Page 39 of Tracking Shadows

"Yes," he says. "You need to think, not react. You want to take this down? You do it smart, not emotional. Otherwise, you’ll get yourself killed."

"I’m not emotional," I argue. "We fucking need to stop these monsters."

"Are you sure about that?" Dmitri’s voice is calm again and cuts to the haze of anger. "Because you sound like you want to rush into a suicide mission. We need to be strategic. You’re not dealing with street thugs anymore. If this is a global network, we're outnumbered."

"I’m not letting this go," I snap back. "We have what we need. We can stop this."

"Do you trust me, Alexei?"

"Of course I do," I answer without hesitation. "With my life."

"Then listen to me," Dmitri says. "I’m not losing you. Not to this. We’ll take down Sergei first. Then, we'll regroup and planto infiltrate the Broker network. But if you try to do both now, you won’t make it out alive. You understand?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose, forcing myself to breathe. "Fine," I say through clenched teeth. "But we don’t let this go. After Sergei—"

"We’ll get them all," Dmitri promises. "But not until we’re ready."

I nod, even though he can’t see it. "Okay."

"Good," Dmitri says. "Stay safe. I mean it."

"Yeah. You too," I reply, and then the line goes dead.

Dmitri is always right. Charging in now would be suicide. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier to sit still.

I shove the phone into my pocket and turn toward the stove. I need to clear my head, and cooking is the only thing that ever helps. I start chopping vegetables, trying to focus on the rhythm of the knife hitting the cutting board.

The door creaks behind me, and I turn to see Irina standing there, her eyes still swollen from crying earlier.

"Hey," I say, turning down the heat on the stove.

She doesn’t respond, just walks over to the table and sits down.

I watch her for a moment. "I’m sorry," I say quietly, breaking the silence.

She looks up at me, her expression unreadable. "For what?"

"For pushing you earlier . . .. I shouldn’t have done that."

She nods slowly and looks away. "It's nothing."

I turn back to the stove, stirring the vegetables. "I know it’s not fine, but . . . I just want you to know, I didn’t mean to—"

"Alexei," she interrupts me. "Can we just . . . not talk about it right now?"

"Yeah." I turn off the stove. "Of course."

As we sit down to eat, I glance over at Irina, who’s picking at her food, not really eating. Her eyes are distant, and I hate seeing her like this.

I push a piece of vegetable around on my plate, then look up at her with a grin. "You know, I’ve never seen anyone look so serious about eating dinner before. It’s almost like you’re plotting how to assassinate your broccoli."

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t smile. Not yet. "Maybe I am," she says dryly, stabbing a carrot with her fork. "The broccoli deserves it."

"Okay, how about this," I say, leaning back in my chair. "For the next few hours, let’s just . . . forget everything. No missions, no Sergei, no mafia bullshit. Let’s just be us for a while. What do you say?"

Irina looks up at me, her brow furrowed like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious or not. "And what exactly does ‘just us’ mean?"

"It means we eat this perfectly mediocre meal I’ve cooked," I say, grinning. "Then maybe we talk about something that isn’t life-threatening for once. I don’t know; we could pretend we’re normal people. What do normal people talk about? Weather? Gossip?"