement caught his eye.
Irina stood on the ridge, moonlight painting her in silver and shadow.
Wind snapped at her coat, her pale hair stark against the dark.
She was perfectly still—untouchable, as if the chaos below couldn’t reach her.
She didn’t posture. She didn’t flinch. She simply watched, a queen on her chosen board, waiting for her prey to make a move.
Justin raised his weapon slightly, pulse slowing in concentration.
She didn’t reach for her weapon. Instead, Irina tilted her head, gaze dissecting them with the cold curiosity of a scientist watching a specimen twitch. She wanted them to feel the test, the power imbalance—her control was a blade sharper than any gun.
Anya lifted her rifle.
Irina smiled faintly.
Justin spoke without taking his eyes off the woman. “Don’t shoot.”
Anya didn’t lower the rifle. “Why?”
“Because she wants that.”
Irina’s smile widened slightly in confirmation.
Then she spoke—her voice cutting through the wind, soft but absolute. “Anya Morozov.” It was less a greeting than a summons, a name meant to pull old ghosts out into the open.
The name hung in the air.
Ice muttered under his breath. “Bold.”
Irina’s eyes never left Anya. “You should have come alone.” It was a dare, an invitation, and a threat all at once—Irina was here to fracture, not just to fight.
Anya didn’t answer.
Justin stepped slightly forward. “Funny,” he said. “We were thinking the same thing about you.”
Irina finally glanced at him with recognition. “Justin Franks.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Your reputation is disappointing.”
Ice snorted softly.
Justin didn’t react. He’d been told that before. “What do you want?”
Irina’s attention snapped back to Anya. “You.” The word was a claim, as if the rest of the world had dropped away and only their rivalry mattered.
Pure and straightforward. No drama. No intimidation. Just the raw, unfiltered truth.
Anya’s rifle never wavered. “I’m not interested.”
“You will be.”
“Unlikely.”
Irina studied her for a moment longer. Then she spoke again, voice sinking lower: “He misses you.” It was a knife disguised as kindness, meant to cut deep and leave a scar.
Anya went perfectly still.
Justin felt it. The shift.
“Alexei,” Irina continued softly.
“Careful,” Justin said.
Irina ignored him.
“He’s always been your shadow.”
Anya’s voice turned colder. “Say what you came to say.”
Irina’s smile vanished. “Sokolov would prefer you alive.” Her tone was clinical, as if arranging a transfer, not a kidnapping. It was the voice of someone who never doubted the outcome.
Justin’s grip tightened on the rifle. No way in hell would he allow that to happen.
“There it is,” Ice murmured.
Irina’s voice was a scalpel—calm, precise, meant to draw blood. “You were his best result.”
Anya didn’t move. “You mistake survival for loyalty.”
“Do I?”
Justin stepped forward slightly. “That’s close enough.”
Irina looked at him again. “You think you can stop this.”
“I know we can.”
She tilted her head again. Then she laughed quietly. “Your team is competent.”
Ice grinned. “Thanks.”
“But you misunderstand the game.” Irina’s smile flickered back, all teeth. “You’re still playing by the old rules.”
Justin felt the shift again before she said it. “This was never about killing her.”
The words landed exactly where she intended.
Justin didn’t respond.
Irina took a single step back toward the ridge’s edge, smile returning. “You’re already too late.” It was a checkmate delivered with elegance—her exit rehearsed, their next move forced.
And then…she dropped.
Justin lunged forward instinctively.
Anya moved faster, slipping.
Both reached the ridge’s edge at the same time.
His hand caught her arm—hard.
For a fraction of a second, momentum tried to take her over the edge with the ghost of Irina’s movement. The wind howled up the cliff face, tugging at her coat, pulling at balance and instinct alike.
Justin didn’t let go.
Her shoulder pressed into his chest as she braced, boots grinding into the snow. The world narrowed to cold air, empty space—and the solid, unyielding force of him holding her exactly where she needed to be.
Steady. Alive.
Anya didn’t look at him. But her hand came up, gripping his wrist just once—tight, deliberate. Then she released it. Control restored.
Both of them leaned forward over the edge.
Below them—nothing.
Ice arrived a second later and stared down. “Well,” he said. “That’s unsettling.”
Devon’s voice burst into Justin’s ear. “Franks.”
“Yeah.”
“Multiple heat signatures just appeared two clicks east of you.”
Justin’s stomach tightened. “How many?”
“Three.”
Hunters. Orlov. And someone else.
Justin stepped back from the ridge. “They’re herding us.”
“Yes,” Devon said quietly.
Ice glanced between Justin and Anya. “So…what’s the play?”
Justin looked at Anya. She was still staring at the empty darkness below the ridge. Then she slowly lowered the rifle. Her eyes were colder now. Sharper.
“Good,” she said quietly.
Ice blinked. “That’s…not the reaction I expected.”
Anya turned toward Justin. “They think I’m prey.”
Justin nodded once. “They’re wrong.”
She slung the rifle over her shoulder. “Now we know where they’re pushing.”
Justin felt a surge of clarity as everything clicked into place. Decision made. Movement ignited. Momentum carried him forward. “Charlie Team,” he said with calm authority, “time to hunt back.”
Behind them, the storm intensified. Snow erased the tracks Irina had left behind. But it didn’t matter. Because the war had just changed.
And for the first time since Silent Night resurfaced—Justin knew exactly where to start breaking it.