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“Yes.”

Because Malenkov doesn’t trade people like us.

Heusesus.

Footsteps echo again—closer this time. One man stops outside the door. Another lingers farther down the corridor.

Security posture just changed.

I lean forward as much as the chains allow. Lower my voice.

“Listen to me,” I say. “Whatever happens next—do exactly what I do. No sudden movements. No questions.”

Her eyes flicker. “You sound confident for someone in chains.”

I force a thin smile.

“I’m not confident,” I say. “I’m counting on someone smarter than both of us.”

She studies me for a long moment. Then nods once.

“I trust people who don’t panic,” she says.

Good answer.

The door slides open.

A man steps inside—clean uniform, neutral expression, eyes that don’t linger. He looks between us like we’re inventory.

“Transfer delayed,” he says flatly. “Temporary holding.”

I feel it then.

Not hope.

Timing.

This delay wasn’t meant for us.

It was meant forhim.

The man exits. The door seals again.

I let my head fall back against the wall, eyes closed, breathing controlled.

Somewhere above ground, Lena Hart is watching clocks converge. I know this because the others were rescued.

Somewhere nearby, Ronan Pierce is letting this unfold exactly as it needs to.

I don’t know when they’ll strike.

I only know this—

Malenkov brought us together for leverage.

What he doesn’t realize…

Is that leverage works both ways.