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Chapter 26
Robert was a cruel captor and Mischa a ruthless one—but Sergei is methodical. When my door opens in the morning, his man enters and places a tray of food on my nightstand.
It’s not a bowl of gruel or the stale bread of a prisoner’s rations. Though the scrambled eggs and porridge could easily contain a lethal powder. So could the orange juice or the steaming mug of tea.
Maybe he wants me to suspect as much. A part of me bristles at the paranoia.
But even Mischa let his guard down around Sergei.
I can’t afford a single mistake.
So I ignore the tray and sit on the bed with my back to it. Closing my eyes, I think.
If Mischa were here, what plan would he compile? Something reckless and violent, no doubt. Though maybe that’s the only way to counter methodical planning—brute strength.
Had I his knife, he’d probably urge me to stab the next person to bring me a meal. Stab Sergei afterward. Run.
But I know, even as I let the fantasy play in my mind, that my method needs to be different. Desperation is what Sergei expects. As Mischa claimed, a man like him is already one move away from checkmate.
The only way to beat such a foe?
Play a different game.
As my mind parses over every potential escape, I barely hear the door open.
“You haven’t eaten,” Sergei remarks with feigned surprise. “Maybe you’ll find your lunch more palatable?”
Ignoring him, I eye the wall as he replaces the trays, and finally, he leaves. Newer smells tickle my nose in his wake. Soup? It’s no matter. I close my eyes and focus on a game—but one far simpler than the elaborate chess match I grew up in.
The same one I can hear Mouse and Eli playing right now, innocent of everything else.
Cat and mouse.
And the most effective chases require only bait.
And sheer desperation.
