Page 51 of Tracking Shadows

“I'm fine.”

“Is that your blood?”

“No, it's not.”

“You should’ve gone after him,” Alexei grits out. “The smoke was a diversion. He’s escaping.”

My mind spins, trying to catch up. I could have stopped him. I should have—

But then, My brother . . . my Ivan.

“My brother is alive.” The words come out in a breathless whisper, as if saying them aloud will make them more real.

“What?”

“Ivan is alive. He's alive, but he's Sergei's dog.” I sit down beside him.

“You can't be sure.”

“He's killed people. He's killed children.”

Even as I speak, I can’t reconcile it. The image of Ivan, the boy who refused to even swat a fly, who always smiled so bright that it felt like the sun, was twisted into this . . . monster. It doesn’t make sense.

How could he? How could he be a killer?

“Don't believe whatever Sergei tells you, Irina. You should never believe whatever comes out of that bastard's mouth. Do you hear me?”

I want to believe him, but doubt seeps into every corner of my mind, poisoning it. I can barely breathe.

Katya's voice comes in through the earphones. “Are you both okay?” When they both don't respond on time, she asks again. “Please respond.”

Alexei taps his earpiece. “Don't cry, we're good.”

Katya snorts. “Fuck you.”

I close my eyes, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in my bones.

This fight isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

And if Ivan truly is lost to me, then I’ll burn Sergei’s world to the ground.

Chapter 17 – Alexei

“Are you both okay?” Katya's voice buzzes in my ears.

I don’t respond immediately, catching my breath from the chaos that just unfolded. Next to me, Irina is silent, too, staring blankly at the rooftop, her body stiff.

“Please respond,” Katya’s voice comes through again, more urgent.

I tap my earpiece, forcing a smirk even though everything feels like it’s spiraling. “Don’t cry, we’re good.”

“Fuck you,” Katya snaps, but I can hear the relief in her voice.

I take a deep breath and scan the rooftop, the smoke from Sergei’s little stunt still hanging in the air. I can’t see him, but I know he’s not far. Not with that shot I put in his leg.

Katya’s voice crackles back in, more composed this time. “He’s on the move, but not fast. I’ve tracked his signal—looks like he’s limping toward a warehouse about thirty minutes from here.”

I turn to Irina, who’s still slumped on the ground, staring into space as if the world around her has ceased to matter. Her shoulders droop, her hands limp in her lap, and the fire I’m used to seeing in her is gone.

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