Page 24 of Mission Shift

“This isn’t going to work,” she muttered, waving her other hand—and the Glock—through the air. “And if you screw this up—”

“Hand. Me. The. Gun,” I demanded, holding out my hand.

Her glare could have frozen fire. “I don’t trust you.”

“Now,” I said, refusing to back down, my palm still outstretched.

Her nostrils flared as she stared at me. She opened her mouth as though she was ready to argue, but I didn’t budge. Finally, she huffed out a sharp breath, her lips curling in annoyance. “Fine,” she snarled. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Boy Scout.” With that, she slapped the Glock into my hand.

I gave it a quick inspection. The safety was still off, which didn’t surprise me. Daria wasn’t the type to bother with precautions. She probably thought she was indestructible.

Gripping the gun firmly, I lined up the barrel close to the chain but was careful to leave enough space to avoid misfiring or causing a ricochet. I glanced at her, my expression dead serious. “Hold tight,” I said, tugging on the chain between us to make my point.

She yanked back and scowled at me. “If you shoot me in the hand, I’ll string you up for the buzzards to eat.” But she heeded my words and gripped the railing with her free hand to stabilize herself.

A dark chuckle escaped me. “Good to know where we stand.”

I fired.

The crack of the shot reverberated across the farm, and the chain snapped with a metallicping, the severed ends flyingapart. Splinters flew from the railing, scattering across the deck but not causing us any injury. I exhaled slowly, lowering the Glock and clicking the safety on.

Daria stared at the broken cuffs, then looked over at me. “Smart,” she muttered begrudgingly. She rotated her wrist, flexing her fingers as if testing for injuries.

I smirked, blowing off the faint tendrils of smoke from the Glock’s barrel like I was in an old western. “See? It’s just science.”

She snorted, her hand still rubbing her wrist. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I shrugged. “The solid surface stabilized the chain and helped focus the energy. Pulling it tight directed the force to the link. You’re welcome,” I said with a smile. “Now you have a shiny new bracelet and you’re free to go.”

Her lips twitched, and I couldn’t tell if it was a look of irritation or the trace of a smile. “Matching bracelets,” she muttered, holding up the cuff still secured to her wrist. “Fantastic.”

I handed the Glock back to her. “Glad to see I’m not completely useless,” I said wryly.

She took the gun, her fingers brushing mine briefly, then holstered it. “Don’t get cocky, Mr. Boy Scout,” she shot back. “You’re still a pain in my ass.” Then, muttering what I could only assume were more insults in Russian, she turned to go back into the house.

Without a word, I headed in the opposite direction, descending the creaky wooden steps. The hot sun beat down on my back, the humidity already making me sweat. The river behind the farmhouse caught my attention, shimmering in the light. It was broad and calm, a peaceful stretch of water cutting through the chaos of the war-torn land around it.

As I headed toward the water, I unbuttoned my shirt, peeling it off. The shirt was filthy. And the smell? Jesus. It clung to mybody as if it had fused with my skin, a gross mix of blood, sweat, fear, and whatever the hell else I’d been through over the last few days. I stopped at the water’s edge, holding the shirt in one hand, inspecting it. Was there even a point in trying to clean this? It was trashed, but the river would have to do.

With a resigned sigh, I dropped the shirt onto the ground. My boots and socks came off next, the dry grass prickling against my bare feet. Then, in one fluid motion, I slid off my jeans and briefs, leaving them in a heap. Standing there, buck naked, I faced the water, taking in the sight of the river stretching out in front of me.

The surface rippled gently under a soft breeze, the water mirroring the green canopy of birch and oak trees that lined the banks. Their branches swayed lazily, sunlight filtering through gaps in the leaves to glimmer on the water. Wild grasses and reeds clung to the shoreline, interspersed with bursts of yellow and purple wildflowers. It was beautiful—an untamed beauty that seemed almost surreal after everything I’d been through. For a moment, I just stood there, trying to understand how this kind of peace could exist in the midst of so much destruction.

A flicker of movement caught my eye. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Daria standing on the porch, one hand on her hip. Her eyes were locked on me. I didn’t miss the way they dipped for a fraction of a second before snapping back to my face.

A cocky grin spread across my lips. I couldn’t help myself. If she wanted to stare, I wasn’t going to stop her. Almost immediately, she spun on her heel and disappeared back inside the house, slamming the door behind her.

Chuckling, I turned back to the river. The heat was unbearable, and the water looked like heaven. Wading in, I let it wash over me, the chill biting at my skin as I moved deeper. When the water reached my chest, I ducked under, letting itdrown out everything—my thoughts, my exhaustion, the ache in my muscles.

A few moments later, I came up for air, running my hands through my hair and over my face, scrubbing at the grunge that covered me. The water was so clear that I could make out the pebbled bottom in the shallower areas near the shoreline. For a moment, I just floated, gazing up at the blue sky. It was peaceful, almost enough to make me forget where I was.

Almost.

I swam further out, taking time to wash every inch of myself clean. Vigorously, I rubbed my hands through my hair, down my arms, and over my legs, as if I could erase the last few days from my skin. The food and the bath did wonders for my spirit. The adrenaline from the past three days of life-or-death chaos was finally ebbing, and for the first time in a while, I felt close to normal.

I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone until I swam back toward the shore.

Daria stood at the water’s edge, where there was a path for easy access to the river. The sun lit up her blonde hair, illuminating it. A large metal bucket dangled from one of her hands, a thick bar of soap from the other. She set them down near the water and moved a few paces back up the slope.

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