The gunshot cracked like thunder, my own hands recoiling with the force. The Russian who’d struck Nikolai staggered back, his chest a gaping wound, his body crumpling to the floor.

For a heartbeat, silence fell.

All eyes turned toward me.

Six men—armed, snarling, their laughter gone, their rage sharpened into blades.

I should have frozen. I should have been swallowed by fear, the weight of their fury too much for my trembling hands.

But then I saw him.

Nikolai.

His head jerked up at the sound, his eyes—bloodshot, swollen, but burning—finding me across the haze of smoke and shadow. For the briefest second, shock widened them, his lips parting as...