Lena screamed, collapsing onto her knees, gripping her bleeding foot.
Ivan stepped around her, face twisted with fury, gun still raised.
Ivan Volk
“You want to dance in the dark, little bunny? Then bleed for it.”
But Lena’s eyes gleamed with something far from fear.
They gleamed with madness.
She reached under her coat and with one slick move—threw a blade.
Ivan cursed, jerking his head as the knife grazed his cheek—blood seeping instantly.
His gun wavered.
That was all she needed.
She pulled a small metal cylinder from her pocket—twisted—smoke erupted, thick and white.
Ivan Volk
Ivan shouted, firing blindly into the cloud.
“LENA!”
But she was gone.
The smoke cleared slowly, the room spinning in silence. Ivan stood, blood running down his cheek, gun lowered now.
He breathed hard.
Then he laughed. One breath. Then another.
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