Page 53 of Broken Embers

“Sabrina—”

“No! Mom, I need you. I’m pregnant,” I blurt out, desperate to try and make her change her mind.

My mother’s eyes go wide. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s…” She sucks in a shaky breath and her eyes tear over. “That’s so wonderful. I’m so happy for the two of you.”

“We haven’t told anyone,” Oleksi adds.

“That’s good, and let’s keep it that way until you’re far away from Russia.” My mother’s voice is filled with urgency. “They didn’t find out at the facility, did they?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Thank God,” she breathes. Then her expression turns grave, and she says again, “You can’t tell anyone else. Not while you’re still here.”

“We understand,” I whisper. “But, Mom, you can’t go meet Yelena. That’s like a death sentence for you.”

She leans forward and cups my face. “Please, sweetheart. Let me do this. If I don’t, they’ll come for you. Or harm Tara, like they threatened to.”

“No. We’ll find another way?—”

“There is no other way with the RMSAD,” she says. “But I promise—I’m not going down without a fight.”

I take no comfort in her words. I’m going to find a way to stop her and find my sister without having to swap one of my loved ones’ lives for the other!

16

SABRINA

The second I hear the soft click of the nursery door as Carla closes it behind her, something inside me breaks.

I can’t believe my mother is actually going to walk right into the lion’s den. I pinch the bridge of my nose—she’s really going to do it and I’m racking my brains to come up with ways to stop her.

She’s going to walk into that meeting with Yelena tomorrow like a lamb to the slaughter, and we’ll never see her again. I don’t care what she says about leverage, strategy, or paying dues. They’ll kill her. Quietly. Efficiently. Just like they probably tried to kill my father. If not that, they’ll lock her in some ghost-facility so deep she may as well be dead.

Defection isn’t something the RMSAD forgives. I may not know all the inner workings of Russian intelligence, but I know enough. And every second ticking by feels like a countdown.

I push off the edge of the dresser and pace the room. My nerves are shot. My brain won’t stop spinning. I know I should sleep, but I can’t. I can’t stop picturing that final look on my mother’s face when she squeezed my hand—that quiet resignation.

God.

A wave of panic wells up in my chest, and I rub my sternum as if I can press it down. I need a distraction. Something, anything to keep my hands busy. I glance around and spot Oleksi’s hiking duffel slouched against the closet. He’s in the shower, water still pattering against the tile.

I pop my head into the bathroom. “Hey, do you have any more of those thick socks? My toes are freezing.”

He pushes the shower door open just enough to peer out. Drops of water glisten on his chest, sliding down in rivulets, and my brain stutters.

“You mean my thermal ones?”

“Yeah.”

“Check the green duffel,” he calls back. “Bottom pocket. Bag with my underwear.”

“Classy.”

He chuckles, and I pull back into the bedroom, making my way to the duffel. The zipper sticks for a second before giving way. I tug out the fabric bag and shake it. A pair of black thermal socks tumble onto the bed, but so do two small plastic SD cards.

Frowning, I pick them up.

What the hell are these?

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