Page 76 of Unbroken

“Of course it is.”

“Who’s tracking me?”

“Anyone under protection gets tracked,” he says like it’s obvious.

I don’t know how I feel about that.

I watch him read the app.

“Rafail’s home. Matvei, Anissa.”

He squints at the screen. “No, wait. Zoya’s home too. Her car’s not here because someone probably borrowed it. Or maybe it’s in the shop.”

I exhale. “Weird.”

“What?”

“Her location hasn’t updated in three hours. You don’t think that’s strange?”

He shrugs. “She could be cooking. You know how she is. Sometimes, she preps for days.”

“Yeah, but there’s no holiday coming up.”

And when we step into the house—Zoya is nowhere. Not in the kitchen. Not anywhere. But Vadka doesn’t pause. He carries me straight into the living room.

The Cottage.

The place is cozy in a way that always surprises me. You’d expect something cold and severe—especially with all these stone-faced men storming through it—but no. The Cottage breathes warmth. The kind that seeps into your bones. Deep leather couches, worn from use. A fire that smells faintly like cedar. Quilts that look like someone’s grandmother made them decades ago. It feels like home.

From the other room, I hear voices. Then the heavy, unmistakable footsteps of Rafail. His shadow crosses the doorway, and whatever he thinks about seeing Vadka carrying me, he doesn’t say out loud.

“What happened?”

My cheeks flush pink. Accidents happen, but I don’t like the immediate feeling that I did something wrong. “I think I sprained my ankle. Or did something equallystupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Vadka says, lowering his voice. “Don’t say that about yourself, Ruthie. Injuries happen. You’re human.”

Rafail snorts as Vadka slides me down onto the couch. “God, you should’ve seen what Rodion put me through when he was a kid. The boy lived in a walking cast for years.” He shakes his head. “We knew almost every nurse at the hospital on a first-name basis.”

I smile at the image.

“I’ll make a call. Get you looked at.” He looks up at Vadka. “Good timing, anyway. Matvei’s in the office.” They look soberly at each other but don’t offer details.

“Sir?” A tall, young man in a suit appears in the doorway, earpiece glinting under the light. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?”

“Moroff,” the man responds, waiting.

Rafail checks his watch and curses. “Shit. I forgot I scheduled him today.”

“Should I bring him to your office?”

Rafail scowls. “No. Matvei’s got his whole setup in there. Bring him here for now. If we need privacy, we’ll move.”

A man walks into the room; he’s maybe twenty. There's something about him that reminds me of a jackrabbit ready to bolt. His smile is practiced, stretched too tight. He offers his hand to both Vadka and Rafail, his lips stretched over his teeth like a predator. I watch his eyes shift from me toVadka, then Rafail, before looking at the door. Yeah, that’s not creepy at all.

Vadka stands beside my chair like a goddamned sentinel, immovable, unreadable, lethal in stillness. His presence coils around me, and I sit up straighter without meaning to, my ankle throbbing.

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