"Fuck!"
The gunshot tore through the night air as I jerked the wheel hard to port, sending our boat lurching violently to the left. Behind us, Petrov's men opened fire from their speedboat, bullets ripping into our stern.
Dominic grabbed the rifle we'd stashed onboard and returned fire, his face a mask of cold fury. "They're gaining on us!"
My knuckles turned white against the wheel as I pushed the throttle forward, our boat fighting against the choppy water. Lake Superior in February was a death trap—black ice-filled water stretching in every direction, temperatures so low that falling overboard meant certain death within minutes.
"We need to lose them in the channel ahead," I shouted over the roar of the engines and gunfire. "It narrows between those islands—they'll have to slow down!"
Dominic nodded, firing another burst before ducking as bullets splintered the wood beside his head. "How's our fuel?"
I glanced at the gauge, my stomach dropping. "Half tank. Not enough to outrun them all the way to Quebec."
"Then we don't outrun them." His voice turned deadly calm—the tone that meant he'd already made up his mind about something dangerous. "We disappear."
I knew what he meant immediately. We'd done it before, staging our deaths to escape both the law and Petrov's men. But in these frigid waters, with a speedboat full of armed Russians behind us, the risks were exponentially higher.
"The ledger—" I started.
"Is worth dying for," he finished, eyes meeting mine in the dim light of the control panel. "Or worth appearing to die for."
Another spray of bullets hit the boat, one punching through the cabin window inches from my head. Glass shattered over my face, stinging my cheek with tiny cuts.
"Shit!" I hissed, ducking lower while maintaining course.
Dominic was beside me in an instant, his hand steady on my shoulder. "You're bleeding."
"I'm fine." I wiped at my face, smearing blood across my cheek. "Nothing serious."
His eyes darkened at the sight of my blood, something primal and dangerous flashing in them. "I'll fucking kill them all."
"Later," I promised, navigating toward the narrow channel between two small islands. "First, we need to survive."
He nodded once, returning to his position at the stern. The boat behind us was closing in—I could make out the silhouettes of three men, their weapons trained on us.
The flash drive pressed against my skin beneath my clothes, the physical manifestation of everything we'd risked our lives for. Dominic had the leather-bound ledger secured in a waterproof pouch strapped to his body. Between us, we carried the evidence that could bring down Petrov's entire global network—if we lived long enough to use it.
"Get ready!" I called out as we approached the channel. "When I cut the lights, be prepared to move fast."
The narrow passage between the islands was barely visible in the darkness, a thread of black water framed by rocky shores. I aimed straight for it, pushing our speed to the maximum as Dominic fired another burst at our pursuers.
Just as we entered the channel, I hit the switches, killing all lights on our vessel. In the sudden darkness, I throttled down and turned hard to starboard, steering toward a tiny cove I'd spotted on our approach.
The pursuing boat roared past the channel entrance, their spotlights sweeping the water ahead where they expected us to be. I guided our boat silently into the shadow of the island, cutting the engines completely as we drifted into the small cove.
For several agonizing minutes, we sat in perfect stillness, listening to the distant sound of the speedboat circling back, searching for us. The cold was brutal, seeping into the cabin despite the heating system. I could see my breath forming small clouds in the air.
Dominic moved silently to my side, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. "That bought us some time," he whispered, "but they'll find us eventually."
I nodded, my mind racing through options. "We need to disable their boat." My eyes scanned the island's shoreline, barely visible in the moonlight. "If we can reach land, move through the woods to the far side of the island..."
"We ambush them when they come looking," he finished. "But we need a distraction first."
His fingers traced the cuts on my cheek, his touch impossibly gentle for a man who had killed without hesitation hours earlier. The contrast never failed to unsettle me—his capacity for both tenderness and violence, often in the same breath.
"I have an idea," I said, reaching for the emergency kit beneath the control panel. "But you're not going to like it."
"I rarely do," he replied, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.
I pulled out the flare gun and several explosive flares. "We rig these to the fuel tank. Set a timer. Make it look like we decided to go down fighting rather than be captured."
Dominic's eyes narrowed as he understood. "While they're dealing with the explosion, we slip away to the other side of the island."
"Exactly." I started gathering essential supplies—the waterproof pack with first aid supplies, ammunition, energy bars, and most importantly, our encrypted satellite phone. "We'll need to swim part of the way."
His jaw tightened. "The water's near freezing."
"We've survived worse." I met his gaze steadily. "We have the survival suits in the emergency locker. They'll buy us the time we need."
He nodded once, then began gathering his own supplies while I retrieved the black neoprene survival suits designed for extreme cold water conditions. They would keep us alive in the frigid lake, but only for about thirty minutes—just enough time to reach the shore if we moved quickly.
As I handed him his suit, our fingers brushed, and he caught my hand, pulling me against him. His mouth crashed down on mine, hot and demanding, tasting of desperation and determination.
"When this is over," he murmured against my lips, "we're going somewhere warm. A fucking beach somewhere. No snow, no ice, no Russians with guns."
"Promise?" I whispered back, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability.
"Promise." He kissed me again, softer this time, before releasing me. "Now let's rig this boat to blow."
We worked quickly, Dominic setting charges while I changed into the survival suit, the thick neoprene clinging to my body like a second skin. The flash drive was secured in a waterproof case around my neck, tucked beneath the suit.
I checked my watch. "Ten minutes until the charges blow. We need to move."
Dominic nodded, already suited up, a waterproof bag containing weapons and essentials strapped to his back. "Stay close to me in the water. If we get separated—"
"We won't," I cut him off, refusing to consider the possibility.
He cupped my face, thumb brushing over the cuts on my cheek. "Valentina." His voice was soft but insistent. "If we get separated, head east along the shoreline. There's an old fishing cabin about two miles down. I'll meet you there."
I swallowed hard, then nodded. "East. Two miles. Fishing cabin."
"Good girl." He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead. "Ready?"
"Ready."
We moved to the stern of the boat, where the water was darkest. The survival suits would keep our core temperatures from dropping fatally, but exposure to the water would still be excruciating. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the shock.
"On three," Dominic whispered, taking my hand in his. "One... two..."
The night exploded with gunfire.
Bullets tore through the cabin behind us as a second boat appeared from around the island, its spotlight illuminating us like actors on a stage. We dropped instantly, taking cover behind the gunwale as wood splintered around us.
"Fuck!" Dominic hissed, pulling his weapon free. "They flanked us!"
My mind raced. The charges were set to blow in less than eight minutes. If we stayed on the boat, we'd die in the explosion. If we went into the water, we'd be sitting ducks for the gunmen.
"The island," I decided, pointing to the rocky shore barely thirty yards away. "We make a run for it, use the trees for cover."
Dominic nodded grimly. "I'll lay down suppressing fire. When I say go, you swim for those rocks. Don't stop, don't look back."
"We go together," I insisted, pulling my own gun free.
His eyes met mine, fierce and unyielding. "Val—"
"Together or not at all," I said firmly. "On my mark, we both fire, then go over the side. Ten seconds of swimming, then more suppressing fire. Leap-frog to shore."
A bullet punched through the hull inches from my leg, and Dominic's expression hardened. He knew I was right—our only chance was coordinated action.
"Together," he agreed, positioning himself for maximum coverage. "Ready?"
I nodded, adrenaline flooding my system, narrowing my focus to this moment, this breath, this heartbeat. "Now!"
We rose in unison, weapons blazing at the spotlight and the shadowy figures behind it. The light shattered in a shower of sparks, plunging the scene back into darkness as we threw ourselves over the side.
The cold hit like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs despite the protection of the suit. Black water closed over my head, the shock nearly paralyzing. For a terrifying moment, I couldn't remember which way was up—then Dominic's hand closed around my arm, pulling me to the surface.
We gasped for air, the sound of gunfire still echoing across the water. True to our plan, we fired back after ten seconds of swimming, aiming at the muzzle flashes now visible from the boat.
"Keep going!" Dominic shouted as we resumed swimming, the weight of our weapons and packs making progress painfully slow.
My muscles screamed in protest against the cold and exertion. Twenty yards to shore. Fifteen. We paused again to fire, then continued our desperate swim toward the dark outline of the island.
Something hot seared across my thigh—a bullet grazing through the neoprene. I bit back a scream, forcing myself to keep moving. The pain was secondary to survival.
Ten yards. Five. My hands struck rock, sharp edges cutting into my palms as I pulled myself forward. Dominic was beside me, his breathing harsh and labored, a dark stain spreading on his shoulder where he'd been hit.
"You're injured," I gasped, reaching for him.
"Later," he grunted, pulling himself onto the rocky shore. "We need cover. Now."
We scrambled up the embankment, bullets striking stone around us as we finally reached the treeline. The dense pines provided instant concealment, and we collapsed behind a fallen log, chests heaving.
"How bad?" I demanded, gesturing to his shoulder.
"Through and through," he panted. "Missed anything vital. You?"
"Graze on my thigh. I'll live." I checked my watch. "Three minutes until the charges blow."
He nodded, scanning our surroundings. "We need to put more distance between us and the shore. They'll come looking once they see the explosion."
I helped him to his feet, noting the way he favored his injured side despite his attempts to hide it. We moved deeper into the woods, the undergrowth catching at our suits, branches slapping against our faces as we pushed forward.
Behind us, the first boat had circled back, its searchlight joining the second boat's in scanning the shoreline where we'd disappeared. Voices called out in Russian, orders being shouted as they prepared to send men onto the island.
"Almost time," Dominic murmured, pulling me behind a large tree trunk about two hundred yards from shore. "Watch."
The explosion, when it came, was more spectacular than I'd anticipated. The boat erupted in a fireball that lit up the night sky, secondary explosions following as the fuel tanks ignited. The concussive force reached us even at this distance, the heat momentarily warming our frozen faces.
The distraction worked perfectly—the Russian boats immediately changed course, racing toward the burning wreckage, searchlights sweeping the water for survivors.
"Now we move," Dominic said, already pulling me deeper into the island's interior. "They'll figure out it was rigged once they get closer. We need to be on the other side by then."
We pushed through the forest, the cold seeping through our suits now that we were out of the water. Every step was agony for both of us—Dominic with his shoulder wound, me with my injured thigh—but stopping meant death.
After twenty minutes of grueling progress, we reached a small clearing. Dominic held up his hand, signaling for me to stop. He cocked his head, listening intently.
"They've landed on the island," he whispered. "I can hear them."
I strained my ears, catching the faint sound of voices carried on the wind. They were spreading out, combing the woods for us.
"How far to the other side?" I asked, checking the satellite phone to ensure it was still functional.
"Another half mile, maybe less." Dominic's face was pale in the moonlight, his breathing labored. "We need to find shelter, treat our wounds before we attempt a water crossing."
I nodded, eyeing his shoulder with concern. The bleeding had slowed, but the cold increased the risk of shock. My own leg throbbed mercilessly, the cut deeper than I'd initially thought.
We continued forward, moving as silently as possible through the underbrush. The voices behind us grew fainter as we put distance between ourselves and our pursuers, but the knowledge that they were on the island with us kept our nerves razor-sharp.
The trees thinned as we approached the eastern shore, revealing a narrow strip of rocky beach. In the distance, I could make out the dim outline of another island, perhaps a mile across open water.
"We can't swim that far," I said, assessing the distance with a sinking heart. "Not in our condition, not in this cold."
Dominic scanned the shoreline, his gaze settling on a small structure partially hidden among the trees to our right. "There," he pointed. "Looks like a maintenance shed or maybe an old boathouse."
We approached cautiously, weapons ready. The building was indeed a boathouse, long abandoned based on its weathered appearance, but still structurally sound. Dominic tried the door—locked.
"Stand back," he murmured, then slammed his boot against the lock. The rotted wood gave way easily, the door swinging open with a protesting creak.
Inside, the air was musty but marginally warmer than outside. Moonlight filtered through a small window, illuminating the interior—and the dusty tarp covering what appeared to be a small rowboat.
"Jackpot," I breathed, moving toward it.
Dominic pulled the tarp away, revealing a surprisingly well-preserved aluminum rowboat, two oars still secured to the gunwales. He ran his hand along the hull, checking for damage.
"It's solid," he confirmed. "But we need to rest before attempting a crossing. Treat our wounds, warm up."
I nodded, already searching the small space for anything useful. A metal cabinet yielded dusty emergency blankets, a first aid kit so old the bandages had yellowed, and miraculously, a half-full bottle of whiskey.
"Looks like we weren't the first people to need emergency shelter here," I commented, holding up the bottle.
Dominic's lips quirked in a brief smile. "Fishermen always know to stash the essentials."
We peeled off our wet survival suits, the air cold against our damp clothes underneath. I helped Dominic remove his shirt to examine his shoulder wound properly.
"This is going to hurt," I warned, uncapping the whiskey.
"Do it," he said through gritted teeth.
I poured the alcohol over the entry and exit wounds, my free hand steady on his uninjured shoulder as his body tensed in pain. He didn't make a sound, but I felt the tremor that ran through him, saw the way his jaw clenched.
Using the cleanest bandages from the kit, I dressed the wound as best I could. "It needs proper medical attention, but this will hold for now."
He nodded, then gestured to my leg. "Your turn."
I stripped off my sodden pants, wincing as the fabric pulled away from the wound on my outer thigh. The bullet had carved a deep furrow across the muscle, the edges ragged and angry.
"Fuck," Dominic breathed, examining it. "That's more than a graze, Val."
"Just clean it," I said, bracing myself.
The whiskey burned like fire, and I couldn't suppress the hiss of pain that escaped me. Dominic's touch was gentle as he bandaged my thigh, his fingers lingering on my skin.
"We make quite a pair," he said softly, eyes meeting mine.
I managed a smile. "Good thing we're both too stubborn to die."
He handed me the whiskey bottle, and I took a long swallow, the liquor burning a path of warmth down to my stomach. Dominic did the same, then wrapped one of the emergency blankets around my shoulders.
"Rest," he said. "I'll take first watch."
I wanted to argue, but exhaustion was already pulling at me, the adrenaline crash hitting hard. "Wake me in two hours," I insisted. "You need rest too."
He nodded, though I suspected he had no intention of waking me until dawn. Typical Dominic—always putting my needs before his own.
I settled against the wall, the emergency blanket crackling with my movements. My hand found his, fingers intertwining.
"We're going to make it through this," I murmured, already half-asleep.
"We always do," he replied, squeezing my hand.
I drifted off to the sound of his steady breathing and the distant calls of our pursuers, still searching the island for ghosts.
---
The sharp crack of a gunshot jolted me awake. Dominic was already on his feet, weapon drawn, peering through the small window.
"They found us," he said tersely. "We need to move. Now."
I scrambled up, ignoring the protest from my injured leg. "How many?"
"At least four, coming from the west. They're sweeping the shoreline."
We gathered our supplies quickly, stuffing everything into our waterproof packs. Dominic checked the rowboat once more, then gestured to the back of the boathouse where a set of rails led down to the water.
"Help me with this," he whispered.
Together, we positioned the boat on the rails, ready to launch. I could hear voices now, closer than before, speaking rapid Russian.
"We'll have about thirty seconds from the time we open the doors until they spot us," Dominic said, eyes locked on mine. "Once we're in the water, keep your head down. I'll row."
"Your shoulder—" I began.
"Will hold," he cut me off. "I need you to return fire, keep them pinned down long enough for us to get some distance."
I nodded, checking my weapon. "Ready when you are."
He pulled me close for a brief, fierce kiss. "I love you," he said against my lips. "Whatever happens next."
"I love you too," I replied, the words still new enough to send a flutter through my chest despite the danger. "Now let's get the fuck out of here."
On Dominic's count, we heaved the doors open, the ancient hinges groaning in protest. The boat slid down the rails with a screech of metal on metal, hitting the water with a splash that seemed deafening in the pre-dawn stillness.
We were in the boat and pushing away from shore when the first shout went up. Gunfire erupted behind us, bullets striking the water as Dominic rowed with powerful strokes, his face tight with pain but his movements unwavering.
I turned, firing methodically at the shoreline, forcing our pursuers to take cover. The distance between us and the island grew steadily, but so did my awareness of our vulnerability—a small rowboat in open water, easy targets against the lightening sky.
A bullet pinged off the side of the boat, inches from my hand. Another tore through the prow. Dominic rowed relentlessly, each stroke putting precious yards between us and death.
The eastern horizon was beginning to glow with the first hint of dawn when I heard it—the distinctive whump-whump-whump of helicopter rotors.
"Dominic," I said, my voice tight. "We've got company."
He glanced over his shoulder, his expression grim as he spotted the approaching aircraft, its silhouette clear against the lightening sky.
"Under the seats," he said, not slowing his rowing. "There might be something we can use."
I searched frantically, fingers probing beneath the wooden slats. My hand closed around a small metal object—a flare gun, similar to the one we'd used to rig our boat.
"Will this help?" I asked, holding it up.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Dominic's face. "Depends on how good your aim is."
I understood immediately. The helicopter was drawing closer, searchlight sweeping the water as it homed in on our position. If I could hit the fuel tank or rotors...
"Get down," I ordered, raising the flare gun.
Dominic ducked as I took careful aim, waiting until the helicopter banked slightly, presenting its vulnerable underbelly. The moment was perfect—I squeezed the trigger.
The flare shot across the water in a brilliant arc of red light, trailing sparks as it flew toward the helicopter. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought I'd missed—then the flare struck near the tail rotor, exploding in a shower of sparks.
The helicopter lurched violently, smoke pouring from its rear section as the pilot fought for control. It veered away, losing altitude rapidly, forced to abandon its pursuit of us.
"Holy shit," Dominic breathed, straightening up. "Remind me never to piss you off."
I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, part relief and part disbelief at our continued survival. "Just keep rowing, Castellano."
He grinned, returning to his task with renewed vigor. Behind us, the helicopter had disappeared from view, presumably making an emergency landing back on the main shore. The men on the island were still firing sporadically, but we were nearly out of range now, the distance too great for accurate shooting.
As the sun crested the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, we reached the far island. Dominic guided the boat into a sheltered cove, hidden from view of our pursuers.
We dragged ourselves ashore, collapsing on the rocky beach, bodies aching and cold but alive. Dominic pulled me against him, his heart beating steadily beneath my ear.
"We made it," I murmured, watching the sun rise over the endless expanse of Lake Superior.
"For now," he replied, always the realist. "They'll regroup, send more men."
"Then we'll keep moving." I touched the waterproof case containing the flash drive. "We have what we came for. We just need to reach Quebec, find somewhere secure to examine it."
Dominic nodded, his fingers absently stroking my hair. "The fishing camp I mentioned should be on this island. If we can find it, we might be able to get supplies, maybe even another boat."
I sat up, wincing as my injured leg protested. "Then let's not waste daylight. The sooner we're off this island, the better."
He caught my face between his hands, his gaze intense. "No matter what happens, Val, this was worth it. You and me, what we've built together—it's worth every bullet, every scar, every frozen fucking lake we have to cross."
My throat tightened with emotion I rarely allowed myself to show. "When did you become such a romantic?"
"When I almost lost you. Multiple times." His thumb traced the cuts on my cheek. "Makes a man reconsider his priorities."
I leaned into his touch, allowing myself this brief moment of tenderness before we had to face the next challenge. "Let's find that fishing camp. I could use a change of clothes and a hot meal."
"And a proper bed?" he suggested, a hint of mischief in his eyes despite our dire circumstances.
"Don't push your luck, Castellano," I replied, but couldn't help smiling. "Survival first, then we can discuss more... recreational activities."
He laughed, the sound warming me more effectively than any fire could. "Yes, ma'am."
We gathered our meager supplies and set off into the interior of the island, following a faint path that suggested human presence. The sun climbed higher, drying our damp clothes and easing the bone-deep chill.
The fishing camp, when we found it, was more substantial than I'd expected—a main cabin and several smaller outbuildings, all shuttered for the winter but in good repair. A sign near the entrance read "Lake Superior Seasonal Fishing Camp - Closed October through May."
"Perfect timing," Dominic commented as we approached cautiously. "No legitimate visitors until spring."
We checked the buildings systematically, ensuring we were alone before breaking into the main cabin. Inside, it was basic but comfortable—stone fireplace, rustic furniture, and most importantly, a well-stocked pantry of non-perishable food.
"Jackpot," I said, examining the canned goods. "Enough to keep us going for days if necessary."
Dominic had discovered a small generator in one of the outbuildings and was working to get it running. "If I can get this started, we'll have heat and electricity. Might even be able to use the satellite phone to arrange transport off the island."
I nodded, already gathering supplies for a fire in the stone hearth. "First, let's warm up and treat our wounds properly. Then we can plan our next move."
Within an hour, we had a fire blazing, the generator humming steadily outside, and fresh bandages on our injuries. I'd found clean clothes in a storage chest—obviously left by the camp staff for the next season, but they fit well enough to be comfortable.
Dominic sat at the rough-hewn table, the leather-bound ledger open before him, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Anything useful?" I asked, setting two mugs of hot coffee beside him.
"More than useful," he replied, his voice tight with excitement. "This is everything, Val. Names, dates, account numbers. Petrov's entire network, laid bare."
I pulled out the flash drive, turning it over in my fingers. "Should we check this too? See if they contain the same information?"
He nodded, retrieving a laptop from his waterproof pack—one of the essential items he'd grabbed before abandoning our boat. The computer powered up slowly, battery conserved but still functional.
I inserted the flash drive, holding my breath as the files loaded. Instead of a mirror copy of the ledger, the screen filled with something unexpected—video files, dozens of them, each labeled with a name and date.
"What the hell?" Dominic murmured, leaning closer.
I clicked on one at random, and the screen filled with the image of a hotel room. A man I recognized as a U.S. Senator entered, followed by a young woman who was definitely not his wife. The timestamp in the corner showed a date from three years ago.
"Blackmail material," I realized. "Petrov wasn't just keeping records—he was gathering leverage."
We watched in silence as the video played, confirming our suspicions. This wasn't just financial transactions or business dealings—this was the raw material of coercion and control.
"Check another," Dominic suggested, his expression grim.
The second video showed a different man—this one I recognized as a high-ranking military official—accepting a briefcase from a Russian operative. The third was a corporate CEO discussing insider trading with someone clearly connected to Petrov's organization.
"This is why the ledger was so heavily protected," I said, scrolling through the dozens of files. "This isn't just evidence of corruption—it's the foundation of Petrov's power. With this, he could control people at every level of government and business."
Dominic's eyes met mine, understanding passing between us. "And now we have it."
The implications were staggering. With this information, we could do more than just protect ourselves from Petrov—we could dismantle his entire operation, expose the corruption he'd fostered, bring down powerful figures across multiple countries.
"We need to be careful how we use this," I cautioned. "The people implicated here won't just roll over. They'll come after us as hard as Petrov is."
Dominic nodded, his expression thoughtful. "We need allies. People we can trust with this information who have the resources to act on it."
"Not the FBI," I said immediately, remembering how easily they'd been compromised before. "We need someone outside the normal channels, someone with no connection to any of the people named in these files."
A slow smile spread across Dominic's face. "I might know someone. An old contact, someone who owes me a favor. He works for Interpol now, specializing in financial crimes. If anyone can use this information effectively, it's him."
"Can he be trusted?"
"As much as anyone can be," Dominic replied. "He has his own reasons for wanting to see Petrov's network dismantled. Personal reasons."
I nodded slowly. "Make the call. But not from here—we should move first, put more distance between us and Petrov's men."
Dominic agreed, closing the ledger and shutting down the laptop. "There's a maintenance shed near the dock. Might be another boat we can use, something to get us to the mainland."
We packed quickly, taking only what we needed—food, medical supplies, warm clothing, and most importantly, the evidence we'd risked everything to obtain. Outside, the day had turned bright and clear, the sun glinting off the snow-covered ground.
The maintenance shed proved to be another stroke of luck—inside was a small motorboat, winterized but still serviceable. It took Dominic less than an hour to prepare it for use, his mechanical skills proving invaluable once again.
"Ready?" he asked as we loaded our supplies.
I scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of pursuit. The island where we'd encountered Petrov's men was visible in the distance, but no boats or helicopters disturbed the peaceful scene.
"Ready," I confirmed, stepping into the boat.
As Dominic guided us away from the dock, I couldn't help looking back at the fishing camp that had provided such timely shelter. In another life, under different circumstances, it might have been a pleasant place to spend time together—fishing in the summer, watching sunsets over the lake, existing without the constant shadow of danger.
Perhaps someday, when all this was over, we could return. Not to this specific place, but to the idea of it—a simple life, free from the ghosts of our past, the threats of our present.
Dominic's hand found mine as we accelerated across the open water, his fingers intertwining with my own. No words were necessary; we both understood what was at stake, what we'd fought for, what we'd won.
The ledger and flash drive represented more than just evidence—they were our future, our freedom, our chance at a life beyond running and hiding. With them, we could finally turn the tables on Petrov, become the hunters instead of the hunted.
As the island receded behind us and the vast expanse of Lake Superior stretched before us, I felt something I hadn't experienced in a long time: hope. Not the desperate hope of survival, but the genuine belief that we could build something lasting from the ashes of our former lives.
Whatever came next—whatever dangers still lay ahead—we would face them together. And this time, we had more than just our skills and determination on our side.
We had the truth. And the truth, as they say, can set you free.
Or in our case, it could finally allow us to stop running.
"Quebec," Dominic said, pointing toward the distant shoreline. "Two days of travel, then we make the call."
I nodded, squeezing his hand. "And then?"
A smile touched his lips, genuine and unguarded. "And then we start living, Val. Really living."
For the first time in years, I believed it might actually be possible.