The words hung in the air, thick and poisonous. They took her.
Pavel was hyperventilating, his face slick with a cold sweat. Kato stood frozen, a pale, porcelain statue whose eyes were locked on Jake.
Jake's mind was a white-hot storm. Calculations, probabilities, and one single, repeating thought.
He knew. He was watching me. This was a direct message.
"We have to do something!" Pavel finally exploded, the words tearing from his throat. He lunged forward, grabbing the front of Jake's coat. "Now, Koba! We have to find her!"
His knuckles were white, his eyes wild with a cocktail of terror and guilt.
"We sent her into the fire! I did this!" he choked out, the memory of that Parisian cafe twisting in his gut. "You can't just stand there making calculations. She is one of ours!"
Jake didn't move. He let Pavel hold him, his own body rigid as iron. His gaze was distant, seeing not the panicked man in front of him, but the cold, smiling face of his true enemy.
"Let go of me, Pavel," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.
"No! Not until you listen! Her life is on the line!"
Jake's hands shot up and grabbed Pavel's shoulders. He shoved him back, hard, sending him stumbling against the map table. Papers rustled to the floor.
"And what do you propose we do?" Jake snarled, stepping into Pavel's space, his voice a low, menacing growl. "Storm the streets? Kick in every door? Announce our presence to the entire city?"
He poked a finger into Pavel's chest. "This is what he wants! For us to panic. To get emotional. To run blindly into a trap he has already set."
Pavel stared at him, his mouth agape. He saw no empathy in Jake's eyes. Only ice.
"She is a soldier, Pavel!" Jake's voice was brutal, cutting. "And soldiers get captured! That is the risk. That is the job we gave her."
He leaned in closer, his whisper more terrifying than a shout. "Do you want to honor her sacrifice by getting us all killed? Or will you control yourself and let me think?"
Before Pavel could answer, the door opened. Murat stood there, his massive frame filling the doorway. He held a small, grubby envelope in his hand.
"A boy delivered this," Murat grunted. "Said it was for the Warlock."
Jake snatched the envelope. His fingers didn't tremble as he tore it open. He pulled out a single sheet of cheap, flimsy paper.
The writing was neat. Precise. Four simple words.
The Professor for the Girl.
Below them was an address and a time. Midnight. Tomorrow.
A wave of nausea hit Jake so hard he almost staggered. It wasn't about him. It wasn't about revenge or money.
It was a strategic decapitation strike. Stern had correctly identified Ipatieff as the brain, the nuclear weapon at the heart of their entire operation.
He wanted Jake to trade his most valuable asset for a single, captured agent.
The room was utterly silent. Even Pavel was speechless, the horror of the demand silencing his grief. He understood. They all understood.
Giving up Ipatieff would gut their kingdom. It would render their German funding useless, turning them into just another gang of radicals. Refusing meant leaving Sofia to die.
Pavel looked at Jake, his eyes pleading. He was no strategist. He was a man who saw a friend in a cage.
Kato looked at Jake, her expression unreadable. She was a spymaster. She was waiting for the commander's decision, no matter how terrible.
Jake stared at the note. He felt the two halves of his soul tearing apart. The 21st-century man who screamed to save the innocent. The 20th-century monster who knew the cold, hard math of power.
He wants me to choose, Jake thought, the words a cold whisper in his mind. He wants me to bleed an asset or bleed a soul. He thinks he's trapped me.
Jake crumpled the note in his fist.
I will not lose either. I will break his fingers instead.
He turned his back on them both. He walked over to the corner of the room where a small, discreet travel bag sat waiting. The bag for Petrograd.
He opened it and began checking its contents. A spare pistol. Forged papers. A roll of currency.
Pavel watched him, his face a mask of disbelief and dawning horror.
"What are you doing?" he whispered. "The exchange is tomorrow night. We have to make a plan."
Jake ignored him, methodically placing a box of ammunition into the bag.
"Koba?" Pavel's voice grew louder, cracking with desperation. "What are you doing? You're leaving?"
He took a step forward. "You're abandoning her?"
Jake finally stopped. He slowly closed the bag, the click of the latch echoing in the silent room.
He didn't look at Pavel. His eyes found Kato's across the room. He gave an order that was also a vow, an act of impossible, desperate faith that would change everything between them forever.
"I am going to Petrograd," he said, his voice calm and absolute.
"You will get her back."