VIKTOR
I crouched in front of Kaito, my hand fisting in the blood-soaked fabric of his shirt. His face was a pale, sweaty mask of pain, but a flicker of that familiar arrogance still glinted in his eyes.
"Don't you fucking lie to me," I said, my voice low and flat.
He let out a wet, gurgling laugh. "You think I'm scared of you, Volkov?"
I didn't answer. My silence was the answer.
His bravado cracked. He swallowed, a pained grimace twisting his features. "Alright. Fine. I'll talk."
I released my grip, letting him slump back against the crate. I waited.
"Four of them. Maybe five. It was fast." He sucked in a ragged breath. "All in black. Tactical gear. Masks. They moved like... like ghosts. Professionals. Not like Dimitri's thugs in their expensive suits. These were soldiers."
I gave a single, slow nod. "What else?"
"They shot me. Took the kid. That's all I know."
"Bullshit." I leaned in, my face inches from his. "You're holding out."
"I'm not—"
