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I turn towards the glass wall overlooking the city. Everything looks grey today. Heavy and pressed down beneath clouds.

“How bad?” I ask.

Anton exhales. “Bad. Both guys are in the hospital and won’t be getting out anytime soon.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and check the time. 8:31 a.m.

“Where is he?”

“Central precinct.”

“I’ll handle it.”

There’s relief in Anton’s voice. “I figured you would. I’m in Russia right now. I can’t—”

“I know,” I cut in. “I’ve got it.”

The line goes dead.

I stand there for a moment, letting the weight settle in my chest. It’s been a while since I’ve had to pull Maksim out of something like this. Long enough that I’d almost believed he’d stopped self-destructing.

Almost.

I grab my jacket and head for the door.

Grace looks up from her desk as I pass, already sensing the shift.

“Your ten o’clock—”

“Cancel it.”

“Mr. Sinclair—”

“I said cancel it.”

She stops arguing.

As I step back into the hallway, one thought repeats itself, steady and unavoidable: I should be used to this by now.

But the truth is, I never am.

Because no matter how much distance I put between us… no matter how long I pretend I do not want anything to do with him.

Maksim still has a way of dragging me back into his chaos.

And the worst part?

I go every time.

Chapter 3

MAKSIM

There’s a crack in the wall across from me.

A thin, jagged line that snakes up from the floor like a vein about to burst. I’ve been staring at it for a while now, long enough that it feels familiar.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Time doesn’t behave right in places like this. The light above flickers every few seconds, the hum drilling straight into my skull as if it’s trying to carve its way inside.