The Russian stronghold’s interior felt alive with menace, a labyrinth of shadows and broken stone. Each echo of our footsteps ricocheted like a warning, reminding me that one misstep could mean death. The faint light that slivered through shattered windows only deepened the darkness, casting twisted shapes across the cracked walls. Every corner seemed alive, every shadow a predator, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. My hand found Dante’s, fingers intertwining in a desperate instinct, and the heat of him pressed against me, grounding me amid the suffocating tension.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his voice low, commanding, vibrating against my ear in a way that made my stomach knot...