Lena moved through the dark library like a whisper, eyes drawn to the photograph on the polished shelf.
Ivan. And the girl—Irina.
So soft. So human. Not the killer she knew.
Lena
She traced her fingers over the dustless edge of the frame and whispered, “Is this what you’re still trying to protect?”
Click.
Metal against her skull.
Lena
She froze.
Ivan Volk
Ivan’s voice, low and deadly, right behind her ear.
"Move an inch and I’ll blow your head off."
Comments