Chapter 5
St. Petersburg, two weeks ago…
Katya
Snow fell sideways in St. Petersburg, battering the tall glass face of Revenant Headquarters like the city itself was trying to warn me back.
The storm howled across the Neva River, white flurries dancing and spiraling in the wind, but inside the lobby it was warm.
Maybe a little too sterile, too polished, a smidge too bright, but at least I wasn’t cold anymore.
My boots clicked against the marble tile, the sound too loud in a place built to soften noise.
The receptionist smiled with an overly polite and practiced kind of warmth, the kind that said she wasn’t allowed to do anything else.
She scanned my ID, nodded with her approval, and directed me to the elevator with a quick little gesture.
“Sixteenth floor, Ms. Volkov,” she said. “He’s waiting.”
He. Not a name. Not a title. Just he.
The Revenant higher-up who had summoned me personally.
Most people would feel honored.
I just felt… wary.
I’d worked with Revenant for well over five years at this point.
Long enough to see the inside of their operations, long enough to watch the collapse of my home through screens and tactical briefings, long enough to understand just how carefully they crafted their language. They never lied, at least not exactly.
All this time, I thought I had been fighting for freedom.
I’d been na?ve.
The elevator purred upward. I smoothed my coat out of habit, shoulders pulled back tight, my chin held high. No matter what else I’d lost in the war, discipline was something I could still show the world.
When the doors opened, the top floor greeted me with soft lighting and quieter halls. Revenant executives preferred calm. The kind of calm that comes right before a knife slips between your ribs without a single word of warning.
A young man in a tailored suit approached me. He was wearing a Revenant security uniform. His expression didn’t shift as he appraised me.
“Ms. Volkov,” he said with a nod. “Right this way.”
He led me down a long corridor lined with framed satellite imagery, before and after shots of revolutions Revenant had ‘facilitated.’ I used to stop and stare at them. Pride, maybe. Or hope. Now they just looked like mass graves.
We stopped before a set of double doors made of some dark gray material I couldn’t place. The guard tapped twice, then opened them.
“Go in.” He directed me with his eyes.
I stepped into a room flooded with bright light from floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the frozen city.
A desk of dark oak dominated the space, expensive and immaculate.
Behind it sat a man with silver hair, a tailored suit, and a face that belonged to a person who’d never been told no once in his life.
He smiled when he saw me. Not kindly. Not cruelly. But calculated.
“Katerina Volkov,” he said, rising to greet me. “Our most accomplished agent.”
I stiffened, but I didn’t say anything in response. Instead, I waited for him to continue.
His gaze narrowed in on me. “We need people like you.”
“You already have me.”
“We want to give you more responsibility.”
That made me stand straighter. Seating myself gracefully in a chair facing his desk, I unhurriedly folded my hands in my lap, and only then did I lift my eyes to his.
“In what capacity?”
He slid a document across the desk. A mission portfolio. Satellite images. Supply routes. A drone schematic that made my stomach flutter uneasily.
“We have identified a group seeking independence from their oppressive government,” he said. “Freedom fighters. Resourceful. Passionate. Desperate.”
Desperate. That word should have rung louder, but at the time, it didn’t.
“They need support,” he continued. “Technology. Intelligence. Tools of war.”
“Weapons? Drones?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Who leads this group?” I asked.
“A man named Bashir al-Khayran. He’s intelligent. Driven. He wants peace but will have to fight for it.”
That was the moment I should have stood up and walked out. That was the moment a cold chill crept up along my spine.
“You understand oppression, Miss Volkov. You carry the scars of it. Use that. Help these people. Help them fight back. Help them do what your people never could.”
Emotional manipulation at its finest.
“Before we send you though,” he continued, “there are a few people you must meet.”
He pressed a button on his desk.
The door behind me opened.
Two sets of footsteps entered, and I turned as they walked in.
The first man was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark clothes that fit a little too well.
Brown hair slightly tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it while deciding whether the rules applied to him.
His jawline was sharp, his dark blue eyes sharper, and the smirk he wore made the room tilt sideways.
The second man stood half a step behind him. Taller still. Straighter posture. Colder pale green eyes. Dark hair neatly cut, beard precisely trimmed, suit pressed to perfection. Every inch of him looked carved from exacting discipline and quiet threat.
The first one spoke first.
“Katya Volkov,” he said, voice warm and smooth, a lazy kind of charm dripping from every syllable. “Pleasure.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Do we know each other?”
“Not yet,” he said, sliding into the chair beside me like he owned it. “But I’m looking forward to it.”
The Revenant executive steepled his fingers. “Miss Volkov,” he said, “allow me to introduce your new team.”
He gestured to the smirking one first.
“This is Viktor Dragunov.”
Viktor flashed a grin that told me he was very used to getting his way.
Then the executive nodded to the second man.
“And this is Mikhail Dragunov. You’ll meet Andrei Dragunov later. He was delayed, unfortunately. You are to think of them as your partners.”
Partners?
I didn’t need any partners.
And I especially didn’t need two of them who were looking at me like they were already imagining peeling off my coat and finding out what was beneath it.
“I work alone,” I said bluntly.
Viktor didn’t blink. “Not anymore.”
I glared at him. He grinned.
The Revenant executive clasped his hands on the desk. “Your country fought for freedom, Katerina. Let us give that same chance to others.”
I felt the hook sink in.
Idealism was a dangerous thing.
Even more dangerous in the hands of men like him.
I nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Viktor leaned back, smug and satisfied. “This is going to be fun,” he murmured.
Mikhail’s eyes met mine, cool and assessing. He hadn’t said anything at all.
Revenant didn’t put their field agents in broom closets. When they wanted you loyal, they wrapped you in comfort and luxury, let you forget, for just long enough anyway, what the world looked like outside your penthouse.
My assigned suite was proof.
It wasn’t a room; it was a small apartment with hardwood floors, soft lighting, and thick rugs woven in deep jewel tones.
The kind of luxury I never saw during the war.
The bed was big enough for three people to sleep without touching.
There was a minibar stocked with little glass bottles I wasn’t allowed to drink while I was out on assignment but were fair game right now.
A door on the far end opened into a shared courtyard balcony, enclosed in glass so you could sit outside without freezing to death.
Whoever designed it had taste. There were soft lanterns hung from wrought-iron posts, and the snow fell around the glass, making it seem almost like being inside a snow globe.
It was beautiful, a gilded cage of my own making.
I set my small bag down on the console table and walked through the space, touching nothing, observing everything. I never slept well in pristine rooms like this. Too many years listening for footsteps that meant danger. Too much silence. Too much death.
I stepped into the courtyard, feeling the hush of the snowfall press against the glass overhead. The air smelled like pine and there was a faintly floral aroma pumping from the heated vents hidden in the floor beneath my feet.
I wasn’t alone.
Viktor Dragunov stood at the far end, one shoulder propped against the railing, a cigarette tucked between two fingers as he watched the snow fall like it owed him money.
Thin ribbons of smoke curled up against the glass, blurring the view of the city behind him.
He looked even taller here, framed by soft lantern light and drifting flakes, the ember at the end of his cigarette flaring every time he took a slow drag.
His smirk, when it appeared, was slow and annoyingly confident.
“Stalking me already?” I asked, folding my arms.
He pushed off the railing. “Coincidence. Revenant put me in the room next to yours.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Convenient.”
“Convenience is nice,” he said with a shrug. “Most of the time.”
I should have walked away. I should have gone back inside and shut the balcony door, but his presence lingered in the air, warm and irritating and impossible to ignore. He was the kind of man who took up too much space just by breathing.
“You’re angry,” he brilliantly surmised.
“Observant.”
“You don’t like partners.”
“No.”
“You especially don’t like partners you didn’t personally vet.”
I paused. Then sighed. “No.”
He grinned like he’d already won some argument I hadn’t even started. “Don’t worry, kotenok. I don’t take it personally. Women get flustered around me all the time.”
I knew enough Russian to know what he’d called me, and I raised my chin, unimpressed.
Kitten.
I was no one’s kitten, least of all his.
I stared at him, unmoved. “It’s remarkable how quickly you can reduce your own credibility.”
He laughed, low and warm. “See? I knew there was fire under all that ice.”
“Ice preserves.”
“Fire makes them do interesting things,” he countered.
Annoyingly, he had a point.