Page 21 of Ashfall
No one doubts his dedication - leadership radiates from the man. My mother trusted him when she asked Graves to investigate Noc, only for the latter to kill her before they could expose the truth. I wonder - if she hadn’t involved Graves, would the outcome have changed? What if she never uncovered anything at all? Would I still have her? Or would fate have twisted its hand some other way, taken her in another form? Would I have even met Noc?
I shake my head, forcing the questions away. I feel like I’m revisiting stage three of grief - bargaining. The weight of it presses hard, the cracks in everything I thought I knew shifting my balance beneath the plates. Maybe I do need a break. A reset. Something to clear my head before it spirals any further. Just as I start to consider it, Graves’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “I've been going over the new intel from last week. The'black eagle'threat as we'll now refer to it going forward.” He pulls up the image on the tablet to remind us. “We need to start moving forward at a quicker pace; I believe they're ready to attackback home. Intelligence managed to locate further crates being loaded from the warehouse we were monitoring to the north of here.” He points to an area on the map placed to the wall.
“They've split into two groups: The first group we watched offloaded the crates and settled there for a few days before travelling to a shipping dock in Norway. This dock holds large cargo ships, and the drone footage shows that Nocturne has been distributing to a container for Volokov and plans to transport a chemical weapon to land on our shores.” I struggle to swallow, listening to Graves’s words. I find it so hard to believe this is Noc. The man I loved, capable of turning so dark. But then I think about how I only saw what he allowed me to see. I glimpsed the shadows in him, but never the full abyss.
“We suspect that they'll wait until the second supply reaches the warehouse before they get the first crate on the ship to leave, then the second batch will follow the same route. Four ships are scheduled to sail to the US this month and the container could be on any one of those.” Graves takes a deep breath before turning to face us fully. “656, I'm sending you to the shipyard in the meantime with a chemical warfare unit, they’re travelling from the US. We'll drop you by chopper fifteen miles out. I want you to look for a container that looks like this.” He picks the tablet up and turns it to show us an image of a red shipping container. When he flicks the screen again, the image is a close up of the latch - the black eagle logo painted there to identify it.
“This hasn't been loaded yet, but by the time you get there it will be. Once you identify it, chemical warfare will handle the rest. There are over a hundred red containers in that shipyard. I want you to identify the other one with this logo and place a tracker on it, hidden out of sight. This will allow chemical warfare to get back in and neutralize the threat.” 656 look pissed, they've just been tasked with finding a needle in a haystack. “You'll be leaving in twenty minutes, so get organizedand meet the convoy out front.” Rhaine, Gunner and Hunter set off, but not until Gunner gives me a wink and blows me a kiss. One last taunt to see if he can rile me up in front of our commander.Prick.
Adam leans over to whisper in my ear. “I wouldn’t have stopped you that time.” I give him a faint smile, I can behave. But seeing Gunner’s eye starting to slowly swell, and the fact he never got one hit on me, satisfies my demon for now.
Graves nods to our remaining unit. “616, you'll be remaining here. We're going to monitor Volokov and Nocturne over the next couple of days and send you in. 656 should be on their way back by then to provide support.”
Everyone rises when Graves starts to gather his stuff from the desk. “I'll be heading out for a couple of days, but I'll be back when we're ready to intercept our targets. Hawk - you're in charge.” He lowers his voice as he approaches him, but not enough that I don’t miss the threat. “But I swear to God. You pull any stunts like you did last time, you'll be out on your ass.” He storms past him and the rest of us. I glance at Hawk and he rolls his eyes, a devious smile now plastered on his face. It forces my own to bloom.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
nyx
It’s been twenty-four hours since 656 left - still no updates. Hawk says the operation should take three days, and after that, we’ll recoup before shipping out, splitting into two teams. One for Volkov. One for Nocturne. I’ve decided to go out for a run - try to shake off the weight of waiting. The morning was spent drilling martial arts and Brazilian jiu-jitsu, sharpening our forms. Hawk is relentless, and a damn good teacher. He keeps us on our game, especially with an interception upcoming. I need to be ready for anything - particularly for Noc. He overpowers me. Always has. I need to ensure my mind is locked down.
Thinking of him pulls me back to the past, to the way we trained together. His moves were different, unpredictable, a fusion of techniques I'd never seen before. He once told me he learned Systema as a kid, picking it up during summers spent in Russia with his father - before the relationship soured. It’s not widely practiced in the West, and the way he described it stuck with me: 'Control under chaos.' It fit him perfectly.
“Nope, Nyx. Stay in the here and now.” I whisper to myself, a constant reminder to pull back to reality. My heart and mind have been locked in a brutal game of table tennis ever since I sawhim. Usually, reminding myself he's responsible for my mother's death - and Ashley's - does the trick. When I reach outside the quarters, I plan my route - two laps around the perimeter, maybe three if I have it in me by the end. My last cardio session before we’re called out. I hate it. Loathe it. But I need it - unfortunately. The full perimeter is about a mile. First lap, easy pace, fifteen minutes. Second, interval sprints.
I check my phone and it's 1715 hours, locking it into my shorts zipper, I head off as the sun sets beyond the tree line. I’m taking in the scenery for the easy jog, just to get used to my bearings. The metal gates are mostly rusted, and there's sporadic signs that say, 'high voltage’, but Graves told us it was turned off years ago. Turning them on would attract too much attention, basically heating up our position on a grid. We're so secluded here that there's not too much of a threat, but you can never be too careful. Plus, the CCTV they've confirmed is now running is robust apparently. But Adam has already penetrated it a couple of times now. So, yeah, there’s that.
I weave through the approaching tight passage, rows of green metal electrical cages stretching ahead, a lone flattened one offering a shortcut across where the weeds have overgrown. I slow, testing its stability before moving forward. Just as I shift my weight - a hand clamps over my mouth. I’m slammed backward into the cold metal, breath hitching. Instinct immediately kicks in. My knees loosen, one hand clawing up my attacker’s arm to break their grip, the other driving for their throat, but they block it with their forearm. I pivot fast, preparing to land a knee to the groin, when a voice wraps around me like a serpent. “Fucking hell, Brodie! Calm the fuck down - it’s me.” The deep, smoky voice freezes me mid-strike. My attacker rips off his balaclava, and I recoil.
Noc’s dressed in all black everything, almost imitating the tactical gear of our own. The mask, the cargos and long-sleevedt-shirt, even right down to his combat boots. And as if'it’s me'will calm me, it sends me fucking feral. With his hand still on me I turn my hip into the metal so I'm on my side, pulling his arm with me and bending it so it’s folded, bringing him closer to throw my elbow in his face. But his movements are as swift as vapor, he drops and takes my feet out from beneath me. Just before my ass lands with a thump on the ground, his hands shoot out under my elbows, softening the impact. He pins me to the cold rusty metal, but I don’t think it's that which has caused the shiver on my spine. “Stop fighting me for one goddamn second.” His voice strains, “I need to speak to you. Please.” My hand stops mid-way from putting the heel to his face. I wish he didn’t use that word. Yet again, another weakness.
It was so rare to hear him say please, that whenever he did - I'd do any request that came after it. But I manage to hold steady and firm. “What, were you tired of checking over your shoulder, Noc? Was the insomnia hitting you differently when you knew I was coming?” My laugh is bitter. I hope I've been roaming this bastard’s thoughts since we last met, just like he’s been in mine.
“Oh I have nightmares about you, Malyshka, just not in the way you think.” I frown, not understanding his words. But the rational need inside me surges, to hear what’s so important he came all this way.
“Ten seconds, Noc, and I don't have the same patience I did all those years ago. Spit it out, or I'll sing like a fucking canary that you’re here and you'll wish you had died when you went over that cliff.” He sighs and looks down at the ground, eyes coming back up to meet mine. They look tortured, conflicted, and almost defeated.
“When we first met at the club, I told you there was a lot you didn't know.” My eyes narrow as he speaks. “It's true, I've done some bad shit, but it’s not what you think.” I scoff, not needing to hear it if this is how it's going to go. But his grip bands aroundmy arms. “You have been told lies about me, Brodie. A lot of them. I don’t have the time to explain it here, but I need you to hear me out. Meet me somewhere, anywhere of your choice. Bring a fucking Semtex to stick to me if it makes you feel better. But I need you to hear the truth.Please.”
His face twists, pained with every word. It clamps around my ice formed heart, splintering it just enough to make me waver. I know he’s lying. But the lovesick fool buried deep inside me refuses to let go, desperate for answers, clinging to whatever scraps he’s willing to offer me. He’s handing them to me on a platter, and I know better - but I need to hear them.
I test the waters, thinking fast, pushing for a place he’d never take me if he were serious - somewhere too dangerous. If he hesitates, I’ll have my proof. “How about we meet at your place? You have a home here, right?”
His laughter is a low rumble, smooth, and unbothered. But he doesn’t pause. “Yes, I have a home. And if that’s where you want to meet, we will.” Turns out, I’m the one now scrambling. I didn’t actually think he’d agree to this.
“What, you’re just going to let me into your home? Knowing the risks?”
His gloved covered thumb traces my arm I didn't realize he was still holding. “I don’t care about the fallout, Brodie. I can't walk away from you again without you hearing everything I have to say. I’ve tried, because it’s for the best. But not anymore.” I want to believe those words, I desperately do. But I know better. He has something planned, and I refuse to be blindsided.
“Fine. We’ll meet at your place. Then, we’ll head to dinner - somewhere of my choosing. You don’t get to know. I pick.” If I can get inside his home first, then take him somewhere crowded, somewhere deep in the city, he’ll have fewer opportunities to pull anything - hopefully. It’s a wildcard move, but I have something else up my sleeve.
“Deal.” He doesn’t hesitate on that answer either, it stirs something unwanted within me.
“Give me your phone.” The softness I glimpsed from him earlier is gone, replaced by the usual Noc - controlled, unreadable, and frosty. I don’t argue, I just hand it over. He types swiftly, the sharp ding of a notification sounding a second later. He hands it back, pulling his own from his pocket. Another ding. My gaze flicks to the screen as his name appears on the message.Lev. Ice burrows into my chest, sharp and sudden. I force down the lump in my throat, swallowing the reaction before it can surface. I open the message to read his home address, along with a link on an online map.
It’s on Krestovsky Island, right in central Saint Petersburg, a luxury area no doubt. I look at him giving me a once over, his eyes roaming over my bare legs in my shorts. His gaze stops at my wrist that exposes the scar that Volokov gave me. His jaw grinds so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t pop. His eyes briefly shut, and when they spring back open, they're a complete thunderstorm. I suddenly feel self-conscious, not because I care that my skin is flawed, just that I rarely look at my wrist due to the memory that comes with it when I do. This is likely the first time he's seen it clearly in the light from when he brushed over it in the club.
I tuck it at my side, catching the way his eyes drift over my tank top, landing on my exposed shoulder - another scar. Another mark because of him. “I hope you’re teaching your girlfriend to aim better.” I force my tone to sound dull, detached, trying a little too hard to let it slip out bored and unaffected. But the word girlfriend is laced with something I didn’t intend. It backfires.
