Page 82 of Power's Fall

“We’re leaving.” Dahlia snatched up her phone and followed Montana out of the bedroom. He shoved bottles of water into the pack on Vadisk’s back, then into a second one, which he strapped to his own back.

Dahlia looked out the windows at the night and dark sea and swallowed hard.

“We’ll track you and liaise with the Masters’ Admiralty,” the Grand Master said.

“Thank you, Grand Master.”

“Be safe.”

Dahlia ended the call, shoving her phone into her pocket. Her hands were shaking. Montana laced his fingers with hers as he watched Vadisk finish his own call. Vadisk looked at them and his expression was dark and resolute.

Without a word, he headed for the stairs. The lights in the rest of the villa weren’t on, and Dahlia had to take slow breaths to keep herself calm as she followed Montana down the stairs to the front door.

“What’s the plan?” Montana asked.

“There’s a boat hidden in a cave down at the shore, not far from here. We get in the boat and go due south. Once we cross out of Ukrainian water, a larger ship from Ottoman with a Turkish flag will meet us. We board and they take us to Istanbul.”

“We’re just supposed to find a Turkish ship in the middle of the Black Sea at night?” Montana didn’t sound like he liked this plan.

“I have coordinates. We’ll figure it out.”

“Fuck,” Montana muttered. “But a boat is a good idea. Let’s go.”

Vadisk opened the door, letting in the faint light from the moon and stars. It wasn’t enough for her to really see by, but she could tell there was more light out here than in the dark villa.

Silently, Dahlia followed them out but almost tripped on the last stair. Montana caught her.

“You okay?”

“I can’t…I can’t see.” The admission hurt because it made the fear too real.

“Right. I’m sorry. I’ll be better,” Montana swore.

“It’s okay, but I’m going to slow us down if we have to hike down to the shore.”

“Then we don’t hike. We drive.” Vadisk’s voice was farther away, and she turned toward it. There was a large pale blob near where she thought he was. Wait, she knew what was going on. Vadisk had just pulled the cover off the golf cart.

“We’re running for our lives in a golf cart?” Montana’s voice was strangled, and Dahlia pressed her face against his shoulder to muffle her near-hysterical laughter.

“Get in,” Vadisk commanded.

Montana wrapped an arm over her shoulders as he hurried her across the driveway. Dahlia and Montana slid into the back seat, Vadisk up front, driving.

The next fifteen minutes felt surreal. Dahlia couldn’t see where they were going, but they were headed downhill, their path constantly turning and curving. She wanted to ask a million questions, but no one had spoken since the cart started moving, so she stayed silent too.

“Hold on,” Montana murmured against her ear.

A second later, the cart jolted and bumped before coming to a stop.

“This is as far as we can go,” Vadisk said in a low rumble. “We have to go on foot from here.”

Montana helped Dahlia out. The ground under her was uneven and the air smelled like vegetation and salt. They were in one of the heavily verdant areas near the shore, if she could smell the sea this distinctly.

She took one step—and nearly fell, having to grab Montana.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hating to feel this helpless. Hating that she might be the reason they were caught.

She heard a zipper, and a second later, Vadisk’s hands were at the waist of her pants, sliding something cool between the material and her skin. There was a click, then light illuminated her feet.

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