The private hangar at Gary International was a cavern of corrugated steel and flickering fluorescent light, smelling of jet fuel and the ozone of the retreating storm. We moved with a synchronized, wordless urgency. Viktor had already transferred Sofia to a separate, armored transport—a safe house in the rural Midwest where she would be guarded by men who didn't exist on any official payroll. I watched her go, a ghost of my former life disappearing into the rain, before I turned back to the Gulfstream.
Roman was standing at the base of the stairs, his black overcoat damp from the Chicago night. He looked at me, his eyes two shards of grey ice that seemed to soften only when they landed on the red of my lips. He didn't offer a hand this time; he offered a silent, lethal invitation to the u
