She moved back to her post at the slit in the wall, praying the man would say something important, hoping her father would arrive in time to put her intelligence gathering to good use. As a new voice rolled down the tunnel, rescue seemed less likely.

“We have only one more test subject,” the new, gargled voice said. “Should we send for more?”

“Not yet,” the deep voice replied. “We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention. Not until we’re ready.” There was a shifting of feet and then, “If the next one doesn’t survive we’ll use the girl.”

Fiona prayed they weren’t talking about her, but knew in her core she would soon be sitting in the dead man’s chair. What the men said next, solidified her fear.

“How will we know if she’s truly changed?”

The man fell silent for a moment and then let out a quick laugh. “This … this is perfection. What better way to punctuate King’s failure than to have his little girl put a knife through his heart. That’s our final test. She’s going to kill King.”

Chapter Sixty-Three

SIXTY-TWO

Siberia, Russia

THE FUR-COVERED CORNER seat held Rook’s weight without any trouble. And the fire burning in the nearby fireplace warmed the outside of his body as much as the vodka warmed him from within. But the creature comforts and alcohol did little to stifle the pain in his gut.

Galya was a ruthless surgeon. She had dug and cut into him without mercy, plucking the shotgun pellets from his flesh one at a time. After a grueling hour without anesthetic, she had finished and sewed him up. In the day since, he had tried to move as little as possible, lying in bed or sitting still while sipping vodka and watching Galya hustle around the cabin.

Despite her age, which she would not disclose, she was fit and energetic. She moved with efficiency and assuredness, tidying up the cabin and putting on a stew of potatoes, carrots, and meat from the reindeer she had shot and butchered.

She entered the cabin with fresh firewood, blowing on her hands to warm them. “Going to be another cold night.”

Feeling a little tipsy from all the vodka, Rook flashed her a lopsided grin and, still speaking Russian, said, “I bet I can find a way to keep you warm.”

She paused and looked at him. Her face serious and crossed with wrinkles from years of hard work. A smile spread on her face, revealing a mouth with several teeth missing. She laughed hard and sat down by the fire. “I’m more woman than you could handle, boy.”

Rook chuckled. “A real Russian bear, eh?”