Ivan

Ivan

The room was heavy with tension, the dim overhead light casting long shadows across the cold concrete floor. The smell of sweat, blood, and stale air thickened the atmosphere. Hera flexed her sore wrists, the ropes biting into her skin as she tested their resistance. No use. Whoever had tied her knew what they were doing.

Across from her, the diplomats sat motionless, their expressions hidden beneath layers of exhaustion and fear. The duct tape covering their mouths stifled any potential protests. Beside her, Thompson let out a slow breath, his posture rigid but eyes scanning the room for a way out. The guards, four of them now, lingered by the walls, their hands resting idly on their weapons.

Hera lifted her chin. "You know, it’d really be in your best interest to let us go."

A scoff came from one of the guards—the same one she had headbutted earlier. He was still nursing a swollen lip, his irritation clear in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Oh yeah?" He rolled his shoulders. "And why’s that?"

Hera smirked despite the pain. "Because you're playing a game you don't understand. If you think holding us here is going to end well for you, you're more clueless than I thought."

The guard laughed, shaking his head. "You still don’t get it, do you?"

Something in his tone made Hera's smirk falter. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He took a slow step toward her, arms crossed over his chest. "You think this is about ransom? About making some kind of political statement?" He chuckled darkly. "You have no idea what’s at stake."

Thompson stiffened beside her. "Then why don’t you enlighten us?"

The guard tilted his head, watching them with amusement, savoring their ignorance. Then he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make the moment stretch.

"This was never about kidnapping some diplomats," he said. "This was about something much larger."

Hera felt the first prick of unease. The way he said it—slow, deliberate—made the hair on her arms stand up.

She glanced at Thompson, who was already connecting the dots, his gaze sharpening with realization.

The guard’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. "You think we took these people because we needed them? No. We took them because we knew someone would come looking. Someone important."

Hera’s pulse spiked.

The pieces fell into place, jagged and cruel.

"You weren’t after the diplomats," she said, her voice quieter now. "You were after us."

The guard's smile widened. "Bingo."

A cold shudder ran down her spine.

"And now—" the guard continued, voice dripping with satisfaction, "The Watchman knows what you look like. Every single one of you."

Silence.

Thompson let out a quiet curse under his breath.

Hera swallowed hard, the weight of the revelation settling in like ice in her veins.

Someone had orchestrated this. Someone had set them up.

Someone had played a really good game on them. On the Shadow Command.

Hera’s fingers curled into fists against the restraints as her mind raced, piecing everything together at breakneck speed.

They hadn’t just walked into a trap. They had been lured into it.

Across from her, Thompson exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. "They wanted us to come," he muttered under his breath.

The guard smirked. "Sharp one, aren’t you?"

Thompson’s mind was already working, pulling at the loose ends. He thought about the way Shane and Aaron had been so easily led on a wild chase, how their leads had conveniently pointed them away from D.C. A sickening realization crawled into his gut.

"You didn’t just want us here," he said, eyes narrowing. "You wanted us out of Washington."

The guard said nothing, but his smirk deepened, telling Thompson everything he needed to know.

Hera turned her head slightly, catching Thompson’s gaze. "This whole thing was a distraction."

"What are you planning?" Hera asked, staring straight at the guard.

He narrowed his eyes. "In what world did you think I was going to tell you that?"

Thompson clenched his jaw. "They wanted us scattered, isolated. Which means whatever’s happening back home…" His voice trailed off as the final piece clicked into place.

Someone wanted them blind. And out of the way.

Thompson’s breath hitched. "Shane and Aaron."

His heart slammed against his ribs as he remembered the call. The way their location had remained unchanged. Had they been tied up? Immobilized? Or worse—had they walked straight into another trap?

A shiver ran down Hera’s spine. She thought about Shane, about Aaron. About how they had no idea what was waiting for them.

A scuffling noise outside the door made them all freeze.

The guard’s smirk faded. His head snapped toward the sound.

Another noise, this time a heavy thud, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor.

The guard tensed. "What the hell was that?"

One of the other masked men stepped forward, reaching for the handle. "I’ll check."

He pulled the door open just wide enough to step through—

THUD.

A sickening crunch. The sound of something—someone—hitting the ground with force.

The remaining guards stiffened, exchanging uneasy glances.

Hera felt her pulse hammering in her ears.

It was them.

Another guard cursed under his breath and moved toward the door, hesitation creeping into his movements. He gripped his gun, pushing the door open a little wider—

Another thud.

This time, louder.

This time, closer.

A deep silence followed. The air in the room thickened, suffocating.

The lead guard’s fingers twitched around his weapon, his bravado cracking just enough for Hera to see the first hint of fear.

She smiled.

"Told you," she whispered.

The door burst open.

The door slammed against the wall as Shane and Aaron stormed in, guns drawn.

Chaos erupted.

The remaining two guards barely had time to react before Shane lunged at the closest one, slamming the butt of his gun into the man’s ribs. The guard grunted, doubling over in pain, but Shane didn’t give him time to recover. He spun, driving his elbow into the back of the man’s head, sending him crashing to the floor.

The second guard reached for his weapon, but Aaron was faster. He sprinted across the room, his coat flaring as he grabbed the man's wrist, twisting it at an angle that made the gun clatter to the ground. The guard hissed in pain, throwing a wild punch with his free hand, but Aaron ducked and drove his knee into the man’s stomach.

The guard staggered back, gasping, but Aaron didn’t let up. He slammed his shoulder into the man, knocking him against the wall. Before the guard could recover, Aaron grabbed a chair and swung it hard. The wooden frame splintered as it connected with the man’s head, sending him sprawling.

Shane was still locked in combat with the first guard, who had recovered enough to throw a punch of his own. Shane dodged, barely, the man’s knuckles grazing his jaw. With a growl, Shane grabbed the man’s wrist and yanked, using the momentum to twist the guard’s arm behind his back. A pained grunt escaped the man’s lips before Shane delivered a swift kick to the back of his knees, forcing him down.

From the corner of his eye, Aaron saw movement. Another guard—one they had missed—was raising his gun, aiming straight for Shane.

Aaron didn’t think.

He grabbed the knife lying near Hera’s foot and launched forward. The guard was just about to pull the trigger when Aaron drove the blade into his side.

The man gasped, his gun firing wildly as he staggered back. The bullet ricocheted off the wall, sending plaster flying. Shane turned, eyes wide as the guard collapsed, the knife still buried in his side.

Breathing heavily, Aaron stepped back, adjusting his glasses.

Shane let out a breath, half amused, half stunned. "What’s this, twice in one day? You my knight in shining armor or something?"

Aaron smirked slightly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Something like that."

Before they could exchange another word, Hera’s voice cut through the air.

"You two can kiss and make up later," she snapped. "Get me the hell out of here!"

Shane and Aaron rushed over, quickly untying Hera and Thompson. Hera wasted no time in shaking off the ropes and rolling her shoulders.

Thompson glanced at the bomb strapped to her ankle, his expression grim. "Aaron—"

"Already on it," Aaron said, kneeling down. His fingers moved swiftly over the device, analyzing its structure.

Shane crouched beside him, watching the bomb continue to tick rapidly. "How much time do we have?"

Aaron exhaled sharply. "Less than ten minutes. We need to move fast."

His fingers flew over the bomb strapped to Hera’s ankle, his mind working faster than the ticking countdown. The device was compact but intricate—whoever had built it wasn’t an amateur. He recognized the type. The detonator was pressure-sensitive, which meant any wrong move could set it off early.

"You sure you can do this?" Shane asked, crouching beside him.

Aaron pushed his glasses up. "Would you rather I say no?"

Shane huffed but didn’t push further.

Hera remained still, her face composed, but Aaron could see the tension in her shoulders. The bomb was designed to hold her hostage—to keep her from fighting back. And yet, even with a literal ticking time bomb strapped to her, she sat perfectly still, trusting Aaron to do his job.

"Okay," Aaron muttered under his breath, fingers steady as he reached for the internal mechanism. "Here goes nothing."

A sharp click. The timer froze.

Aaron exhaled as the countdown on the small screen flickered off. He had frozen the detonation mechanism in place, rendering the device useless.

Hera smirked, flexing her ankle. "Took you long enough."

"Sorry," Aaron shot back, standing up and pushing his glasses up his nose. "We had to take some... maneuvers."

Thompson let out a low breath. "We need to go. Now."

Shane wasted no time. He grabbed one of the unconscious guards’ guns and gestured for everyone to move. "Hera, grab the diplomats. Aaron, take the rear."

As they moved toward the exit, Shane kept his gun raised, ready for any last-minute resistance. But the hallways were eerily quiet—whoever was left must have retreated. That only unsettled him more.

They reached the exit, pushing open the heavy metal doors. The cold air bit at their faces as they emerged into the night.

Thompson pulled out his phone, already dialing. "Jacob, we have the diplomats. Tell me you’ve got an extraction plan."

Jacob’s voice came through, crackling over the line. "A plane’s inbound to your location. ETA thirty minutes. Get to the rendezvous point."

"Copy that," Thompson said, hanging up.

They moved quickly through the facility’s perimeter, sticking to the shadows. When they finally reached the clearing where the extraction was set to take place, the tension in Aaron’s chest eased slightly. They had done it. They had gotten everyone out alive.

The sound of approaching rotor blades signaled their ride arriving. The plane touched down, and one by one, the diplomats were loaded inside.

Shane clapped Aaron on the back. "Not bad, Johnson."

Aaron just nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.

As the plane disappeared into the sky, the three of them turned back toward their vehicle, exhaustion creeping in.

"We should head back," Hera said. "We need to regroup."

They drove in silence, adrenaline fading into exhaustion. By the time they arrived back at the motel, it was well past midnight.

Inside, Alberta was still waiting at the front desk, arms crossed.

"Long night?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You have no idea," Shane muttered.

Alberta smiled, then gestured toward the kitchen. "Well, my son’s still waiting for you, Mr. Harold."

Aaron sighed, rubbing his temples. "Right. Okay. I’ll go say hi."

The others headed for their rooms while Aaron made his way into the kitchen. The moment he stepped inside, he froze.

Standing by the counter, knives in both hands, was the last person Aaron expected to see. His breath caught in his throat.

He could still see the wounds from the scratches he left across his face back in the facility earlier this evening

Alberta beamed. "Mr. Harold, meet my son. Ivan."

Aaron swallowed hard, the stupid name Shane had given him coming straight into his mind.

Red-Red.

Why was Red-Red talking to him in the motel's kitchen?

"It's nice to meet you Mr... Harold, was it?"

Aaron exhaled slowly, feeling the room close in on him.

"Oh, f..."