Mara sat in the hospital chapel, staring at nothing while the world continued around her like she wasn't drowning in grief that made breathing feel impossible. Three days since the federal building collapse. Three days since Adrian had thrown himself on that grenade. Three days since she'd watched medics declare him dead while his blood soaked into rubble. The funeral was scheduled for tomorrow. Closed casket, because they'd barely recovered enough of his body to identify through dental records. Martinez had tried to talk to her about memorial arrangements, about what Adrian would have wanted, but Mara couldn't think about that without seeing his face in those final moments before the explosion. "Agent Vey?" A nurse stood in the chapel doorway, her expression carrying the professional sympathy that hospital staff developed for dealing with grief. "There's someone here to see you." Mara didn't respond, didn't turn around, just continued staring at the generic religious imagery tha

The morning of Adrian's funeral arrived with rain that matched the grief weighing on everyone who'd gathered at the cemetery. Mara stood beside the closed casket in her dress uniform, her face empty of tears because she'd cried herself dry over the past four days. She'd technically resigned from federal service the night before, but wearing the uniform felt like one final act of honoring someone who'd believed in institutional authority even when it got him killed.The cemetery was crowded with federal agents, former colleagues from Adrian's detective days, people whose lives he'd touched during years of service. Mara recognized faces but couldn't bring herself to acknowledge anyone's presence. They were all here to say goodbye to someone they'd known, but none of them had loved him the way she had.Agent Martinez delivered the eulogy, her voice steady despite obvious emotion as she stood before the assembled mourners. "Adrian Cross gave his life protecting his colleagues during the f

Adrian woke up in a safe house somewhere utside Donetsk, his body screamingprotest from injuries that had been aggravated during the rooftop fight with Volkov. Mara sat beside his bed, her face exhausted but alert, watching him with eyes that held questions he knew he'd have to answer. "How long have I been out?" Adrian's voice was rough, his throat dry from whatever medications were keeping the pain manageable. "Sixteen hours since the hospital. Coleman got us out before Ukrainian authorities arrived. We're in Poland now, technically." Mara held up a water bottle, helping him drink despite his attempts to do it himself. "The doctors say you're lucky to be alive. Again." Adrian managed a weak smile. "Seems to be a pattern." "Adrian." Mara's voice carried steel underneath the concern. "You need to tell me what happened. How you survived that grenade. Where you've been for the past week. Who treated your injuries while we were burying an empty casket and mourning someone who was app

Morning came with pale sunlight filtering through the farmhouse windows, washing everything in soft gold that made the previous day's rain seem like a distant memory. Adrian woke on the couch to find Mara already in the kitchen, moving carefully on her injured leg while she prepared breakfast from the supplies Coleman had left them."You should have woken me," Adrian said, his voice rough from sleep as he tried to sit up without aggravating his injuries."You needed the rest. Besides, I can manage scrambled eggs without supervision." Mara glanced over her shoulder, a small smile playing at her lips. "Though I can't promise they'll be good."Adrian made his way to the kitchen table, each step reminding him of the grenade blast and subsequent fight with Volkov that had reopened wounds barely healed from the first near-death experience. His body was a map of violence—scars from bullets, burns from explosions, stitches holding together damage that exceeded normal human tolerance for pain.

The flight to Prague was uneventful, which made Adrian more nervous than if they'd encountered problems. In his experience, operations that began smoothly often ended badly, as if the universe was saving all its chaos for when they'd be least prepared to handle it.They landed at Václav Havel Airport under false identities Coleman had arranged—Canadian businesspeople attending a conference on international trade. The passports were good enough to pass cursory inspection, though Adrian doubted they'd hold up to serious scrutiny if Czech intelligence decided to take an interest in their activities.Martinez met them at a safe house in Žižkov, a working-class neighborhood that hadn't yet been consumed by the tourist gentrification spreading through Prague's historic center. The apartment was on the fourth floor of a Soviet-era building, spartanly furnished with equipment that suggested Martinez had been using it as an operational base for several days."Any luck finding our logistics coo