"They found us."
Dominic's voice cut through the early morning silence, snapping me from the half-sleep I'd fallen into against his chest. The caretaker's cabin had been our sanctuary for six precious hours—just long enough to tend our wounds, make desperate love against the rough wood wall, and collapse into fitful rest.
I was on my feet in seconds, gun in hand, my body operating on pure instinct. "How far?"
"Two miles, maybe less. Three vehicles approaching from the south." His face was tight with tension as he shoved extra magazines into his pockets. "We've got five minutes, max."
"Fuck." I yanked on my clothes, ignoring the stiffness in my muscles and the dull ache of bruises Sergei had left on my throat. "The truck?"
"Too risky. They'll be watching the roads." Dominic was already stuffing supplies into a small backpack—water, protein bars, first aid supplies. "We go on foot through the forest. I've got a contact with a boat fifteen miles north. It's our best shot at the border."
Fifteen miles through dense forest with Petrov's men on our tail. The math wasn't great, but it beat the alternative.
"Let me see your head." I tilted his face toward the dim light filtering through the window. The gash above his temple had stopped bleeding, but the skin around it was angry and swollen. Concussion, definitely. "You good to run?"
He caught my wrist, pressing a hard kiss to my palm. "I'm not the one with handprints on my throat."
"I'm fine," I lied, swallowing past the rawness. "But if you pass out on me, I'm leaving your ass for the wolves."
His laugh was dark and sharp. "No, you fucking won't."
No, I fucking wouldn't. That truth had crystallized in Petrov's compound when I'd refused to leave without him. Some principles were worth dying for. Dominic Castellano had somehow become one of them.
He pressed a Glock into my hand—not the weapon I'd used yesterday, but a fresh one from his seemingly endless supply of contingency equipment. "Eight rounds left in mine. Yours is full. Make them count."
I tucked it into my waistband, the weight familiar against my spine. "Plan?"
"Head northeast through the densest part of the forest. There's a river about five miles out. We follow it north to the contact point." He peered through a gap in the wooden slats covering the window. "They're splitting up to circle the area. Standard search pattern."
"How many?"
"At least eight that I can see. Probably more."
I swore under my breath. Eight trained killers against the two of us, with Dominic nursing a concussion and me still feeling the effects of Sergei's attempt to crush my windpipe. Not great odds, but I'd survived worse.
"Petrov?"
Dominic's face hardened. "Can't tell, but after what we did to his compound? He's coming for us himself."
Of course he was. We'd humiliated him, destroyed his security systems, stolen his most closely guarded secrets, and blown up half his operation. This wasn't just business anymore—it was personal.
"Ready?" Dominic glanced at me, something fierce and possessive flashing in his eyes.
I nodded, forcing my mind to clear. "Let's fucking go."
We slipped out the back door into the gray pre-dawn light, moving silently through the underbrush. The forest floor was damp with dew, muffling our footsteps as we picked our way through the trees. Every sense was heightened—the sharp scent of pine, the distant call of birds, the whisper of wind through leaves.
And then—the unmistakable crackle of a radio.
Dominic froze, pulling me down into a crouch behind a fallen log. Less than fifty yards away, a dark figure moved between the trees, rifle scanning the undergrowth. We remained perfectly still, barely breathing, as the man passed within twenty feet of our position.
"Area four, negative contact," the man reported in accented English. "Continuing search pattern."
When he was safely past, Dominic tapped my arm and pointed northeast. We moved again, faster now, staying low to the ground.
For an hour, we made steady progress, using every trick in the book to avoid leaving a trail—walking on rocks, doubling back, crossing small streams. My lungs burned and my thighs ached, but adrenaline kept me moving. Behind us, occasionally, came distant shouts as Petrov's men communicated.
They were drawing closer.
"We need to pick up the pace," Dominic murmured as we paused to catch our breath behind a massive pine. "They're gaining on us."
I nodded, wiping sweat from my face. "If we can make it to the river—"
The crack of a rifle shot cut me off, the bullet splintering bark inches from my head.
"Down!" Dominic shoved me hard, both of us rolling behind the trunk as a second shot rang out. "Shit!"
"Contact! Northeast quadrant!" A voice shouted from the direction of the shots.
We were made.
"Run!" Dominic fired three quick shots toward our attacker, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. "Go, go, go!"
We sprinted through the trees, abandoning stealth for speed. Gunfire erupted behind us, bullets whizzing past and thudding into trees. My heart hammered against my ribs, feet flying over roots and rocks. Dominic stayed at my side, turning occasionally to fire back, providing covering fire.
"There!" I spotted a steep ravine ahead, a small creek running through it. "Down there—we can use the water to throw them off!"
We half-ran, half-slid down the embankment, my boots slipping on the loose soil. The creek was shallow but fast-moving, the water ice-cold as we splashed into it.
"Follow it downstream," Dominic directed, keeping his voice low. "It feeds into the main river about a mile ahead."
We moved as quickly as the slippery creek bed would allow, using the water to hide our tracks. Above us, shouts and the crash of bodies through undergrowth told us our pursuers had reached the ravine.
"Spread out! They went into the water!"
"They can't have gone far—find them!"
Dominic pulled me into a small hollow beneath an overhanging bank, water running past our ankles as we pressed ourselves into the shadows. His body was tense against mine, breath controlled and even despite the exertion. I could feel his heart pounding where his chest met my back.
"When they get closer," he whispered directly into my ear, "I'll create a diversion. You keep going downstream. Don't stop until you reach the river."
I turned my head sharply, meeting his eyes in the dim light. "No fucking way. We stay together."
"Val—"
"No." My fingers dug into his arm. "We split up at the compound, and you nearly didn't make it out. We go together or not at all."
A complex emotion flickered across his face—frustration, admiration, something deeper I couldn't name. "You're fucking stubborn, you know that?"
"Learned from the best." I managed a tight smile. "You got any of those explosives left?"
His eyes narrowed, then lit with understanding. "One. Small charge, remote detonator."
"Plant it upstream. When they're searching the water, blow it. The distraction gives us time to reach the river."
He nodded. "Good plan. Stay here."
Dominic slipped silently from our hiding place, moving upstream along the edge of the creek. I watched him disappear around a bend, my gun ready in case any of Petrov's men appeared. Three minutes later—though it felt like thirty—he was back, water dripping from his clothes.
"Set," he confirmed. "About two hundred yards up, where the creek narrows between some boulders. When it blows, we move."
The next ten minutes were excruciating. We huddled in silence as voices grew louder, multiple sets of footsteps splashing through the water. They were methodically searching the creek, getting closer with each passing minute.
"Nothing here! Check further downstream!"
"The tracks lead this way—they have to be close!"
Dominic's finger hovered over the detonator. His eyes met mine, a silent question. I nodded once.
He pressed the button.
The explosion wasn't massive, but in the quiet forest, it sounded like thunder. The ground shook beneath us, followed immediately by shouts of alarm.
"What the fuck was that?"
"Ambush! Move, move!"
The sounds of splashing water and running feet headed upstream, away from us.
"Now," Dominic mouthed, and we burst from our hiding place, racing downstream as fast as the creek bed would allow.
We covered nearly half a mile before the creek widened, the water growing deeper and faster. Ahead, I could hear the rushing sound of a larger body of water.
"The river," I gasped, relief flooding through me.
That relief was short-lived. As we rounded a bend, a figure stepped out from behind a tree directly in our path, rifle raised.
"Stop right there."
I froze, Dominic a half-step behind me. The man before us was tall, heavily muscled, with a face I recognized from Petrov's security team. His rifle was aimed at my chest, steady and unwavering.
"Hands where I can see them," he ordered in heavily accented English. "Now."
I raised my hands slowly, mind racing for options. The gun at my back was useless—I'd never reach it before he fired. Dominic stood perfectly still beside me, hands similarly raised.
"Petrov wants you alive," the man said, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "But he didn't specify undamaged."
"That's a shame," I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Because I was really hoping to kill more of you assholes today."
The man's smile widened. "Brave words from someone about to be on their knees."
"I don't think so." Dominic's voice was ice-cold.
What happened next unfolded in seconds. Dominic's hand flicked outward—I hadn't even seen him palm the knife—and the blade buried itself in the gunman's throat. The rifle discharged as he fell, the bullet ripping through the trees above our heads.
"Fuck!" I gasped, adrenaline surging through me anew. "That shot will bring them all down on us."
"Then we better run." Dominic grabbed the dead man's rifle, checking the magazine before slinging it over his shoulder. "The river's just ahead."
We crashed through the underbrush, the sound of the river growing louder. When we broke through the treeline, the sight took my breath away—not a gentle, flowing river, but a churning rapids, water foaming white over rocks as it carved its way through the forest.
"This is your escape route?" I shouted over the roar.
Dominic's eyes scanned the rushing water. "We follow it, we don't get in it."
But even as he spoke, shouts erupted from the forest behind us. Petrov's men had heard the shot and were closing in fast.
"No time." I pointed downstream. "We need to cross. Now."
The look he gave me was pure disbelief. "Are you fucking insane? That current will—"
"Kill us slower than bullets will." I was already moving toward the edge. "There's a fallen tree about fifty yards down. We can use it to cross."
The tree in question had fallen across the narrowest part of the river, its massive trunk creating a precarious bridge. Water foamed around it, occasionally washing over portions of the log.
"That's a suicide run," Dominic growled, but he followed me anyway, both of us sprinting along the riverbank.
Behind us, the first of Petrov's men emerged from the trees, shouting when they spotted us. Gunfire erupted, bullets kicking up dirt at our feet.
We reached the fallen tree just as a bullet grazed my arm, tearing through my sleeve and leaving a burning line across my skin. I gasped at the sudden pain but didn't stop, scrambling onto the log.
"Go!" Dominic positioned himself between me and our pursuers, returning fire with the stolen rifle. "I'll cover you!"
The log was slick with spray and moss, requiring all my concentration to navigate. I moved as quickly as I dared, arms outstretched for balance, the raging water a dizzying blur beneath me. Halfway across, I glanced back to see Dominic backing toward the log, still firing methodically at the men on the bank.
"Dominic, come on!"
He fired one last shot, then turned and ran toward me, leaping onto the log with far less caution than I'd shown. The wood creaked ominously beneath our combined weight.
"Move, move!" he urged, practically on my heels as we inched across.
We were three-quarters of the way across when I heard a sound that turned my blood to ice—the sharp crack of splintering wood. The log shifted beneath us, beginning to roll.
"Jump!" Dominic's hand slammed into my back, propelling me forward with all his strength.
I flew through the air, arms windmilling, and crashed onto the opposite bank, rolling through mud and rocks. Pain shot through my shoulder, but I ignored it, spinning around just in time to see the log give way completely—with Dominic still on it.
"No!" I screamed as he plunged into the churning water.
For one terrifying moment, he disappeared completely beneath the white foam. Then his head broke the surface twenty feet downstream, arms fighting against the current. The river slammed him against a boulder, and I heard his grunt of pain even over the roar of the water.
Without thinking, I raced along the bank, keeping pace with him as the current carried him downstream. Petrov's men were firing from the opposite shore, but they were too far away now for accuracy, their bullets harmlessly hitting the water.
"Grab something!" I shouted, watching helplessly as Dominic was swept further downstream.
His hand shot out as he passed another fallen tree, fingers closing around a branch that extended into the water. His body jerked to a halt, the full force of the current straining against his grip.
I scrambled down the bank, edging as close to the water as I dared. "Hold on!"
"What the fuck else would I do?" he gasped, his face contorted with effort.
Despite everything, a laugh bubbled up in my throat. Even half-drowned, the man was impossible.
I lay flat on the muddy bank, extending my arm as far as I could. "Reach for me!"
Dominic's eyes met mine, and I saw the calculation there—the distance, the current, the likelihood of success. Then his jaw set with determination. He began to pull himself along the branch, fighting the water every inch of the way.
"Come on," I urged, stretching until my shoulder screamed in protest. "Just a little more."
Our fingers brushed, slipped past each other. I inched closer to the edge, ignoring the danger of the crumbling bank. This time, his hand clasped mine, wet and cold but strong.
"I've got you," I promised, bracing myself as best I could. "I've got you."
With a grunt of effort, I pulled while he pushed off the branch with his legs. For one heart-stopping moment, I thought the current would win—then he was half on the bank, clawing his way up beside me.
We collapsed together in the mud, gasping for breath. Across the river, Petrov's men were running along the shore, looking for their own place to cross.
"We need to move," I panted, forcing myself upright. "They'll find a way across eventually."
Dominic rolled onto his back, water streaming from his clothes. "Give me... one fucking minute."
I allowed myself a quick smile, running my hand over his face to push back his sodden hair. "One minute. Then we run again."
He caught my hand, pressing a fierce kiss to my palm. "You saved my life."
"Just returning the favor." I glanced across the river, tension returning as I spotted movement. "Actually, minute's up. Let's go."
Dominic groaned but pushed himself to his feet, water squelching in his boots. "North," he said, orienting himself. "Another ten miles. If we keep moving, we can make it by nightfall."
I nodded, taking his hand as we plunged back into the forest, leaving the river behind us. We moved at a steady jog, conserving energy while putting distance between us and our pursuers. The gunshot wound on my arm stung with every movement, but it was superficial—a graze that had already stopped bleeding.
For hours, we pushed on through the forest. Occasionally, distant shouts or the crack of branches told us Petrov's men were still on our trail, but the river crossing had bought us valuable time. The terrain grew increasingly rugged, the forest giving way to rocky outcroppings that forced us to climb rather than run.
By mid-afternoon, exhaustion was setting in. My legs trembled with each step, and Dominic's breathing had grown labored, his face pale beneath the grime.
"We need to rest," I finally said as we crested yet another ridge. "Just for a few minutes."
He looked ready to argue, then nodded, sinking down behind a large boulder that shielded us from view. I collapsed beside him, muscles screaming in protest.
"Water?" I rasped, my throat painfully dry.
Dominic handed me the bottle from his backpack, miraculously intact despite his plunge into the river. I took a careful sip, then passed it back to him.
"How's the head?" I asked, noticing the way he winced when he moved.
"Fucking hurts." He touched the wound gingerly. "But I'll live."
"You better." I leaned against him, drawing strength from his solidity. "I didn't go through all this just to watch you die in the woods."
His arm circled my shoulders, pulling me closer. "Same goes for you, Shade."
The old nickname sent a wave of nostalgia through me. It felt like a lifetime ago that I'd walked into his club, determined to destroy him. Now I couldn't imagine a world without him in it.
"We're going to make it," I said, as much to convince myself as him. "We're going to cross that border, disappear, start over."
"Together," he added, his voice low and certain.
"Together," I agreed, the word a promise.
We allowed ourselves five precious minutes of rest before pushing on, the sun beginning its westward descent. The forest thinned as we traveled north, making it harder to stay concealed but easier to maintain our pace.
As dusk approached, Dominic stopped suddenly, raising a hand for silence. I froze, listening. At first, I heard nothing but the rustle of leaves and our own breathing. Then—a mechanical sound, distant but distinct.
"Boat engine," Dominic whispered, a spark of hope lighting his eyes. "We're close."
The sound drove us forward with renewed energy, stumbling through gathering darkness toward what might be our salvation. After another mile, the trees opened onto a small cove, the dark water of a lake stretching before us. And there, bobbing gently near the shore, was a small motorboat.
"Your contact?" I whispered.
Dominic nodded, scanning the area carefully. "Andrei. Former Bratva who owes me a favor. Not the most trustworthy, but he hates Petrov more than he hates me."
A figure stood on the boat, barely visible in the failing light. He raised a hand in greeting, then pointed urgently to his watch.
"He's getting impatient," Dominic murmured. "Let's not keep him waiting."
We moved cautiously from the tree line, alert for any sign of ambush. The rocky shore crunched beneath our feet as we approached the water's edge.
"Alexei," the man on the boat called softly, using Dominic's cover name. "You look like shit."
"Feel worse," Dominic replied. "We clear?"
"For now." Andrei glanced nervously at the darkening sky. "But we need to move. My sources say Petrov has called in reinforcements from Detroit. Helicopters, maybe."
My stomach dropped. Helicopters would make short work of finding us, even in the dense forest.
"Then let's go," I said, wading into the cold water toward the boat.
Andrei's eyes narrowed as he took in my appearance. "This is her? The one who killed Sergei?"
I met his gaze unflinchingly. "Got a problem with that?"
A slow smile spread across his weathered face. "Not at all. The man was a sadistic prick. Come aboard."
We climbed onto the small vessel, a sturdy fishing boat with an enclosed cabin and a powerful outboard motor. Inside the cabin, Andrei had stacked supplies—food, water, first aid, dry clothes.
"Canadian side is ten miles across," he explained as Dominic and I stripped off our wet, filthy outer layers. "I'll get you as close as I can, but you'll need to swim the last hundred yards. Border patrol."
I nodded, pulling on a dry sweater with grateful hands. "What about you?"
"I fish these waters all the time. Nothing suspicious about me being out after dark." He handed each of us a small waterproof bag. "ID, cash, phone numbers. Everything you need to disappear once you hit Canada."
"Thank you," I said, meaning it.
Andrei shrugged. "Don't thank me. Thank him." He nodded toward Dominic. "Whatever he did for you must have been something special."
I glanced at Dominic, who was changing into dry clothes with methodical efficiency. His body was a map of fresh bruises and old scars, each one a story of survival. When he caught me looking, his eyes softened, just for a moment.
"It was," I said simply.
Andrei fired up the engine, the boat sliding smoothly away from shore. I moved to the stern, watching the dark outline of the forest recede. Somewhere in those trees, Petrov's men were still searching, their hunt now futile.
Dominic joined me, his arm circling my waist as the shore disappeared into darkness.
"We made it," I murmured, leaning into him.
"Not quite yet," he cautioned, ever the pragmatist. "But close."
The boat cut through the black water, leaving a phosphorescent wake behind us. Above, stars began to appear, pinpricks of light in the vast darkness. I tilted my face up, letting the cool night air wash over me.
For the first time in days—in years, maybe—I allowed myself to believe in a future. One where we weren't running, weren't fighting, weren't trapped in a cycle of violence and revenge. A future where we could just... be.
"What are you thinking?" Dominic asked, his voice low against my ear.
I turned in his arms, studying his face in the dim light from the cabin. The man who had been my enemy, my obsession, my partner, my lover. The man who had become, against all odds, my home.
"I'm thinking that I never expected this," I admitted. "Any of it. You."
His thumb traced the line of my jaw, eyes never leaving mine. "Regrets?"
"Not one." I leaned up, brushing my lips against his. "You?"
"Only that I didn't find you sooner."
The kiss that followed was gentle, almost reverent—so different from the desperate passion we'd shared in the caretaker's cabin. This was a promise, a beginning rather than an end.
It was Andrei who broke the moment, calling from the cabin. "Company! Six o'clock!"
We spun toward the shore we'd left behind. In the distance, pinpricks of light bounced through the trees—flashlights, moving fast toward the water.
"Fuck," Dominic swore, his body tensing. "They found our trail."
Andrei throttled up the engine, the boat leaping forward with a surge of power. "They'll have boats of their own nearby. We need to move."
I squinted into the darkness, trying to gauge the distance to the invisible border ahead of us. "How much further?"
"Six miles, maybe seven," Andrei replied grimly. "We've got a head start, but—"
The rest of his sentence was lost in the sudden roar of an engine—much larger than ours—somewhere to our right.
"Down!" Dominic shoved me to the deck as a spotlight cut through the darkness, sweeping across the water.
"Patrol boat," Andrei hissed, cutting the engine to idle. "Border security."
We huddled in silence as the larger vessel moved past, its spotlight methodically searching the lake. Once it was safely past, Andrei cautiously restarted the engine, keeping it low enough to minimize noise.
"Change of plans," he said. "We can't risk crossing with patrols out. There's an island about two miles ahead—uninhabited, dense forest. I'll drop you there. You can lay low until morning, then make the crossing."
Dominic's face was grim in the dim light. "And if Petrov's men find boats?"
"They'll have the same problem with the patrols," Andrei reasoned. "They can't use spotlights without attracting attention. In the dark, they'll have trouble finding the island, let alone you on it."
It wasn't ideal, but it was our best option. I nodded my agreement, and Dominic did the same after a moment's hesitation.
We continued at a reduced speed, the boat barely making a ripple as Andrei guided it expertly through the darkness. After what felt like an eternity, a darker shadow loomed ahead—the island, a low hump rising from the water.
"There," Andrei murmured, steering toward a small cove on the southern side. "Natural harbor. You can pull the boat up and hide it in the undergrowth."
As we approached the shore, I could make out a narrow strip of pebbly beach, then dense trees rising behind it. The perfect place to disappear—or to be trapped.
"What about you?" Dominic asked as Andrei cut the engine, letting momentum carry us the last few yards.
"I'll lead them away, make them think you continued north." Andrei handed Dominic a small radio. "Channel three. I'll contact you when it's clear to cross."
The boat gently nudged the shore, and we jumped out, pulling it further onto the beach. Working quickly, we gathered our supplies—the waterproof bags, weapons, food and water for a day.
"Spasibo," Dominic said, clasping Andrei's hand firmly.
The older man nodded. "Ne popadis'."
Don't get caught. Solid advice.
We pushed the boat back into the water, watching as Andrei guided it silently away from the island, vanishing into the darkness. Then we were alone, the quiet of the island settling around us.
"Let's find cover," Dominic murmured, already moving toward the tree line.
We made our way inland, picking carefully through the dense undergrowth. The island wasn't large—perhaps half a mile across—but the terrain was rugged, rising to a central hill crowned with pines. We headed for high ground, looking for a vantage point.
At the top of the hill, a fallen tree created a natural shelter, its massive root system forming a wall on one side. We crawled beneath it, the ground surprisingly dry under its protective canopy of roots and dirt.
"Home sweet home," I murmured, arranging our meager supplies.
Dominic checked the radio, then set it aside. "We should take turns sleeping. Four hours on, four off."
I nodded, though sleep seemed impossible with my nerves still jangling from the day's chase. "I'll take first watch."
He looked ready to argue, then seemed to think better of it. "Wake me if anything moves out there."
I watched as he settled back against the dirt wall, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion. Within minutes, his breathing had deepened, face relaxing in sleep. Even unconscious, he kept one hand near his weapon—the habits of survival too deeply ingrained to abandon completely.
Turning my attention outward, I listened to the night sounds of the island—the rustle of leaves, small animals moving in the underbrush, the distant lap of water against the shore. From this height, I could see patches of the lake through the trees, the water reflecting starlight like scattered diamonds.
Hours passed in quiet vigilance. Twice, I spotted boats moving across the lake, but neither approached the island. Eventually, the eastern sky began to lighten, the first hint of dawn breaking over the horizon.
I touched Dominic's shoulder gently. "Hey."
He woke instantly, fully alert, hand already reaching for his weapon.
"Just me," I murmured. "Sun's coming up."
He relaxed marginally, running a hand over his face. "Any visitors?"
"Couple of boats passed by. Nothing close."
Dominic checked the radio, frowning at its continued silence. "Andrei should have contacted us by now."
A tendril of unease curled through my stomach. "Maybe he couldn't get away cleanly."
"Maybe." His expression was guarded, thinking through scenarios. "Or maybe he sold us out."
The possibility hung between us, ugly but impossible to dismiss. In our world, betrayal was always an option, loyalty always conditional.
"If he did," I said carefully, "they'll be coming for us soon."
Dominic nodded, already gathering our supplies. "We need to be ready to move. With or without his signal."
We repacked our bags in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. The island felt smaller in the growing light, our options more limited. The Canadian shore was visible now, a dark line on the horizon, tantalizingly close yet impossibly far without a boat.
The radio crackled suddenly, making us both jump.
"Alexei." Andrei's voice, distorted by static. "Are you there?"
Dominic grabbed the radio. "Here."
"Bad news. Petrov's men found boats. They're searching the lake."
My heart sank. "How many?"
"Three boats that I've seen. Moving in a search pattern from the south shore."
Dominic's jaw tightened. "And the border patrol?"
"Changed shifts at dawn. Less activity for the next hour, maybe two."
A window of opportunity, narrow but real.
"Can you pick us up?" Dominic asked.
There was a pause, static filling the silence. "Too risky. They're watching me. But I left something for you on the north shore of your island. Under the big rock shaped like a bear's head. You'll need to swim the last mile."
A mile in cold lake water, with Petrov's men searching for us. Not ideal, but better than waiting to be found.
"Understood," Dominic said. "Thanks for the warning."
"Da svidaniya, my friend." The radio went silent.
We looked at each other, the reality of our situation settling between us.
"North shore," I said, already on my feet.
We moved quickly through the forest, staying low and alert for any sign we weren't alone on the island. The morning air was cool, mist rising from the damp ground as sunlight filtered through the trees.
The north shore was rockier than the beach where we'd landed, large boulders strewn along the water's edge. We scanned the area, looking for anything resembling a bear's head.
"There," Dominic pointed to a large rock formation at the water's edge, its profile vaguely ursine in the morning light.
We scrambled down to it, searching the base. Beneath an overhang, barely visible unless you knew to look for it, was a small waterproof bag. Inside we found what Andrei had left for us—a compact GPS device with a pre-programmed route, two small flotation devices designed to be strapped to the body, and a waterproof case containing a flare gun with a single flare.
"Emergency only," Dominic murmured, examining the flare gun. "Last resort."
I studied the GPS, the blinking dot showing our position relative to the Canadian shore. "Looks like we need to head northeast from here. There's a small inlet marked—probably less patrolled."
A distant engine sound made us both freeze, looking out across the water. A boat was moving along the eastern edge of the island, still some distance away but definitely searching.
"Time to go," Dominic said, stripping down to his underclothes and securing his waterproof bag to his chest. "The longer we wait, the more boats they'll have in the water."
I followed suit, removing outer layers until I was down to sports bra and underwear. The morning air raised goosebumps on my skin, a preview of how cold the water would be. We strapped the flotation devices under our arms—not enough to keep us fully afloat, but sufficient to help conserve energy during the long swim.
"Ready?" Dominic asked, his eyes intense as they met mine.
I nodded, suddenly unable to speak past the tightness in my throat. This was it—our final push to freedom, with nothing but a mile of cold water and luck between us and a new life.
He kissed me then, hard and fierce, as if trying to imprint the feel of me on his lips. "See you on the other side, Valentina."
Together, we waded into the lake, the cold water stealing my breath as it rose past my waist. When it reached our chests, we began to swim, powerful strokes carrying us away from the island and toward the distant shore.
The water was brutally cold, numbing my extremities within minutes. We kept a steady pace, conserving energy for the long haul. Dominic swam slightly ahead, occasionally glancing back to check on me. I focused on his movements, matching my strokes to his, fighting the growing fatigue in my muscles.
After what felt like forever, I risked a look back. The island was now a small dark mass behind us, the boat we'd spotted earlier circling its perimeter. They hadn't seen us—yet.
We continued swimming, the shore ahead seeming no closer despite our efforts. My limbs grew heavier, movements less coordinated as cold sapped my strength. Beside me, Dominic's pace had slowed as well, his breathing more labored.
"You okay?" he gasped during a brief pause to tread water.
"Never better," I lied through chattering teeth. "You?"
"Just enjoying the morning swim."
Despite everything, I laughed—a short, breathless sound that fogged in the cold air. "Race you to Canada?"
His answering smile was fierce and beautiful. "You're on."
We resumed swimming with renewed determination, stroke after stroke pushing us closer to safety. The shore was distinct now, trees and rocky outcroppings visible in the morning light. So close. So fucking close.
The roar of an engine shattered the moment—much closer than before. I twisted in the water, heart sinking as I saw a boat cutting through the water directly toward us, still distant but moving fast.
"They spotted us," I called to Dominic, who had already seen the threat.
"Keep swimming," he urged. "Don't stop."
We pushed harder, muscles screaming in protest, the cold water a vice around my chest. The boat drew closer, its engine growing louder. I could see figures on deck now, pointing in our direction.
"We're not going to make it," I gasped, the truth unavoidable.
Dominic treaded water beside me, eyes calculating as he looked from the approaching boat to the shore, still several hundred yards away. Then his hand went to the waterproof case strapped to his back.
"The flare," he said. "It's our only chance."
I understood immediately. A desperate gambit, but our options were gone.
He extracted the flare gun, his hands shaking slightly from cold and exertion. "Keep swimming toward that inlet," he directed, nodding toward a small break in the shoreline. "Don't look back, no matter what happens."
"Dominic—"
"Go," he insisted. "I'll be right behind you."
I hesitated, torn between obedience and the visceral fear of separation. Then I nodded, turning back toward the shore and swimming with renewed desperation.
Behind me, I heard the distinctive pop of the flare gun, followed by the hiss of a projectile cutting through the air. I didn't look back, focusing every ounce of energy on forward motion, arms and legs moving mechanically through the numbing water.
Shouts erupted from the direction of the boat, its engine suddenly revving higher. Not pursuing us, I realized with a surge of hope, but turning—heading toward the flare that now burned bright red against the morning sky.
The distraction worked. Border patrol would investigate the flare—an international distress signal impossible to ignore—and Petrov's men would be caught in the middle, unable to continue their pursuit without revealing themselves.
I swam until my muscles threatened to give out entirely, the shore growing steadily closer. When my feet finally touched bottom, I nearly sobbed with relief, staggering through the shallows onto a narrow, pebbly beach.
Collapsing onto the shore, I rolled onto my back, gasping for breath as blood slowly returned to my frozen limbs. Canada. We'd made it to fucking Canada.
"We did it," I panted, turning to share the triumph with Dominic.
He wasn't there.
I sat up sharply, scanning the water. Nothing but gentle waves lapping at the shore.
"Dominic?" My voice echoed across the empty inlet.
Fear clutched at my chest, propelling me back to my feet despite the protest of exhausted muscles. I waded back into the shallows, searching frantically for any sign of him.
"Dominic!" I shouted, louder now, panic rising in my throat.
The water remained empty, indifferent to my growing desperation. I spun in a circle, scanning the horizon, the distant island, the boats now converging on the flare's position. No sign of a swimmer, no dark head breaking the surface.
"No," I whispered, the word a prayer and a denial. "No, no, no."
He'd been right behind me. He'd promised.
I was about to plunge back into the lake, to swim until I found him or drowned trying, when movement caught my eye—not in the water, but along the shoreline to my right. A figure, stumbling through the shallow water toward me.
"Dominic!"
I ran to him, splashing through the shallows, reaching him just as his legs gave out. We collapsed together onto the wet sand, his body shockingly cold against mine.
"You scared the fuck out of me," I gasped, hands moving over him, checking for injuries. "What happened?"
"Cramp," he managed through chattering teeth. "Had to... take the long way round."
I laughed, the sound half-sob as relief flooded through me. "God damn it, Castellano. Don't you dare do that to me again."
His arms circled my waist, holding me tight despite his exhaustion. "Wouldn't dream of it."
We lay there for a long moment, simply breathing, savoring the miracle of survival. Then reality reasserted itself—we were half-naked, freezing, and still technically fugitives, even on Canadian soil.
"We need to move," I said reluctantly, pulling away. "Find shelter, warm up."
Dominic nodded, struggling to his feet with visible effort. "Andrei's GPS shows a road about a mile inland. From there, we can make it to Thunder Bay by nightfall."
I retrieved my waterproof bag, extracting the dry clothes inside with numb fingers. We dressed quickly, the simple act of covering our wet skin providing minimal but welcome relief from the cold.
"Ready?" I asked when we were both dressed, our meager possessions secured.
Dominic looked back across the lake one last time, toward the life we were leaving behind. Then he took my hand, his fingers twining with mine.
"Ready."
Together, we turned away from the water and toward the tree line, each step carrying us further from our past and closer to a future neither of us had dared imagine. A future together, as ghosts, as strangers, as ourselves—finally free.