Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I'm borrowing her characters, dressing them up in MARPAT, and giving them some guns (again).

Unbeta'd, unedited. Thank you, Annagal, for fixing my Russian!

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Jan 14
Undisclosed Private Residence, Near the Davos Congress Centre
Davos, Switzerland

Outside, the snow fell like tufts of fluffy cotton, coating the mountain roads and buildings with a fresh layer of pristine powder.

On the top floor of the luxury chalet perched high up on the valley wall, Jana plucked a glass of chilled white wine off a silver tray on the nearby sideboard. She crossed the room with impatient, long-legged strides. Skirting a low, cushioned coffee table in the center, she deftly threaded between a pair of plush ivory sofas before stopping at the wide, floor-to-ceiling plate glass wall to gaze down at the town below.

Today, the sleepy little village nestled in the narrow Landwasser Valley, flanked on either side by high Alpine slopes, was bursting at its seams as the usual throng of journalists, businessmen, and delegates finally descended. Dozens of flags flew from the buildings, interspersed with bright blue banners with blocky text. Outside every overbooked hotel and rental, jet-black sedans and SUVs lined up, contrasting against the bright white snow and matching structures.

People were everywhere. Dressed in their designer parkas, fur-trimmed boots, and the air of insufferable self-importance, invitees swarmed the sidewalks and quaint mountain shops like locusts.

Jana took a drink of her wine and smiled.

Her eyes, sky blue in the gray afternoon light, tracked a boxy Mercedes SUV with tiny, official-looking flags fluttering from its corners. Head tilted in study, she watched as it slowly climbed the hill toward them, only to split off onto a private drive before disappearing into the underground parking of the stately cedar log chalet next door. A moment later, a pair of suited men with short-barreled 416s slung across their chests stalked the chalet's perimeter. Two more stepped out onto the uppermost balcony.

A shadow darkened the glass, reflecting from somewhere in the room behind her. Barely audible over the crackling fire, leather soles padded against the plank-wood flooring. When she didn't turn, there was a pregnant pause, followed by an expectant chuff of air.

Taking her time, Jana drained the rest of her wine.

"Zdravstvuyte," she finally said, stepping away from the glass to face the imposing figure standing motionless by the black, modern hearth floating in the center of the room. She inclined her head with appropriate politeness, but a smirk lurked in her porcelain features, and her voice turned brittle. "Dmitriy… Nikolayevich."

"Jana." Hands shoved into his trouser pockets, the trim fifty-something dipped his square chin in acknowledgment, then dark, inset eyes traveled the length of her body. Not bothering to hide his scrutiny, Dmitriy lingered on the pale, clingy silk of her blouse, the black, meticulously tailored cashmere skirt, and the sky-high, thousand-dollar stilettos that made her legs go for miles. "Davno tebya ne videl… Khorosho vyglyadish'."

Sculpted brows lifted at his forwardness. As she approached, Jana's heels rapped sharply against the wood, echoing against the vaulted ceiling high above.

Instead of the usual fatigues, fine blue-black Italian wool draped Dmitriy's broad shoulders. Hand-sewn oxfords that gleamed in the firelight replaced well-worn combat boots. The unkempt scruffy beard was gone, too, replaced by smooth, tanned skin topped by impeccably styled pepper-gray hair. A pair of thin, sophisticated wire frames sat across the bridge of his crooked nose, disguising the old iridescent scar that ran from the corner of his eye to the edge of his right temple.

Dmitriy looked… Jana's lips curled into a derisive sneer. "A vy vyglyadite po-idiotski."

Rather than taking offense, Dmitriy barked out a loud, deep laugh and strode away from the fire. As he settled into a sleek camel leather chair, he loosened his crimson tie and flicked a calloused hand at Aleksey, where the younger man leaned against the far wall, watching their exchange with a notably wary expression. "Prinesi mne chego-nibud' vypit'."

"Kakogo khrena!" Aleksey scoffed, incredulous at the casual dismissal. Angry pink climbed his neck, disappearing into his now-neat and tidy beard. His eyes narrowed, and by his side, bruised, scraped knuckles clenched and flexed. "Chto vy sebe voobshche pozvolyayete?"

"Znay svoyo mesto, shchenok!" Dmitriy cut in, his voice dripping condescension. The air seemed to suck out of the room, and the two men stared at each other for a long, tense moment until Aleksey finally looked away. Dmitriy's lips curved, and with another dismissive wave, he tipped his head toward Jana and purred, "Mne nuzhno pogovorit' s ney… bez tebya."

Bristling yet silent once rebuked, Aleksey fidgeted with the lapel of his suit and waited until Jana nodded her assent. As his back filled the doorframe, she unhurriedly grabbed a second glass and eased onto one of the plush ivory sofas.

"You're not needed here," Jana said, swapping to English with the clean, articulated neutral accent she'd perfected years ago. It was a pointed jab at her newest babysitter, a reminder of the access she – and only she – had to people and places he couldn't even dream of having.

"The boy is too–"

Jana rolled her eyes and took a drink. "Despite being a puppy, as you like to call him, Lyosha is more than sufficient protection." Her skin pulled tight across her high, angular cheekbones, and when she continued, the syllables punched out like hammer blows. "If I were to require it, that is… which I won't."

"Irrelevant," Dmitriy said, shrugging at the enigmatic young woman who'd appeared out of nowhere some two decades ago, a child delivered by courier to the compound gate, a tiny, gangly little thing with pale hair, pale skin, and not knowing a word of Russian.

Of course, Jana was far more than that now, Dmitriy thought as he watched her cross a slender, shapely thigh over the opposite knee. Yet even after all this time, even here, he wasn't entirely certain of her place in their world. Of course, he had his suspicions – they all did – but Dmitriy wasn't stupid enough to voice them, especially not to him. No, the only thing that mattered was that the girl had grown into a wolf, a beautiful creature but one as savage and deadly as the man who'd taken her in.

Dmitriy gave himself an internal shake, and once more, his shoulders rose and fell with feigned disinterest. "You know why I am here. I would not be the one to tell him no." His brows climbed. "He could have sent Ruslan or Said. Or Feliks even. I know how much you enjoy that one's presence."

Jana cursed.

"Ladno," she said a moment later, and a humorless huff of a laugh tumbled out as she gazed out the window.

The wind picked up, cutting through the valley, and the snow danced and swirled in the eddying currents. One of the nearby pines, bowing from the weight of its icy load, shivered and loosed a shower of powdery white.

Her expression hardened as she angled back toward the older man. "Tell me, just how do you intend on gaining access? Forum attendance is strictly limited, especially for the opening remarks. The whole complex is going to be crawling with security." Her eyes glittered. "Even more so now, considering recent events."

Dmitriy fished a laminated card on a bright blue lanyard out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "Voila."

Jana's glass froze mid-air, and she studied him across the foggy rim. "Interesting. How did you manage that?"

"One of exiled… businessmen." Dmitriy spat out the word, then flashed her a vicious, toothy grin as he chucked the badge onto the coffee table. "As you already know, this one is here on special invitation for session on current affairs… of all things." A low, growly chuckle spilled out. "An old favor was called. He was in no position to decline."

"It's too risky," Jana replied, picturing the doughy sixty-year-old chemicals magnate, with his droopy jowls, unruly brows, and balding, melon-shaped head. "Yevgeny Viktorovich cares only for himself, and he's terrified of being sent back to Moscow. If questioned, he'll break."

Dmitriy tsked. "Possible, but so-called Oligarch Zhenya has many, many, how to say it… skeletons in his closets." He smiled at her again, patronizingly, as though reading her mind. "And I do not mean the pretty young girls he takes to his bed."

Unfazed, Jana took another drink, relishing the dry, fruity tang that dissolved on her tongue. "And?"

"He has much more serious business dealings, ones he does not want the rest of the world to know… maybe even more so than that asshole in Italy." Dmitriy's fingertips drummed against his armrest, and his features darkened with a violent, brutal kind of anticipation she knew oh-so-well. "Plus, Zhenya knows if he opens his fat, ugly mouth, we will hunt him like prey, bleed him dry, and leave him for vultures… And then we will take his family as further payment." The drumming stopped, and Dmitriy's voice went soft and sing-song. "After all, his daughters are very beautiful."

Jana leveled the older man a flat, impassive stare, allowing the crackle of the fireplace to fill the silence. As the seconds ticked by, one of the logs shifted, sending up a spray of sparks and ash. The clean scent of evergreen washed over her, blending with the sweeter aroma from the extravagant, exotic bouquets dotting the tables.

Without another word, Jana rose and went to one of the tall, neatly filled bookshelves lining the opposite wall. She returned a second later with a pair of slim black cases, each large enough to hold a pen.

"Before you enter the auditorium tonight," she said, tossing them in Dmitriy's lap. "Inject yourself with one of these. It'll hurt a lot. But do it anyway and carry the second one inside your jacket, just like you would a pen." When he opened his mouth to ask, she hummed a quiet, mischievous laugh. "Don't look so worried, Dima… You'll know if you need it. Trust me."

An hour later, after having poured through a dozen maps and timetables, walking through every step and contingency, Dmitriy finally rose. Depositing the empty amber-colored beer bottle Aleksey had finally delivered, still wearing his baleful glare, he eyed her one last time. "Ty uverena, chto vso gotovo?"

Jana followed him to his feet. As they turned toward the door, her phone buzzed, rattling against the coffee table. When she glanced down, her stomach fluttered with instant pleasure, tinged like it always was with a faint, sinking note of exhilarating fear. When she looked up, she caught Dmitriy's eyes on the screen, too, then the jumpy tick of his jaw.

"Uverena," she said, too sweetly. Stepping closer, crowding into the man's space, she placed a freshly manicured hand on Dmitriy's forearm. With the stack of her heels, they were almost eye to eye. Before he could react or pull away, Jana smiled at him, dark and menacing, and leaned in. As she whispered against the shell of his ear, Dmitriy's skin pebbled, and the muscle beneath her palm gave an involuntary twitch. "I pozvol'te mne byt' predel'no yasnoy... Yesli vy vstanete na moyem puti, ya vas ub'yu."

And she would, too.

She'd gut him navel to chin if he got in her way tonight.

Jan 14
Undisclosed Location South of the Saharan Atlas
Somewhere in the Sahara Desert, Algeria

Heart slamming inside his chest, Edward raced down the narrow, dimly lit hall. As soon as he hit the end, he rammed into the door, shouldering into it at full tilt. Wood splintered as the thing flew back on its hinges, crashing into the cracked plaster wall behind it.

"Stop!" Edward's boots skidded across the gritty, blood-soaked tile. "Get the fuck away from him… right now!"

Crouched next to the bloody, mutilated body of her once co-worker, Bella froze.

Slowly, she looked up from the mass of crimson gouges, cuts, and blackened burn marks that marred nearly every inch of Dr. Yorkie's pale, lanky body. In the beat of stunned confusion, she just stared at the lean, far harder Marine standing stock-still in the mouth of the open doorway with his hands braced on either side of the doorframe. Dust and flecks of plaster swirled all around him, glittering in the beams of sunlight streaming in from the nearby window. Tiny white shards caught in the creases of his gear, and there was more clinging to his damp, messy hair.

"Listen to me." Tension lined Edward's stern face, and his irises were a dark forest, burning with some unnamable emotion, some potent blend of fury and fear. Yet as he edged his way inside the room toward her, he held his arms out as if soothing a skittish animal. His eyes flitted to the body. "Bella, I need you to back away from him – very, very slowly. And whatever you do, do not touch him."

Bella's brows slanted into a deep V. "Wha–"

"I'm not asking you!" Edward snapped, harsh and commanding. His teeth clacked, audibly grinding in the silence. "I'm damned near certain they rigged that body, and if you make one wrong move, this whole fucking building could come down." By this side, his fingers curled and clenched, just resisting the urge to grab her and run. "So, for once… I just need you to do what I tell you to do!"

Bella didn't move. Instead, her lips mashed together into a flat, irritated line, and she jabbed a finger at the man's bloody torso, then the strands of virtually invisible fishing line running from the body to the walls – lines he and Rosalie had both missed in their lightning-fast search for the people who were no longer there.

"Yes, Major, I'm aware of that," Bella said, gritting her own teeth. And still not moving. "And they did a shitty job of it, too. They were probably in a hurry, or maybe they just didn't care."

Cords of sinewy muscle running along Edward's bare forearms rippled and flexed. Before he could say another word, however, Rosalie's head popped inside the doorframe. She gave the room a quick, cursory scan, and when her bright gaze landed on Bella, Edward swore his gunny looked vaguely amused.

"So," Rosalie drawled, sidestepping Edward to get a better look. Her brows hit her hairline once she picked up the tripwires. "I take it you found something."

"Yeah." Nodding, Bella pointed to a faded, dusty rug, half hidden beneath the body. "And, as I was getting ready to explain, I think there's a door under there."

Rosalie let out a low, approving whistle.

Bella's gear creaked as she stood. Carefully, she backed away from the body, tiptoeing around those glistening lines. Once near the door, she unclipped her mask. The second she sucked in a breath of warm, stagnant air, bile climbed her esophagus, and her palm clapped over her mouth before she could stop it. "Jesus Christ, that's awful."

As his scientist pivoted back toward the body, Edward caught the bob of her throat, then the wet shimmer in her dark eyes – a reaction she was doing her damnedest to hide – and a little bit of that fury ebbed away. His fingers twitched, itching to soothe, and without thinking, never mind he still wanted to shake her senseless, he plucked a thin blister pack out of his front pocket and handed it over with a softly spoken, "Here."

Grateful, Bella clutched that little packet like a lifeline, and like so many months ago in that bloody bolthole somewhere in the middle of Iran, the instant she tossed two of those little squares of industrial-strength gum into her mouth, her eyes watered for a different reason. Spearmint fire licked down her throat and into her lungs, but at least it burned away the stench of death and decay.

She wheezed out a whispered thanks and turned back to Rosalie, thumbing toward the rug. "But yeah, I'm guessing that leads somewhere outside the house."

"At least we know how those motherfuckers got out of here." Squatting to get a better angle, Rosalie squinted at the web of tripwires. A few seconds later, she grunted with her typical mild annoyance and glanced up at Bella. "That's some good work, Doc. I missed that… we missed that."

While Bella doubted it'd have gone unnoticed for long, she just shrugged, keeping her eyes on the body instead of the unnervingly still man beside her.

Standing, Rosalie clapped the dust off her gloves and eyed her commander. "Well, what do you want to do?"

Not answering right away, Edward propped his rifle against the wall, and with a tired sigh, he scrubbed two-day stubble. Even though he'd wiped it off hours ago, his skin felt tight and tacky from the lingering grease paint. "We need to know what's under there, where those fuckers might have gone. But we can't risk a controlled blast."

Rosalie shook her head. "Agreed. Too risky. Plus…" She trailed off, motioning to Dr. Yorkie's brutalized body with a pissed-off glare that had no outlet.

"You think Jazz can figure something out?"

"Maybe, maybe not." Still glaring at the world, Rosalie thought for a second. "Doc's right. It's not exactly a sophisticated set-up… hell, maybe there's nothing under him at all, and they're just fucking with us. But in here?" The gunnery sergeant waved at the room this time, and Bella couldn't help but notice the long, jagged cracks in the plastered mudbrick walls. Chunks of the ceiling were missing, too. "Not a lot of space to maneuver, that's for sure. It'll be tricky."

"I'll help him," Bella quietly said.

Every single muscle in Edward's body locked. Wearing a severe, cut-from-granite expression that had no exact name, he slowly swiveled toward her, and that perpetual fist in the pit of his gut squeezed. A cutting response sat on the tip of his tongue.

"Weapons specialist, remember?" Bella's arms crossed her chest, and her chin jutted out, demanding and defiant. "And unlike you, I can easily fit between the tripwires on the other side of him."

Edward's jaw ticked, and for a moment, they just stared at each other in tense, uncomfortable silence, neither willing to break until Rosalie coughed out something unintelligible under her breath.

"Sir?" she repeated, prying her chin strap to loosen her Kevlar. "What's the call here? We coming or going?"

Angry – at himself, at Bella, at the fact that she couldn't follow orders for shit, and everything else about this fucked up situation – Edward exhaled and rammed a hand through sweat-soaked hair, then his fists dropped to his hips. Still glaring at the defiant tilt of Bella's lips, he finally tapped his throat mike. "Bear-man, come in."

Static pulsed. "Sir?"

"I need you to take Jazz's position. Jazz, I need you back here… and bring your toys." Edward paused, and then he tapped his mike again. "Tink, I want you to go through the house, top to bottom. Photograph everything, but be on the lookout for surprises…" Shadows moved in his eyes. "And once you're done, get a body bag out of the truck so we can take Dr. Yorkie home."

A chorus of "Yes, sirs" immediately answered him.

Rosalie's brows climbed in question, and Bella watched with rapt fascination as the two Marines held the kind of silent conversation that could only come from years of working side by side in high-stress, high-stakes environments. A few seconds in, Edward's chin ducked in a curt affirmative. "Evacuate the buildings on either side. Tell them whatever you need to, just get them out, just in case. I'll brief the General and Langley while Jazz…" He let out another short sigh, and his expression shuttered. "While Jazz and Dr. Swan see what they can do."

Twenty minutes later, after shooting an abbreviated report to Carlisle, Edward stepped back into the small room in the back of the house. In his earpiece, over the quiet whispers of the two Marines inside, he picked up Rosalie arguing in rapid-fire French with what sounded like someone's grandmother. Overhead, Alice's boots scuffed against the old cracked laminate flooring.

"All right, Doc," Jasper said as he belly-crawled up to the body. Intent and as focused as Edward had ever seen her, Bella mimicked the sergeant's position on the other side. "You keep an eye on those fuckin' wires. Let me know ASAP if you see any bit of vibration or movement. Got it?"

Sweat dripped off Bella's nose, dotting the tile. "Got it."

Carefully, Jasper reached into his hip pouch and extracted a small olive drab device, maybe the size of a sat phone. He flipped its stumpy antennas around, then punched in a series of commands on its miniaturized keyboard. The LED screen above the keys lit up instantly, and with a quick swipe, it split into a pair of windows. The top showed a heat map drenched in shades of reds, yellows, blues, and greens. On the second, a series of jagged, overlapping lines raced horizontally across the screen.

"Kill your mike and phone, and any other electronics you got on you," Jasper said, frowning at the screen. He peeked over his shoulder. "You, too, sir."

They did as he asked, and Edward ducked back into the hall to signal Emmett to do the same. As he disappeared around the corner, Jasper peered down at his screen once more before looking over the top of the body to Bella. "Eli tagged you again, huh?"

"Shit," Bella muttered, startled. She fished for the tiny disk tucked in the bottom corner of her front pocket. "Sorry. I don't know how to turn it off."

"Meh, don't worry about it. Probably can't." The younger man waved her off and flashed her a view of his scanner, where a faint, roughly sinusoidal line scrolled across the bottom window. "That little transmitter puts out a very distinct, very narrow passive frequency, one that most detectors wouldn't have a prayer of picking up…" His tone oozed curiosity and a distinct sense of professional approval. "But if you hit that button? My screen'll light up like the Fourth of July across half a dozen frequency bands. And the range on that SOB is fuckin' insane." He looked at her intently, gray eyes twinkling, and his cheeks creased with undisguised mischief. "Fuck me, I'd love to take it apart."

Despite where they were and the horror of the mutilated body in front of her, a quiet laugh spilled out. "I'll ask him to give you one next time I see him."

When Jasper grinned, she shook her head at him, rolling her eyes, right as Edward slipped back inside the room. "You see anything?"

"Nah." Jasper glanced back once more, simultaneously tucking the ultra-sensitive, military-grade RF detector neatly back into his pouch. "There's no electrical signal at all. Whatever's under there… it's some kind of mechanical claptrap." When Edward cut him a look, he added, "Means they can't trigger it remotely… They also won't know if Doc and me blow up or not."

Bella's stomach took a sharp, nauseating nosedive.

"Let's just say it will piss me off immensely if you do." It was a familiar command, one he'd probably given the sergeant a hundred times, only this time, it was delivered with an eerie, almost preternatural calm that set Bella's teeth on edge. Edward's jewel-tone gaze lapped the room, landing on Bella for no more than a second before quickly looking away. "Are we clear, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir." That grin vanished. "No one's blowin' up today."

"Good. See that you don't."

At Jasper's quick, succinct nod, Bella refitted her mask and locked the clips. As soon as she gave him a shaky thumb's up, he extracted yet another toy from his opposite hip pouch. This one was black, with a four-inch, high-resolution screen and a coil of rubber-coated tubing, no larger than a coat hanger in diameter. As he tugged the cap off the end, Bella caught the glint of a micro LED and camera lens.

"Fancy," she said, forcing a smile behind the Lexan.

As he uncoiled the loop, the sergeant shot her a row of teeth. "Yes, it is, and you can't have it."

Bella's shoulders shook, and for just a second, she thought she caught a minuscule crack in Edward's stony façade. It disappeared a beat later, and as they made eye contact across the room, her heart swelled and pounded against her ribcage.

"Okay," Jasper said. He flattened his chest to the floor for stability. "Let's see what we're lookin' at. Yell if I need to stop."

"Start up by the shoulder." It came out as a hoarse whisper. Swallowing, Bella forced herself to look away from the major and back to the maze of deep wounds and splotchy purple bruises that covered Dr. Yorkie's chest and abdomen. "Look at the way he's positioned, the arch of the spine. You're looking for something small, maybe the size of a fist. I'd bet it's sitting right between his shoulder blades."

Jasper's head popped up, and he gave her a surprised, assessing look. "Didn't realize they taught that kinda thing at DARPA."

"They don't." Bella grimaced. "But I've been doing my homework over the past few months."

"Fair enough." Jasper snorted, but then his features turned serious, his gray eyes darkened to steel, and he took another deep, steady breath. "Here we go."

Time slowed as the sergeant slowly slid the tip of the high-end borescope beneath the body. The air seemed to thicken and still. Even the swirling motes of dust ceased their movement. The only sounds were those of Alice scuffing across the hall overhead and the soft whine of blood rushing in Bella's ears. Across the room, Edward's fists squeezed into tight hammers, and it took every bit of the rigid discipline and training the Marines had drilled into him to keep from pulling her out of there, right now.

"Anything?" Jasper murmured a moment later as he tentatively weaved the camera between two of the transparent lines that stretched from the wall to the body, where they disappeared underneath and ran toward the center of the late scientist's spine.

"No," Bella replied just as quietly. Her elbows ached from muscle tension and the gritty tile floor. "You're good, but go slow. Do you see it yet?" She hesitated, thinking of those inch-wide rings left on the blood-soaked counter in the kitchen. "Do you see anything clear or glass? Anything that might have liquid in it?"

Humming a negative, Jasper shook his head, but after a few more nerve-wracking minutes, a soft punch of air echoed in the room, followed by a quiet baritone drawl. "There you are…"

Gut clenching, Edward impatiently shoved off the wall. He stopped at Dr. Yorkie's feet, coming as close as he dared. "What are we looking at?

The younger man made another wordless sound before finally mouthing, "Looks like a mine of some sort. Don't see anything that suggests XR-5 or any exotic shit like that." He stared a hole in his screen, pinning a matte black, flattened cylinder hidden between the man's shoulder blades – just like Bella had said. As he slowly approached, the explosive came in and out of focus. Jasper squinted and, with his free hand, hit zoom. "Oh, yeah, definitely mechanical. Don't recognize the make right off the bat, but it's got some weird blocky writing stamped on the side. Angle's too far off to tell what language."

"Think you can find a switch or a safety pin?"

Right on cue, the sergeant let out a triumphant, "Ha!" He peeked over the body at Bella again, and this time, he beamed a wide, toothy, Cheshire Cat grin. "That was a good fuckin' call, Doc." Then to Edward, he called over his shoulder. "Already found 'er. Gimme me five minutes, and I'll have this motherfucker disarmed."

True to his word, five minutes later, holding his breath and glued to his screen, Jasper eased what looked like one of Emmett's long, flat, surgical-style clamps beneath the body, following the same narrow path as the camera. With every inch, sweat dripped down the back of his neck, soaking his collar and armor, and as he dodged one of the wires, a stream of curses spilled out. He cursed again when the end of his tool brushed the curved edge of the explosive, but then his lips curved as it found its way to the small, metal pin that jutted out of the side.

"You ready?" he whispered, both to Bella and himself. "Soon as I say…"

Jasper looked over to their scientist. She was sheet white behind the Lexan. Air sawed in and out of her chest, lifting her ribcage and whistling through the cartridges of her mask. But she didn't hesitate. She tensed, gave their commander a final glance, and shot him a quick thumb's up.

Without another word, gulping a lungful of air, Jasper grabbed the little silver safety pin with the clamp, spun it clockwise, and bellowed, "Fall back!"

Bella launched herself off the tile and away from the body.

Her back slammed into the wall behind her, knocking loose a shower of tinkling plaster. Her Kevlar banged against the window sill, jolting her neck and pulling her chin strap tight against her throat. But no more than a second later – as soon as she registered the echoing silence and the exultant, grinning face of their engineer and sniper – Bella's muscles unlocked, her lungs deflated, and she slid down the wall, dropping back to the tile on her rear.

A loud, wheezy laugh tumbled out, then Bella's shoulders shook with a blend of relief and exhaustion so potent and strong she almost collapsed under its weight. Her eyes immediately found Edward across the room. He stared back at her, wearing the same heady emotion, and for just a moment, he was the only thing she could see.

"Ooh-rah," Edward said, finally breaking the silence as the sergeant stripped off his mask and Kevlar and wiped his face. The major inclined his head at Jasper, then at the woman slouched against the wall. "Well done… both of you."

"Yes, sir." As Jasper slowly clambered to his feet, he nodded back to his commander. "But… as fun as that was an' all, I'd be alright if we never had to do this shit again." He scratched his chin, looking thoughtful. "Once is plenty enough for me."

"Noted." Edward cracked a small, wry smile, then clocked the sweat rolling down the other man's temples, drenching his neck and face. "Go get some water and calories before your ass falls over." He tapped his throat mike. "Blondie, Tink, when he's ready to go, I want you to give me a loose perimeter around the exterior and cover the street."

There was a pulse of static, punctuated by Alice's boots thumping down the stairs – two at a time by the sound of it. "You got it." She hesitated for less than a second before addressing the weary sergeant. "Good fucking job, Jazzy."

Edward ignored the faint, relieved breathlessness coloring the perpetual cheerfulness of his pilot's voice, just like he ignored the patchy pink now climbing his sniper's wan cheeks. "Bear-man, as soon as they're in position, need your ass back here."

After Emmett's quick affirmative, Jasper shot Bella one final smile, tipped his head to his commander one last time, and bounded down the hall.

Across the room, Bella tiredly pushed herself up off the floor. As adrenaline crashed and turned her muscles to jello, she ripped off her helmet and mask, letting them fall to her side and hang by their straps. Her gear clinked as she slowly crossed the room, nimbly weaving around the tripwires on instinct versus necessity.

A hush descended when Bella pulled up next to him, and for a second, Edward just stared, roaming her too-pretty, too-fine face like it was the only thing in the world worth looking at. She was damp, grimy, and pale, and the hollows of her eyes were stained a dark plum gray. Bella's palm abruptly reached out and flattened against his ribcage, like she just needed something to touch, something to ground herself in the here and now. Her fingers spread, feather-light through his armor, yet he swore he could feel it down to the bone.

The twin knife wounds in his back, still not one hundred percent healed, twinged in both response and warning, breaking the spell. Something hot bloomed in his chest, a weight that suddenly made it too hard to breathe.

"So, I take it you're angry." Bella watched Edward's features transform into a sharp, hard mask.

"Am I angry?" he repeated, drawing it out. Incredulous, Edward snorted, letting out a tight, sardonic laugh. Fists balling by his sides, he took a step back. As her hand dropped between them, he shook his head – at her, the room, and everything else. "Angry is an understatement. I'm furious with you."

"But–"

One hand sliced the air, then the other muffled his mike. "Regardless of the outcome, you disobeyed a direct order in an active situation, putting yourself and everyone else at risk," he snapped, wheeling away from her to pace the room. "Not once, but twice. Twice!"

Bella's face screwed up. "Oh, come o–"

"I don't want to hear it!" he said, ice cold, slicing the air again. "Yes, you've had some training, and yes, you're the most intelligent person I know and doing better at this shit than anyone thought you would." Edward spun back around. "And yes, Christ, I love you. But you cannot do that again."

Bella took a step toward him. "Ed–"

"Not now!" It was a sharp command that demanded silence. "Right now, we have a job to do, but you better believe we're going to discuss this in detail when we get back to the carrier." A muscle jumped in his cheek, even as he reached across the space between them to swipe the dirt off her bottom lip. "But, Bella, I swear, if you can't follow orders, I will remove you from active duty."

.

.

.

Notes:

A quick note on forms of address. Instead of middle names, Russians (as well as Ukrainians, Belorussians, etc) have patronymics, which are created by combining a person's father's name plus a gendered ending (-o/evich for men, -o/evna for women). Like many languages, Russian has formal/polite and informal "you" forms. Formal "you" is for those older or in relatively higher positions. When speaking formally, in addition to the formal you conjugations, often the person's first name and patronymic will be used. Hence, Jana greeted the older Dmitriy, "Zdravstvuyte [Hello, Dmitriy Nikolayevich."

Also, many/most Russian first names have standard short forms, as well as a variety of pet names used by friends, family, etc. Above, when Dmitriy says "Oligarch Zhenya" he's using a short form of Yevgeny (mockingly, in his case). Also, coincidentally, Yevgeny Viktorovich just happens to be the first name and patronymic of a real oligarch, that crazy asshole who runs The Wagner Group and who recently caused quite a bit of drama.

Russian [transliterated:

Zdravstvuyte: Hello

Davno tebya ne videl… Khorosho vyglyadish': It's been a long time… You look nice.

A vy vyglyadite po-idiotski: And you look ridiculous

Prinesi mne chego-nibud' vypit': Bring me something to drink

Kakogo khrena! Chto vy sebe voobshche pozvolyayete: What the fuck? Who do you think you are?

Znay svoyo mesto, shchenok: Know your place, puppy

Mne nuzhno pogovorit' s ney… bez tebya: I need to talk to her… without you

Ladno: Fine

Ty uverena, chto vso gotovo: Are you sure everything is ready?

Uverena… I pozvol'te mne byt' predel'no yasnoy... Yesli vy vstanete na moyem puti, ya vas ub'yu: I'm sure… And let me be very clear… If you get in my way, I'll kill you

Glossary:

Davos: a ski resort town in Switzerland and the location of the annual meeting of the World Economic Forum, which is an international, non-governmental lobbying organization for multinational companies. The annual meeting draws around 3000 members and selected participants, including investors, business leaders, political leaders, economists, celebrities, and journalists

416: refers to the Heckler Koch HK416, a gas-operated assault rifle chambered for the 5.5645mm NATO cartridge

RF Scanner: a device that can detect radio frequencies, such as those emitted by phones, Bluetooth and Wi-fi devices, GPS, cameras, etc. A couple of years ago, the US Army released a paper on a newly developed sensor that can detect the entire radiographic spectrum. It's still in the research phase, though

Borescope: an optical instrument consisting of a rigid or flexible tube with an eyepiece or display on one end and an objective lens or camera on the other, linked together by an optical or electrical system in between. They're used to inspect hard-to-access areas like inside pipes, engines, and the human body (endoscopes are a type of borescope)

Mine: refers to various victim-activated explosive devices, ranging in size from large anti-tank devices to small, watch-sized anti-personnel devices. Depending on the design, they can be triggered by pressure (e.g. someone stepping on it), movement or vibration, magnetism, etc. Tripwires are often deployed to increase the area where triggering may occur. Just a note: there's a common misperception that a mine is armed by stepping on it and only triggered by stepping off. That's just Hollywood fiction, but it's good for creating tension