A paperclip.
Anything.
But I find nothing at all.
I turn to the door, examining the lock.
It's old, rusted.
The kind that might give with enough force.
Or the kind that needs to be picked.
Christ, why couldn't I just listen to him?
My eyes well up again and I press my forehead against the cold metal.
He said he'd follow me and that he'd be within range of me.
And I know he heard what was happening on the wire he had to have.
So the only thing I can do now is wait.
I don't have my lock pick kit.
I don't have any tools to break out.
And I'm not strong enough to overpower them when they come back.
Because something tells me they're coming back, and I won’t like what they do to me when they get here.
18
DIMITRI
The wire goes dead at 2:15.
I'm in my car, three blocks from the warehouse.
The engine idles, and the audio feed cuts mid-sentence—someone's voice tells Katya this is "standard procedure".
Then static fills the air.
Then silence.
I stare at the phone.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
Every instinct screams at me to act.
I want to move, to do something, but I force myself to wait.
If she's talking herself out of this, I must let her work.
I know that barging in now could mean walking into an ambush. She’d hate me for ruining her play.
I pull up the tracking app.