Page 13 of Mission Shift

He was mine now. My stray.

The thought bit at me, sharp as a shepherd’s canine. My mother’s voice whispered from the past: “You can’t turn your back on someone in need, Dasha.”She’d always said that when bringing home another mangy dog or helping a stranger in trouble. Back then, I’d thought it was all just fun and games—the more furry friends, the better. Now, I understood all too well why she’d done it. She’d been a virtuous soul married to the Devil.

Except, this stray wasn’t a helpless puppy. He was a tall, strong, hot-as-hell paramedic with kind eyes. A man from a world entirely different than anything I’d ever known.

I didn’t owe him a damn thing.

And yet, here I was planning to bust him out of here.

I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a threadbare towel from the hook. I rubbed it over my hair and called it good. There was no time for sentimentality. Survival was all that mattered—his survival too. Whether or not I liked it, I’d tied my fate to his.

I dressed quickly, pulling on the newly requisitioned clothes. Men’s clothing—loose but functional. My fingers worked methodically to tuck away my tools. Thorin’s passport, wallet, and phone were hidden against my skin in a makeshift pouch I’d crafted from my tank top and bra. His identity now rested on my back—as if I needed another reminder that I was carrying his life in my hands.

The knife slid easily into my boot, its cold handle pressing against my ankle. I clipped the firearm securely to my hip before inspecting my pack one last time, ensuring the explosive devices were ready, tucked alongside Thorin’s pack. Everything was in place.

I booted up Zelenko’s phone, opening up the encrypted app and using his credentials to access the FSB files. It was good I could use Zelenko’s identification to help cover my tracks.

The prison’s layout appeared on the screen, grainy blueprints and satellite images displaying the bones of the place and the surrounding area.

A former munitions factory. Of course. Typical Soviet-era repurposing. The two exits were glaring weaknesses—especially the loading bays in the back, just as the supply chief had said. Trash, bodies, and supplies were funneled through the same damn place. Scrolling through images, I studied theback area carefully, noting where large containers were placed. The success of the plan hinged on the precise timing of my explosives. A diversion was possible, but it would be messy and loud. It would blow not only the loading dock but my cover as well. I just needed to keep my secret of being a double agent until we made it out of this place. Then, I’d be on my own, an independent woman who was no longer controlled by those in power for the first time in my life—if I lived.

Thorin would have to follow my lead without hesitation. The thought gnawed at me. Would he play along? He didn’t seem the type to trust easily.

I picked up Zelenko’s phone, shut it down, and slid it into one of the pockets on my leg. The room was bare now, stripped of anything personal—anything that could give clues about me or him. I glanced at the mirror, catching a glimpse of my worried eyes. Shutting them for a second, I inhaled a deep breath.

No hesitation, no fear. Just control. That was what I needed.

Resolved and ready to get on with it, I settled the pack onto my shoulders, adjusting the straps. My fingers brushed against the cold metal of the firearm on my hip, its presence reassuring. I drew in another breath, steeling myself.

Thorin didn’t know it yet, but tonight, his life depended on me. And I wasn’t planning to let him die in this hellhole.

I shoved open the door to my quarters. It was time to move.

The corridors were mostly quiet as I headed toward the back of the building, my pace unhurried in case anyone was watching the cameras. The few men I passed kept their eyes averted. My steps were steady, boots clicking quietly against the concrete, but my ears were tuned to every sound.

As I rounded a corner, I spotted a pair of guards standing near an open doorway, one smoking while the other was talking and gesturing animatedly. I halted, leaning casually against awall just out of sight, and pulled out my phone, pretending to respond to a message.

“The American’s going back to the interrogation room soon,” one of them said. “I hear Fedorov wants to crack his knuckles and have a little fun. He doesn’t understand why Melnichenko’s little pet should get a pass. He’s been complaining about how much he hates that Americans always get it easy—they’re all a bunch of arrogant assholes. Besides, the queen herself only said there were to be novisibleinjuries.”

The other guard chuckled. “What about missing fingers? Would that be considered visible?” Both men laughed.

My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. What the hell? I’d given Taranov explicit orders to leave him to me. I’d made it crystal clear that if anyone was going to touch the American, it’d be me.

A rush of heat rose in my chest, a fire I tamped down before it flared too brightly. I couldn’t afford to lose my composure here.

I schooled my expression into a neutral mask, pocketed my phone, and continued on my way, striding past the loitering guards without a second glance.

Move fast, think faster.

As I huffed out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, Thorin’s papers and phone shifted against my back, reminding me that at least I had secured his identity. Unless he had been coerced to hand over his personal details since arriving, the guards would remain clueless. I just had to keep it that way.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I walked through the prison. The place reeked of neglect. Rusted equipment leaned against walls, paint peeled in long strips, and loose wiring snaked along the ceiling. Security cameras dotted the corners, but half of them appeared to be out of commission, their lenses cracked or caked with dust.

Prison personnel hung out in clusters, smoking and laughing as though they had nowhere better to be. Their lack of discipline grated on me, but it would work to my advantage. Complacency was easy to exploit.

I turned a corner and made my way toward the loading bay. The garbage bins loomed in the shadows just ahead, their metal sides scarred with dents and streaks of filth.

I pulled out one explosive from my pack and gave it a twist. Its timer illuminated. The device was small but powerful—enough to create a distraction and destroy anything in its vicinity. Setting it quickly, I adjusted the timer.

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