Page 64 of Blazing Embers

Fuck! I glance up into the sky. Where are they?

After seeing Irina and Gavriil alive, their son laughing on the beach, Tara fucking glowing with life and new secrets growing inside her—it cracked something open in me. Made me realize how far I’d spiraled. How grief and rage had turned me into a monster in a tailored suit.

It was never supposed to be like this.

I wanted to rebuild what was taken from us. Reclaim the Dragunov legacy. Bury the RMSAD and the twisted bastards that hijacked my great-great-grandfather’s dream. Damien Dragunov was a Bratva boss, yes, but he wasn’t a tyrant. He protected his people. He dealt his trade outside his territory, never within. And his research? That man wanted to cure the disease that was killing his wife. He wanted to make that cure, along with all the cures it provided, accessible and free for everyone.

His patients were royalty to him. The sick who volunteered for trial testing were never lab rats to him and his team. They were treated with respect and dignity, and were treated like the kings they were, with their families taken care of for life.

Until the government grew paranoid. Until the military saw the potential for weaponization in the genetic research that was years ahead of its time. Until Bogdan Mirochin saw profit and power.

They assassinated Damien. Then his son Yurslan took over what remained of our research centers. But they never got the Vault. Never found the scientists who mattered most. Damien hid the real work. He scattered it in codes, paintings, and heirlooms. And now, piece by piece, we’re putting it back together.

I hope to God he’d be proud of what’s coming next.

Nadia swore she could lure Oleksi here with the promise of a new alliance and getting Sabrina out of the RMSAD.

But they had to do it her way—a way she and Medusa had been planning for years.

Nadia gave Oleksi and Nikolas Vasilikis the location of where Nadia’s girlfriend, Valeski, was—the same RMSAD facility I had Medusa arrange for Sabrina to be transferred to. It’s the same facility where Valeska’s monster of a brother lives and I just pray to whatever fucked-up gods are still listening that Medusa can get that bastard Mikhail Ergorov there in time.

The prick needs to die. Slowly.

Only recently did I learn what he did to my sister. He raped Nadia. Made her girlfriend watch. Then he beat my sister bloody, shattered her cheekbone, broke her ribs, and when she couldn’t scream anymore, he turned to his sister, Nadia’s girlfriend, Valeska, and did the same to her. Once he was done, he locked them naked in a room with four of his sick guards and told them to enjoy themselves. But Medusa finally foundout where Mikhail had taken them and got there before another person laid a hand on them.

My hands curl into fists at my sides.

I wanted to be the one to slit his throat, but Nadia and Valeska earned that privilege. They deserve his blood. They deserve to gut him slowly.

I just need this fucking plan to work.

Clyde and Sydney Purdey will be with them—Lost Subjects no one could ever leash. Not even Medusa. Nikolas Vasilikis too. We all have a part to play in this finale.

Still, she’s my sister. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s going to go sideways.

I see Irina’s face. Gavriil holding their child. The way they had to fake their deaths to escape me. I was to them what the RMSAD is to Valeska, Nadia, Tara, and the Lost Subjects.

Fuck, and I had become a monster over a lying murderous bitch—Alisa.

That fucking bitch.

Konstantin handled her with a ruthlessness I didn’t know he had. Offered her a cyanide pill or life in Dragunov MaxSec. She chose prison, arrogantly thinking she’d survive. Three days later, she was found in the yard, with seven stab wounds to the stomach. Message received.

Goodbye, Alisa.

My eyes flick to the clock on my wrist.

Where the fuck are they?

The crunch of tires pulls my attention. A sleek black car creeps into the driveway. No plates. Tinted windows. My pulse tightens.

Medusa.

Of course.

I exhale, roll my eyes and brace myself for her usual theatrics—zip ties, a hood laced with tranquilizer gas. She likes her entrances to be cinematic.

But the driver opens the back door without a word. And the person who steps out of the car makes me pause.

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