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“They passed the office, the lower stairs, the medical bay, and every cabinet holding Volkov records,” I say as I take the next corner. “They didn’t stop for any of it.”

Their target is Misha.

“Take one alive. Kill the others if they try to stop you from reaching the child.”

Gunfire breaks out toward the garden passage. I know the direction from the hard echo against the outer wall. Dmitri’s voice cuts across the radio, followed by Dima swearing and a man screaming.

Vera reaches the entrance to her suite.

Sergei is fighting a man in a hospital jacket beside the doorway. The intruder drives a knee into his ribs and grabs for the rifle trapped between them. Sergei slams him into the wall, but the man keeps fighting.

Vera tries to pass them.

A second intruder rushes from the sitting area and catches her from behind.

She throws her head back but misses his nose, then drives her elbow into his throat. His grip loosens. She stamps on his foot and twists away.

He reaches inside his coat.

I shoot him through the chest before he can pull out the weapon.

The recoil pulls hard through my abdomen, and a wave of nausea rises, but I stay upright.

Vera looks at the body for one second, then runs into Misha’s bedroom.

Sergei forces the first man facedown, twists his arm behind his back, and kicks his weapon away.

“Keep him alive,” I say.

Sergei nods through the blood on his lip. “Go.”

I enter the bedroom.

The bed is empty. A blanket lies twisted on the floor, the moon-shaped nightlight is broken beside the wall, and one small slipper rests near the adjoining door. Oksana lies beside the wardrobe with blood above her eyebrow.

Vera drops beside her and checks her pulse. “She’s breathing.”

Oksana groans when Vera touches her face, but her eyes remain closed. One hand lies near the alarm panel.

“She pressed the silent alarm.” I point to the cracked cover and the blood on the button.

Vera scrambles up. “Misha!”

I catch her shoulders before she can shout again. “Keep your voice down.”

“He’s gone.”

“If he remembered what I taught him, he won’t answer us.”

She shoves my hands away. “What did you teach him?”

“When the red alarm starts, clever children hide. They stay still and wait for the right person to tell them it’s safe.”

Fear changes her face, but she forces herself to search.

The yellow race car is gone. His second slipper lies near the door to the adjoining sitting area, its toe pointing away from the bedroom. Beyond it, a narrow linen closet has shelves stacked with towels and sheets.

I move fast.