Everything. He had everything to lose. That was why he was here, in the cold and the quiet, where the only things that bled were the ones he chose to save.
But the woman in the photo was somewhere out there. Scared, hurt, maybe.
A flash of yellow eyes cut through his mind. Blood on snow. A trapped animal going still beneath his jacket because some part of her knew he wasn’t there to hurt her.
Pav looked away from the tablet.
Fuck.
“Three days. In and out. Then you leave me alone.”
Fox’s eyes slid to Zak. “Deal.”
“Does this mean we can finish the jerky?” Zak was already moving to where he’d left it.
“Touch my jerky again and I’ll break more than your lip.”
Zak grinned and wagged a finger. “I really like this guy.”
Fox woke the tablet with a touch. He traced the region with his finger, leaving small blood smears on the screen. “Last known location is the border clinic, here.” He tapped with one thick finger. “But she could be anywhere within a two-hundred-kilometer radius. The area is a warren of mining operations, homesteads, and abandoned compounds.” He looked up. “That’s where you come in.”
Pav studied the map. The search area was massive, but he could narrow it down. Human behavior was predictable once you knew what to look for.
“It’s already been a week. We’re running out of time.” Fox checked his watch.
Pav circled a location on the map. “We start here.”
Zak leaned in. “Why?”
“Because people lie.” Pav tapped the contour lines. “Terrain doesn’t.”
“Let’s get it done.” Zak raised his mug.
Fox clinked his mug against it. “To Harper.”
Pav said nothing.
Three days. He could do three days.
5
Harper examined Polina’s wrist.The ligature marks had faded from angry purple to yellow-green.
“How does it feel?” Harper kept her voice low. The thin barrack walls carried sound. Right now, the younger guard was outside. The nervous smoker who paced when he was alone and cruel only when watched.
Polina flexed her hands, testing the movement. “Better.” Her Russian was soft and careful. “Thank you.”
“You’re going to be fine.” Harper pushed loose hair from her temple. “The swelling should be gone in a few days.”
The barrack smelled of unwashed bodies and woodsmoke. Twelve women crammed into a space meant for six. Condensation froze along the inside of the windows from where too many women breathed the same air, finger-width patches rubbed clear where women checked the yard between shifts.
The wood stove in the center put out barely enough heat to keep them from freezing, and the guards controlled the fuel supply with the same casual cruelty they applied to everything else.
Harper stood, her knees protesting. A week of sleeping on a bunk that was more metal frame than mattress had left her stiff. She moved through the cramped space, checking on the others.
She was the only one with medical training. The only one who knew how to clean wounds or talk women down from panic attacks in the middle of the night. She didn’t mind. If nothing else, it kept her from her own spiraling thoughts.
And she had plenty of those. It had been seven nights since she arrived, and she’d heard mutterings between the men of a few more days before they were moved—before she disappeared into whatever hell came after Siberia.
