THE CALL BEFORE THE STORM

Chloe sat on the edge of her hotel bed, the weight of the mission pressing against her chest. The small burner phone felt cold in her palm as she hesitated. Every instinct told her to be careful—Milan was growing more unpredictable, and Viktor's suspicion had made things worse. She exhaled slowly, then dialed the secure number.

A click. Silence. Then a distorted voice came through. "Report."

Chloe straightened. "I'm inside. Close to Milan. But things have shifted."

A pause. "Define 'shifted.'"

She clenched her jaw. How much should she admit? "Milan is testing me more. Viktor suspects me. And I—" She hesitated. "I need guidance."

The voice on the other end remained steady. "You're compromised?"

"No," she said too quickly. Then softer, "Not yet."

Another pause. Then, "Are you making progress on gathering evidence?"

Chloe thought of the nights spent with Milan, his piercing gaze, the way he played with her resolve like a cat with a mouse. "Not enough. He doesn't trust easily. He's making me earn it."

"That was expected. Adjust accordingly."

Her fingers tightened around the phone. "And if Viktor digs too deep?"

"If he becomes a problem, handle it." The response was devoid of emotion, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing in her.

Chloe swallowed. "And Milan?"

A longer silence. "Your mission remains the same. Get close. Get evidence. Bring him down."

She knew that. She had known it from the start. But something in her chest twisted as she heard it spoken aloud.

"Understood," she said, voice steady.

The call ended.

Chloe stared at the phone, a pit forming in her stomach. She was playing with fire, and the flames were getting too close.

Tomorrow, she would see Milan again.

And she had no choice but to keep playing the game.