We talk strategy, trying to find a way to break down Serbian defenses and reclaim the key patches of the city. Eventually, the others shuffle out, their footsteps heavy with the weight of everything we’ve discussed. Only Feliks remains.
“You didn’t answer my question earlier,” he says as he gathers the surveillance photos into a neat stack.
“About being ready.” He taps the stack of photos against the table, squaring the edges. “And I don’t mean physically.”
I scowl at him. “Did I wander into a confessional booth by mistake?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’ve known you since we were kids smashing windows in Moscow. I’ve seen you make impossible choices. But this…” He gestures vaguely upward, toward Ariel. “This is different.”
“Because for the first time in your lif
