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Dimitri holds me. "They know a lot, whoever they are. But we'll find them. Make them pay."

I look up at him. "So what now? We're both targets."

He shrugs. "Now we?—"

A noise outside cuts him off. The distinct sound of a footsteps. Dimitri freezes, eyes narrowing as he reaches for his gun.

"I heard it too," I say, looking around.

"Stay here," he whispers, moving silently toward the doorway.

My heart pounds as I watch him disappear into the darkness, leaving me alone with too many unanswered questions.

18

DIMITRI

The night air is cold against my skin. Every sense sharpens as I move low, silent, weaving between broken stones.

At first, I tell myself it could be nothing. Some curious hiker, some idiot drunk wandering through the ruins.

But my gut says otherwise.

The sound comes again.

Not the wind. Not an animal.

A deliberate step, then another.

I freeze. Shift right, angling for a better view.

I crouch lower, scanning the perimeter.

Movement ahead.

A flash of dark clothing beyond a collapsed column. And behind him, more figures. Four, maybe five.

My grip tightens on the gun.

Then I see one of them squat down, a small black device in his hands, blinking faintly.

Son of a bitch.

A tracker. That's how they found us.

There must have been one on the car this whole time. I thought it was that damn burner phone so I ditched it at the gas station.

Either way, this is no coincidence. No mistake.

This is a fucking hit team.

I scan left. Two more men circling wider, flanking toward the shelter.

Toward her.

My jaw tightens.

Not on my fucking watch.