Page 129 of Mission Shift

Then he laughed and walked out.

I stepped closer to Braxton, forcing him to meet my gaze. I needed him to seeme—not the tortured woman he thought needed saving, not the enemy he thought he understood, but the one person in this room who knew exactly how the world worked.

“You want to save me?” I asked, my voice deadly calm. “You want to fix this—fix me? Then listen. Really listen, because this ismy truthand how I see your country, the world, and my place in it.”

He swallowed hard but didn’t look away.

Good.

I wanted him to understand.

I crossed my arms and took a step back, grounding myself. “Look, I get that you feel bad about me getting taken. Tortured. But honestly? I’m fine.”

His brows pulled in tight, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“This is the world I’ve lived in since I was a kid. Kremlin tactics, mafia power plays, psychological warfare—this isn’t new to me. I’ve trained for it. Survived it. I don’t need coddling. I don’t need a fucking new identity handed to me like some bandage over a cut. What I need is a way to get back to the fight. To do what’s right. Even if my effort is just a small piece of the puzzle.”

Braxton’s jaw tightened. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. But don’t pretend this didn’t affect you. You’re still human. You need time to breathe. To process.”

“I’ve had worse,” I shot back. “Russian torture methods are brutal, yes, but they’re also methodical—pain and humiliation,used to extract intel. Except—I didn’t have anything to give them. I had no idea you were tied to Nikolai Volkov. And my Ukrainian handlers and counterparts? Already dead. I was floating in the gray of limbo land. Thankfully, they didn’t know that, or they might not have kept me around long enough for my father to sell me off to Malinov.”

His fists curled at his sides, but I kept going.

“Sure, everyone smacked me around. At the prison, they wired my wrists, dropped me in a tub, and alternated between shocking me and nearly drowning me until I passed out. When I woke up, they did it again.” Braxton gasped, and his mouth dropped open. I could see he wanted to reach out and hold me, but I stepped to the side.

“At my father’s house, they picked up where the prison guards left off—more getting knocked around, more shocks, more hands where they didn’t belong. And I got drugged out of my mind. But they didn’t rape me and were careful not to leave marks that could be seen,” I inhaled deeply and shook my head. “And you want to know why?” My throat tightened, but I kept my chin up.

“Because myfatherordered them not to. Said I had to bepristinefor Malinov. He made sure they didn’t leave visible marks because that bastard wanted a pretty bride he could parade around in two weeks.”

Braxton looked like he was ready to tear the steel wall off the bulkhead. “I’m sorry, Daria. If I hadn’t gotten caught. If we hadn’t—”

“Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t play thewhat-ifgame. You didn’t torture me. You didn’t sell me like property.”

“But if we hadn’t met—”

“Then I would have been fine for the moment, but I’ve always had a short expiration date,” I quipped, heat rising in my chest. “And as much as it pissed me off that you lied to me, I’ll admit—your betrayal helped me survive. Focusing on you, how you chose not to tell me things you guessed I would have a bad reaction to, gave me something real to hold on to. A weapon. Every time I wanted to give in, I pictured your face and reminded myself what I’d do to you if I made it out.”

He looked like I’d stabbed him.

“I’ll make it right,” he said, bringing his hands up and closing the distance between us. “Whatever it takes.”

I shook my head, sighing. “I don’t need your pity. And I sure as hell don’t need saving. You think giving me a fresh passport and a fake husband fixes any of this?”

“I think,” he said carefully, “that giving you time in the US might help you catch your breath. Just long enough to get your footing.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Maybe I’ll have nightmares. Maybe I’ll flinch when someone touches me wrong. But I’m still standing. And I need to get back. Not for revenge. For the people still there. The children. The families. You want to help me? Then understand this: I didn’t survive to start a new life just to sit on some sofa eating cherry bonbons.”

I stepped closer again.

“I survived so I could go back,” I said, my voice low and hard. “Because that war—it’s not about me. It’s about stopping the next massacre. You think Russia just wants Ukraine?” I tilted my head. “You think this war is about land? Resources? Some delusional dictator’s obsession with restoring the glory of a dead empire?” I let out a bitter laugh.

His nostrils flared, but he stayed silent.

“Putin doesn’t want to defeat Ukraine. He wants to expunge it, wipe it off the fucking map like it never existed.” I raised a finger. “That’s step one. Step two? The fall of democracy itself. And not just in Europe. He wants to bringyourcountry to its knees.”

I took a breath, steadying the anger building in my chest. “That’s why I want to go back. That’s why my work in Ukraine mattered. It was a line in the sand, so the war doesn’t reach your shores or anyone else’s. And I don’t plan on stopping just because you handed me a new passport.”

Braxton’s brow twitched. He gave a small shake of his head. Uncertainty? Disagreement? I wasn’t sure.

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