Page 151 of Maksym

Only that.

Anything more would have broken the clean line of it. Gratitude did not need decoration when everyone in the room understood its cost.

Lucia withdrew her hand, but not abruptly. Doc reached for his coffee again. Remy sat back as if a course had been plotted and now merely required the audacity to sail it. Maksym’s knee brushed mine beneath the table. Brief. Intentional. Not public enough to become a spectacle, not hidden enough for me to miss.

I fired up my laptop. The screen woke at once.

The heading stared back at me: NIKOLAY KOZLOV — COUNCIL HEARING — DEFENSE STRATEGY.

I took one of the beautiful pens from the leather portfolio, uncapped it, and set it beside the legal pad.

Then I looked down the table at Nikolay.

His amber eyes met mine. Warm, grave, tired beneath the composure. A mediator now forced to be a defendant. A prince whose fate might turn not only on facts, but on whether anyone in authority could stomach a wolf woman’s truth when it disrupted old prejudice.

“Since we have that front covered,” I said, “Nikolay, can you please call for Maddie to join us?”

The room changed again. Not much. Enough.

Nikolay’s face remained careful. Too careful.

I did not let him look away from the question.

“Everything,” I said quietly, “will likely hinge on her testimony.”

Chapter 19

Grace

After three short days of trial prep, we were on a private jet heading for Chicago.

It felt like a sealed room hurtling toward judgment, upholstered in cream leather and quiet wealth, with the clouds below us lit faintly by a dying line of sun. Engines murmured beneath the floor with disciplined force, so smooth I had to look out the oval window now and then to remind myself we were moving through the sky instead of waiting inside some expensive coffin with better lighting.

I sat beside Maksym.

A table sat between us and Lucia. Upon it sat an open folder, and she wore an expression that suggested mercy was not among the options she’d allow that evening. Doc occupied the seat beside her, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a tablet placed on the table beneath his enormous hand. He looked less like a man traveling to a hearing and more like a battlefield surgeon who had already triaged the room and found several people unlikely to survive their own stupidity.

Kazimir sat farther back with Devon. The King of Kings appeared carved from shadow and old law, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, hands relaxed, posture immaculate. Devon had curled into the seat beside him in a soft sweater dress, thick socks tucked beneath her, pale hair coming loose from whatever halfhearted attempt had been made to contain it. Her boots were tucked away somewhere near.

Nikolay and Maddie sat together across the aisle, shoulders touching. Maddie’s hand lay in Nikolay’s, her fingers small against his, nails dark and glossy. She had dressed in black lace under a fitted leather jacket. Nikolay looked grave, composed, and deeply tired. He also looked at her every few minutes as if checking that the universe had not yet attempted to take her again.

Bohdan lounged in the seat behind them, charming in the way only dangerous men could make relaxation seem like a tactical choice. Remy sat near him, heels crossed at the ankle, laptop bag at her feet.

Taras sat at the front of the plane—ever on guard, always the Shadow Hand of the Kozlovs.

No one pretended this was a normal flight.

Lucia lifted a stack of printed records and set them on the table.

The sound of paper against polished wood should not have felt ceremonial.

It did.

“We received confirmation from Doc’s man, Wrecker, before takeoff,” she said.

I leaned forward.

Maksym’s attention sharpened beside me, though he did not move. He had been quiet since we boarded. Not distant. Contained. There was a difference, and I was beginning to learn its edges.