Chapter Four
Elias —
It was just past midnight when Elias killed the engine a mile down from Anika Carter’s property and stepped into the dark.
Pine needles muted his footfalls. His gear was matte black, compact. His breathing calm.
He’d infiltrated black sites, breached cartel compounds, and slipped through guarded estates in Dubai. But this — this — was the first time a dog trainer made his pulse spike.
The outer motion sensors didn’t trip. He’d mapped their range.
The IR cameras had been disabled hours earlier. Quietly. Cleanly.
He slipped behind the outer line of trees and circled wide toward the far barn — the one she’d barely acknowledged during their walkthrough. A calculated omission.
Inside, the scent of leather, pine, and earth greeted him. Dust floated in shafts of moonlight slicing through the cracks in the wall.
He found the crate almost immediately.
Canvas-covered. Chained. Locked. Odd for someone like her. Odd that she’d even let him near this place at all.
Which meant she wanted him to find it.
He crouched anyway, fingers working quickly.
What he didn’t see was the micro lens mounted in the rafters just above his head, recording everything.
What he didn’t hear was Delta shifting in the shadows outside the barn, ears tuned to every breath he took.
Anika—
At home, Anika sat cross-legged on the edge of the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed up, her peppermint tea untouched.
Her fingers moved over her keyboard with slow precision, switching feeds.
The far barn filled her screen.
There he was — Elias. Focused. Intent. Confident.
Ares lay at the top of the stairs behind her, his watchful stillness a constant. Nyx was sprawled near her feet, head resting on her paws but ears twitching at every shift of static.
On the perimeter, Echo, Whiskey, and Zulu had just rotated out. Lima, Sarge, and Juliette were running quiet recon — trained to detect movement beyond the camera range and alert through e-collar signals alone.
Anika clicked into night vision.
She watched Elias pull back the tarp, examine the crate. His focus was surgical. The kind of calm you didn’t learn from guarding estate fences.
Her father’s voice echoed in her mind:
“You don’t wait for the fight. You set the field before the enemy knows he’s standing on it.”
“Even allies are threats waiting for the right pressure.”
She sipped her tea.
When Elias cracked open the crate, all he found was a worn decoy sleeve — and beneath it, a blinking red light the size of a thumbtack.
One blink.
Two.
Then nothing.
Just enough to be seen. Just enough to confirm the obvious:
She knew.
Nikolai—
The encrypted report came in before dawn — straight to Nikolai’s private terminal.
Maksim skimmed the contents aloud, but Nikolai wasn’t listening to the words.
He was staring at the grainy screenshot: Elias crouched at the crate, hand mid-reach… and that blinking light, just barely visible in the shadows.
“She set the trap,” Nikolai murmured.
Maksim paused. “Say again?”
“She knew he’d come back. She staged the crate, planted the camera, and broadcasted it.” Nikolai’s voice was low and calm, but the storm behind his eyes was beginning to churn. “She wanted us to know she saw him coming.”
Maksim exhaled, silent for a moment. “So... what now?”
Nikolai stood from the leather chair and turned to face the wall of glass, Atlanta’s pre-dawn glow rising behind him.
“She’s not posturing. This isn’t intimidation,” he said. “It’s strategy.”
“Want me to extract Elias?”
“No.” A beat. “Let her have her trap. Let her believe she’s winning.”
“And you?”
Nikolai’s gaze sharpened.
“She’s not afraid of us.”
“No,” Maksim said. “That bother you?”
Nikolai’s lips twitched — not a smile. Something darker.
“It excites me.”
Anika—
She didn’t mention the break-in.
The next morning, Anika greeted Elias the same way she always did — with measured distance and quiet calculation. She issued commands like challenges, pushed his dog harder than protocol allowed.
He kept up. Barely.
But so did Romeo and India, patrolling the inner fence line. Victor passed through the training field twice during drills. Each appearance — casual, unspoken — was anything but accidental.
“Let’s run scenario drills,” Anika said after the warm-up. “Low light. Confined space. Let’s see how your Malinois handles stress.”
She motioned to the dark tunnel system at the edge of the south field. A leftover from retired SWAT training work.
Elias hesitated — just for a second.
Strike two.
He guided the dog into the tunnel with efficiency. But the cues were rehearsed. His focus too controlled.
She took the moment to walk along the field’s edge and sent a quick command from her smartwatch — reactivating the trigger cam in the far barn. Tonight, the bait would be different.
She was adapting faster than he was spying.
When he returned, sweat slicked to his collar, she handed him a bottle of water.
“Your form’s good,” she said flatly. “But you’re not reading your dog.”
“I’m following the cues.”
“You’re missing the ones he’s not giving.”
He blinked — and she saw it.
Doubt.
She stepped closer. Not aggressively — just enough to be in his space.
“You want my trust?” Her voice was soft. Steady. Icy. “Earn it.”
Then she turned her back to him.
Deliberately.
Like she didn’t see him as a threat.
Like she wanted him to try something.
Nikolai—
The drone feed was blurry — barely discernible shapes beneath the forest canopy — but Nikolai didn’t need clarity. He watched Anika’s posture. Watched her movements. Watched the way she turned her back to Elias without a shred of hesitation.
“She’s tightening the leash,” he said.
Maksim folded his arms. “You sure we shouldn’t pull him?”
“He’s already compromised,” Nikolai said. “Might as well let him bleed information.”
He crossed the room, poured vodka into a crystal tumbler, and stood motionless by the bar.
The tattoos across his chest — black wings, stars, scripture, violence — caught the light. Old Russian. Marks of time served, blood spilled, lessons earned.
“Every woman I’ve ever known was a tool,” he said. “A lie. A weakness dressed as pleasure.”
Maksim stayed silent.
“But this one…”
He turned, glass in hand, eyes molten with something new.
“This one doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t run. Doesn’t play the game by our rules.”
He took a slow sip.
“And I don’t know whether to break her…” A pause. “Or kneel.”
