Page 53 of Tracking Shadows

I don’t respond. I can’t tear my eyes away from the horror in front of me. It’s like someone painted madness and cruelty onto every canvas. And somehow, he’s made it art. Each painting seems to tell a story of suffering, of fear, of madness.

Irina sucks in a sharp breath beside me, her gaze locked on one of the paintings.

A laugh echoes through the warehouse, sharp and cruel, and I snap my gaze toward the sound. Sergei steps out from the shadows, limping slightly but grinning like a man who knows he’s already won.

“You came,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if Dmitri had it in him to send you after me again. After all, he's already taken everything from me.”

Irina tenses beside me, but I step forward, cutting off any retort she might have had. “He didn’t take anything, Sergei. You let go of it all by yourself, and that includes Valentina. You lost everything because you’re a coward. You let it slip through your fingers, all because you were too afraid to face what was coming. And now you’re playing servant to the Broker.”

Sergei's laughter deepens, almost hysterical. “Coward? I’m alive, aren’t I? I left to fight another day. Dmitri is a fool. You should know better by now. There’s no loyalty in this world. No family. Only survival.”

“You were ready to kill your own daughter,” I say, my voice cold. “And your grandchild. I don't think you're human anymore.”

He laughs again, louder this time, the sound bouncing off the walls. “Of course, I was. I don’t care about anyone but myself. Why would I? Sentiment is a weakness, Alexei. You think I’m like Dmitri, who's endlessly clinging to family and honor? I want to keep on living, and if you wanted to live as well, you should not have come here.”

Sergei whistles sharply, and from the far side of the warehouse, a door creaks open. A figure steps out—tall, broad, and moving with the stiffness of someone who isn’t fully there. His movements are slow, and as he steps into the light, I see the gun strapped to his arm. His eyes are empty, lifeless. Like he’s not really seeing us at all.

Irina inhales sharply beside me. “Ivan . . ..”

Chapter 18 – Irina

It’s him.

Ivan.

My brother.

I haven’t seen him in ten years, but I’d recognize him anywhere. His face has changed—older, harder, his jaw sharper and his cheekbones more pronounced—but it’s him. There’s a part of him that is unmistakable, even after all this time. But there’s something else, too. There's something wrong. His eyes . . . they’re not the eyes I remember. They’re vacant, hollow, like the life has been drained from them, leaving nothing but a shell.

“Ivan,” I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. My legs feel like they’re filled with lead, but I force myself to take a step toward him. “Ivan, it’s me. It’s Irina. Your sister.”

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. He stares straight ahead, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond me, as if I’m invisible.

My heart clenches, and a cold pit forms in my stomach.

What have they done to him?

“Ivan, please,” I say, louder this time, desperation creeping into my voice. “It’s me. Don’t you recognize me?”

A harsh laugh cuts through the air, and I turn to see Sergei stepping out from the shadows, a smirk playing on his lips. “I told you, didn’t I? He doesn’t know you anymore, Irina.”

“That’s not true,” I say, my voice trembling. “He’s still in there. I know he is.”

Sergei snorts, shaking his head in amusement. “You really are naïve, aren’t you? He’s not Ivan anymore. He’s Striker now. And the only thing he’s good for is following orders.Myorders.”

I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

I refuse to believe it. Ivan can’t be gone. Hecan’tbe.

“Ivan,” I say again, pleading this time. “Please, listen to me. It’s Irina. Don’t do this.”

For a brief moment, his eyes flicker. It’s so subtle I almost miss it, but I see it. There’s something there. Something is trying to break through. But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone, and his expression hardens again.

Sergei steps closer. “I told you, once I give the order, Striker will shoot you without blinking twice. You might as well save your breath.”

I swallow hard, refusing to look away from Ivan. “He’s not yours, Sergei. He’s my brother. And he's still in there somewhere.”

Sergei lets out a bored sigh, rolling his eyes. “Enough of this.” He turns to Ivan, “Striker, kill the bitch.”