Page 175 of Inevitable Endings
We stay there, together, until the water runs cold and the heater dies.
And even then, he doesn’t let go.
Chapter 68
I’ll Be Still, If You Stay
Aslanov
I sit at the long oak table in the den, shirtless, barefoot, my laptop glowing in front of me like a weapon. Half the screen is encrypted channels—Russian, Turkish, Latin proxies running in loops. The other half is Brighton Beach, street by street, mapped down to sewer grates, rooftop access points, hidden alleys, and unregistered maintenance corridors.
Sawyer delivered the maps last night. Just like I told him to.
He was thorough. Each zone marked with colored overlays; kill zones, fallback routes, blind corners that turn into traps with the right sniper in place. I told him to know Brighton Beach like it was home. He made it a hunting ground.
I tap my finger once against the side of my coffee mug, black, untouched, cooling fast, then pick up the burner.
It connects after two rings.
“You up?” Sawyer’s voice cracks through on the other end. He sounds like he hasn’t slept. Good.
“I’m looking at your maps,” I say, straight to the point. “They’re clean. You did well.”
“Is that a compliment from the Devil himself?” he mutters. I hear wind in the background—he’s outside, probably checking perimeters in person. “You want the current numbers?”
“Tell me.”
He exhales, short and clipped. “Malik’s men are in place. Threeshooters stationed, two more rotating with heat scopes on the rooftops west of the dock. We’ve got our own embedded at the old Orthodox church, and Dominik’s flipped Bratva ghosts are checking in every hour. Quiet, disciplined. No chatter unless it’s code.”
“And the alley routes?”
“Rigged to funnel. If anyone deviates, they’re exposed. We’re letting them believe Brighton is open air, but they’re walking straight into the rib cage.”
I nod, even though he can’t see it. “And if they try to flee?”
“They won’t.”
“If they do,” I repeat, colder, “they won’t make it past the perimeter.”
A beat of silence.
“Got it,” he says. “What about you? Still planning to come in through the back like a fucking ghost?”
“Like death,” I correct. “They won’t see me until it’s far too late.”
I end the call without ceremony, tossing the burner on the table beside my laptop.
It buzzes once more, an encrypted text from Dominik. A single photo. Another alley. Another window. Another route.
I forward it to Ada. She’ll update the surveillance algorithm before the hour’s out.
We are close now. The structure is tightening. The teeth of this machine are locking into place.
And soon, it will bite.
My thoughts drift back to last night. She was trembling when I carried her from the bathroom.
Not from the cold. The water had long since run hot, turned lukewarm, then cold again, but she didn’t flinch. She hadn’t moved in minutes. Her body was soft and limp in my arms, not from rest, but from the kind of exhaustion that comes when thesoul’s been scraped raw.
