The morning after the fire, the air carried the scent of iron and smoke. The city looked bruised—its skyline pale under a gray dawn, the streets damp from the night’s chaos. Nikolai walked beside Elena through the narrow back alley, their steps quiet, measured. Every echo behind them felt like a memory waiting to strike. They weren’t running anymore. They were advancing.

A black van waited at the alley’s end. Mikhail sat behind the wheel, the same calm intensity carved into his face. His eyes flicked toward them as they approached. “You’re both still breathing,” he said flatly. “That’s a miracle, considering what you’ve started.”

Nikolai opened the back door....