The classroom air hung thick with a mixture of chalk dust, nervous sweat, and absolute disbelief. Thirty pairs of eyes darted between Tyler—a fifteen-year-old high school freshman built like a brick wall—and me, a nine-year-old girl standing with my palms open and relaxed at my sides.

By midnight, the cabin was secure. Viktour had zip-tied the two surviving operatives and secured them in the basement utility room, while Dad patched up a minor scrape on his forearm with antiseptic tape.

I sat at the kitchen island, sipping a cup of hot chamomile tea Dad had brewed for me, my hands no longer shaking.

Dad walked over, leaned against the counter, and looked down at me with an expression that combined immense pride and profound sorrow.

“You handled yourself like a master out there, Lily,” Dad said softly. “I just hate that you had to.”

“The world isn't always fair, Dad,” I said, echoing the very words he had told me when I was four years old and crying over my first scraped knee on the tatami mat. “You can't choose what comes to your door. You can only choose how you meet it.”

Dad chuckled, a deep, warm sound that chased the last remnants of the fight out of the room. “Where did you learn to quote me back to myself?”

“From the same place I learned how to throw a sacrifice throw,” I grinned.

Dad walked over to the encrypted satellite terminal on the desk by the window. He typed a short, encrypted message and hit send.

“What was that?” I asked.

“A message to Kravarov,” Dad said, his eyes hard and unyielding. “I’m letting him know that his men are currently sleeping off a mild concussion in northern Michigan, and that if he ever sends another team to my house, I won't just send them back—I’ll come looking for him.”

Viktour walked into the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag. “And Richard Vance?”

“Vance is done,” Dad said flatly. “The federal dossier we compiled on his offshore accounts went public at midnight. By Monday morning, his real estate empire will be tied up in federal receivership, and he won't have enough money left to buy a cup of coffee, let alone hire fixers.”

I finished my tea and set the mug down on the counter. The storm outside was finally beginning to break, the heavy clouds parting to reveal a sliver of cold moonlight shining down over the pine trees.

“Does this mean we have to stay hidden forever?” I asked quietly.