Page 52 of Hunt Me, Daddy

“She will hate you.”

“Yes.”

“Are you prepared for that?”

No.

“Yes.”

Sergei stared at me for a long moment, then nodded once, as if I had confirmed something he had already decided.

“Then make the conference count,” he said.

He left without another word. That was Sergei. He never provided comfort or gave permission, just handed you the consequences of your actions placed neatly on the table before he walked away.

I spent the rest of the day refining the operation.

Operation.

That word became funnier each time I used it.

By evening, Mara sent the final note.

Mara:She confirmed for the roundtable. I told her there would be one person there she’d either enjoy arguing with or want to strangle.

Me:Did you tell her which?

Mara:I said perhaps both.

I looked at the message and smiled for the first time in hours.

Me:Accurate.

Mara:I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?

Me:Probably.

Mara:Try not to ruin the conference.

Me:No promises.

I closed the channel.

Kit was coming.

And for the first time, she would look at me with no glass between us. No reflection. No fire escape. No screen. No doorway shadow swallowing my face before she could resolve the outline.

She would know my name.

* * *

I left the Iron Wolf before dawn on Thursday.

The city was still half-asleep. The waterfront carried the smell of salt, wet stone, diesel, and early traffic. Delivery trucks groaned along the curb. A runner passed with earbuds in, oblivious to everything around him.

The conference venue rose ahead of me. It was the sort of building designed to host people with lanyards, catered lunches, and opinions.

I stood across the street and looked at the entrance.