Page 120 of Nemesis

“Level two.”

Level one: perimeter breach.

Level two: interior breach.

We fall silent.

Dad mutters something to the man as I wander to the window. The sun is setting over the bushy trees on the edge of the property, painting the grounds in an array of oranges. The metal gates glitter in the distance, with one particular deviation from the norm.

They’re unmanned.

I’m still perched at the window, trying to comprehend the sight, when the glass shatters. I jump back, heart in my throat. Shards glint across the hardwood floor.

Dmitri and Stoya, my personal units, fly into the room at the sound. Dad’s already shuffling me away from the jagged window frame.

“We need to get to the saferoom. Now.”

One of his hands finds my back, and the other palms the gun in his belt. My own weapon is locked upstairs in the safe beside my bed, and I suddenly feel like an idiot for leaving it behind.

Dmitri says something into his patchy radio, and ten more soldiers run into the office.

“Wait! Where are the others?” I stammer as the men close ranks and begin edging me toward the door. It’s been hours since I’ve seen one of my cousins, but I know they’re somewhere in the compound. Nik never said where he was storming off to, and Juliet! Could Aunt Juliet have returned to her garden?

“They’ll meet us there. They know the drill,” Dad says sternly, taking the lead.

I don’t understand.

Vasiliy is long gone by now. We complied with his uncle’s ultimatum to the letter.

“Do you think these are the mercenaries?” I ask softly, a tremor working its way down my arms.

“Unlikely. Your bounty was removed from the site a while ago.”

His response might be methodical, but there’s a wild look in his eye that sets me ill at ease. This is all wrong.

“Come, Ms. Siderov,” Dmitri says, a hand pressing the base of my spine. I follow, naked as can be, save for the blade pin in my hair that Vasiliy gifted me this morning. That feels like years ago.

I stop moving forward. “Arm me.”

Dmitri reaches into his thigh holster to procure a pistol and his spare magazine. I take both, looking back toward that broken window by the desk. There are no surrounding buildings for snipers to hide in. The shot must’ve come from the treeline.

I check the chamber, noting Dad’s lingering attention.

“Where to?” I ask.

“Saferoom’s on the third floor. We’ll take the service staircase up—less exposure that way.”

We clear each of the four rooms on the way to the service steps in the same practiced motions. Dmitri and another soldier go in first with their sights raised. Lights stay off. Steps keep quiet. When we reach the stairs, an unearned breath of relief flows from my lungs.

I’m used to feeling invincible with Vasiliy at my side. I grew so accustomed to the privilege that I forgot what it’s like to be bare and exposed. Thanks to him, I’m a decent fighter and a good shot, but there was something about knowing he was a step away, ready to defend me against any foe, that let me walk a little straighter.

My fear has no use in this situation. I press it further down.

I’ve never taken the service steps before. All fifteen of us flood into the dark space, bodies pressed together and guns raised. We’ve made it halfway to the third-floor landing when Dad raises a closed fist. His fingers sweep through the air, signaling for Dmitri and the other two at the front.

The blond man raises his weapon and edges further up the steps. I’m reminded of him in the fight weeks ago. He was a different beast, back there. No methodical movements, only instinctual hits and vicious advances. I wonder how he reconciles the two halves—the brutal boxer and the silent guard.

“Clear,” he says quietly.