His response is immediate:Done.
Good.
This is going to be interesting.
Chapter three
Valerie
Idon't sleep.
Can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see the gun. Feel the cold metal pressing into my forehead. Hear the click of the trigger guard against my skull. See those pale gray eyes deciding whether I live or die.
By the time dawn breaks through my window, I've been awake for twenty-six hours straight, and my hands won't stop shaking.
I need to call Tash. Need to hear her voice telling me I'm going to survive this, even if it's a lie.
My phone is buried under a pillow where I shoved it last night, afraid the sound might somehow alert someone that I'm falling apart. I pull it out with trembling fingers and dial her number.
She answers on the first ring. "Val. Jesus Christ, I've been checking my phone every 5 seconds. Are you alive?"
"Barely." My voice comes out raw and broken. "Tash, I fucked up. I fucked up so bad—"
"What happened?"
“I got caught,” I whisper. “First day, and I ended up in his bathroom.”
Tash goes still on the line. I can hear it. That razor-focus she gets when fear turns into calculation.
“Did he hurt you?”
“He put a gun to my head.” My throat tightens around the words like they’re glass. “I talked. I mentioned his daughter. He let me go.”
Silence.
Then, quietly, “He let you go?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Her voice sharpens. “That means he’s not reacting like a man who thinks you’re a random maid. He’s reacting like a man who suspects. Which means you stop moving like a spy.”
I swallow hard. “I am a spy.”
“Not if you act like you belong there.” She breathes out once, controlled. “Listen to me. No more wandering. No more trying doors. No more obvious recon. You do your job perfectly, you become invisible, you build trust the slow way.”
“Patrick wants results.”
“Patrick wants control,” she snaps. “Results are how he keeps you on a leash. If you rush, you die. If you look guilty, you die. So you stop giving yourself away.”
My fingers crush the phone. “Tash, I can’t do this.”
“You can.” Her tone turns iron. “Because Ethan can’t. And your mother can’t. So you do it.”
The words land like a slap.
Then softer, “Tell me one thing. When you looked in Lev Volkov’s eyes, did you see boredom or did you see interest?”
I close my eyes. I see him again, water streaming down his skin, the gun steady, his stare dissecting me.
