Page 94 of Mission Shift

I committed every line, every marking, every possible escape route to memory, keeping my fingers moving over the pages, occasionally flipping them to maintain the illusion of reading.

Just as I was tucking the map firmly back into the book, the door creaked open behind me.

I didn’t stiffen, didn’t jerk away. Instead, I kept my movements deliberate and slow, turning my head as if only now noticing Svetlana’s return.

She hesitated in the doorway, tray in hand. “What are you doing?”

I sighed, snapping the book shut. “The room was stuffy. I needed some fresh air.”

For a fraction of a second, her gaze flicked to the cameras.

Then she nodded. “Good idea. But you shouldn’t linger too long. The night air will chill you.”

Pushing off the windowsill, I crossed the room and set the book on the edge of the tray. Then I took the tray from her and placed it on the bed while she closed the window and drew the curtains shut.

She turned, smoothing the front of her apron. “Eat while it’s warm,” she murmured before slipping out of the room.

I placed the book, which now held my mother’s photo and the map of Malinov’s estate, back on the nightstand. It wasn’t just a book anymore; it carried my future.

I sat down on the bed and picked up the spoon to eat while a thousand different possibilities played in my mind.

Chapter twenty-eight

By the day before the engagement party, the final plan had taken shape with brutal efficiency. I would infiltrate the party under a false identity, blending seamlessly with Malinov’s high-profile guests while Nik kept watch over every detail from afar, coordinating everyone’s movements. His men, who would be wearing virtually invisible earpieces and would be strategically positioned throughout the mansion as staff and security, were to await our signal to trigger a distraction. From there, I’d get Daria and extract her fast.

The escape was thoroughly mapped out and planned down to the second, culminating in us making our way to a fortified yacht waiting at the marina. It was already armored, stocked, and ready to haul ass into international waters. Nik hadn’t spared a dime or a detail.

Nik leaned over the table, tapping the mapped-out route to the Atlantic. “If we don’t reach international waters,” he said quietly, “we’re dead.”

His expression turned grim as he listed the waterways we’d have to traverse as well as the potential threats we would face. “First, we’ll move through Neva Bay—it’s heavily monitored by the Russian border patrol. Next, we navigate across the Gulf of Finland, which is crawling with NATO vessels and has a strong naval presence. Then, we’ll push through the Baltic Sea—which is under constant surveillance by Russian, Finnish, and Swedish forces.” He traced the route further westward. “From there, we’ll have to cut through the Danish Straits—past Copenhagen and through Øresund, navigating some of the busiest and most closely watched waterways in Europe. Danish maritime security monitors every ship that passes, and their radar sweeps are relentless.” He paused, narrowing his eyes as he continued. “Once we’re clear of Denmark, we’ll hit the North Sea, threading between oil rigs and commercial shipping lanes. If we survive that, it’s a straight run into the open Atlantic—the final stretch to freedom.”

I studied the route, my gut twisting. “So, what you’re saying is, we’ll be chased by every military in Eastern Europe.”

Nik grinned, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it. “Exactly. I’ll be using every bit of digital prowess I have to keep us concealed from any curious eyes. But even my control has limits. We’ll need luck on our side too.”

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. “How long is the journey, assuming no one blows us out of the water?”

Nik shrugged. “The yacht’s engines are pretty powerful. So, going at full speed and making minimal stops, we can reach Manhattan in roughly two weeks. But that’s without factoring in unexpected delays—rough weather, mechanical issues, or having to dodge any overly persistent military patrols.”

“Manhattan?” I raised a brow. “Why there?”

Nik tapped the map again. “It’s the closest secure port suitable for a yacht like this. I’ve already reached out to Luca Genovese. He’ll help us get Daria through customs using her new American identity—an international artist and photographer. The paperwork is flawless.”

I frowned skeptically. “Does Daria even know anything about photography?”

Nik’s mouth curled into a sarcastic smirk. “She’s smart. How hard can it be to point a camera and press a button? She’ll learn quickly—assuming she doesn’t stab us first for making her a US citizen.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “Fair enough. Let’s just get her out alive first.”

Nik straightened, rolling his shoulders back. “Agreed. One disaster at a time.”

Chapter twenty-nine

This would be the last night I ever spent under this roof. After tomorrow, I’d either be free or dead. Either way, I’d be at peace. The thought of that filled me with a strange serenity, quieting every doubt, every fear.

Svetlana arrived for the second time this evening, her expression carefully neutral as she moved around the room, tidying things that didn’t need tidying. When she finally stopped beside me, she said in a barely audible voice, “The prikazchik will inspect you again tomorrow. Do not put the dress on until after.”

I forced myself to appear bored, indifferent, though my chest tightened.

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