Page 73 of Shadows of the Past
"It's okay," she whispers, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my throat, right over the frantic pulse hammering there. "I'll just have to tell you I love you enough for both of us."
And in that moment, swallowed whole by her tenderness, I want to tell her there aren't enough seconds in all of eternity for her to say it, not enough time to contain the overwhelming force of what I feel for her. That my chest feels impossibly full, like myribs might actually crack, every single time I see that smile light up her face. But the words remain lodged deep inside, unspoken casualties of the war still raging within me.
Chapter 26
?
Maksim
The dossier lies open before me, a stark black and white map of Filip Semenov's world—the world that has held Andrea captive for two agonizing years. His house. My eyes trace the layout, analyzing weaknesses. Only two external cameras picked up by our sweep, both easily bypassed. But the feeds are almost useless, covering only the main hall and kitchen. The entire upper floor is a blind spot. And that’s the problem. I’d bet my life he keeps her up there, close. Always close.
Akim moves with grim efficiency in my periphery, the metallic clicks and slides of him checking weaponry a familiar, unsettling soundtrack to our planning. Julia sits hunched over a laptop, her brow furrowed in concentration as she monitors the live feeds from the two drones we sent ahead, counting shadows, mapping patrol routes.
Vlad sent us a message asking how many men he should send, and knowing a small, heavily armed battalion waits just beyond the tree line for my signal offers a sliver of grim satisfaction, a cold counterweight to the tension coiling in my gut.
Zoya appears silently, leaving a plate of something—crackers, maybe?—on the edge of the desk. Her gaze snags on the flickering drone footage displayed on Julia’s screen,her expression tightening into something unreadable, almost resentful.
"I don't understand why you have to go," she says, her voice quiet, but the thread of anxiety woven through it is unmistakable.
We’ve always shielded Zoya from this. Akim taught her basic self-defense, enough to handle herself in a minor scrape, but we never put a weapon in her hands. She's always been the little sister, the one we instinctively protect.
Before I can formulate a response, Julia cuts in, her tone sharp, focused. "Because that girl needs to get out, Zoya. And because this is how we prove our loyalty to Vlad. This is how we get what we need."
A sound escapes Zoya, halfway between a scoff and a sigh. "If someone hadn't interfered two years ago," she mutters, almost under her breath, "there'd be nothing to save right now." The instant the words are out, she seems to realize what she’s said. Her head drops, shame or maybe anger coloring her cheeks, and she turns, fleeing the room.
A heavy silence hangs in her wake. It's the first time I've heard her say something so…callous. Apparently, I’m not the only one who noticed.
"Does Zoya seem…different lately?" Julia asks, frowning at the now empty doorway.
Different? Maybe. Growing up in this poisonous house warps everyone eventually. The trauma seeps into your bones. It’s hard to blame her. We're the only family she has. If it weren't for her condition, maybe she’d have found the courage to build a life outside these walls. But as it is, she’s tethered to us. And a mission like this, right on Ivan’s doorstep, carries risks far beyond the usual. It's natural she'd be scared.
"She'll get over it when she sees us walk back through that door," I say, reaching for Julia's hand, needing the contact. Her skin is warm against mine. "Just don't do anything stupid out there. Keep that machine gun up."
"Since when do I ever put my machine gun down?" she replies, a playful glint entering her eyes, a brief flash of the woman beneath the warrior.
Without conscious thought, I lean in, capturing her mouth with mine. It’s a desperate attempt to drown myself in her, to steal a moment of light before plunging back into the darkness.
She seems surprised by my boldness, a slight hesitation before she melts against me, kissing me back with an answering fire.
"Everything's ready." Akim's voice, carefully neutral but undeniably present, cuts through the moment as he clears his throat.
Right. Later.There will be time for kissing later when we get back. When we have something real to celebrate. Andrea free, Vlad's resources at our disposal… The possibilities bloom, sharp and dangerous. It takes us months now, sometimes, just to plan an extraction, to pull a few kids out, navigating the labyrinth of checks and security layers. Encrypted comms, money laundered through countless accounts…what should take weeks stretches into an eternity.
"Let's move," I command, pulling away from Julia, the taste of her still lingering on my lips.
?
Outside, the wind bites, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. The only sounds are the rustle of forgotten leaves clinging stubbornly to branches and the distant, rhythmic chirping of a lone cricket. It’s almost peaceful. Deceptively so. Ignoring the fact that just beyond the trees lies a monster's den holding an eighteen-year-old girl prisoner.
We need speed and silence. Minimal attention. That means neutralizing the six guards patrolling the perimeter before they know we're here. Back in the car, hidden deep in the shadows, I pull out my laptop, the glow illuminating my face as my fingers fly across the keyboard, programming my newest acquisitions.
Mini-drones. Barely two inches long, designed to mimic unconventional insects, each carrying a micro-payload of concentrated tranquilizer. Technically, they were designed for poison delivery — Japanese military prototypes. But a few million dollars slipped into the right accounts works wonders. And any effective substance will do.
With a final command sequence, two of the devices whir to life, their tiny "wings" vibrating. I hear Julia murmur a soft "whoa" beside me, but I'm lost in the lines of code, the countdown timer ticking in my head. Twenty seconds. They have to launch in the next twenty seconds, or they won't reach all targets before the guards cycle back toward the house.
One last click. They're airborne. I watch the monitor, tracking their infrared signatures as they flit silently through the trees, across the dark ribbon of road, homing in on their unsuspecting targets.
One hundred and twenty-five seconds later, exactly as calculated, all six heat signatures collapse, falling silently to the ground. Time to break out the heavy artillery.
