Kill Order

Part 1, Chapter 8: First Class

"... lucky he was even breathing when they found him."

"That fall was a miracle."

Female. Warm. Unfamiliar.

Another voice answered low, measured. It faded as sleep pulled him back under.

Time slipped. Light finally seeped past his lashes in thin silver threads. Antiseptic and lavender drifted with every breath. Crisp sheets hugged his shoulders. Ribs ached in deep waves but each inhalation reached the base of his lungs. He flexed a toe. It moved. Encouraged, he cracked one eye. Fluorescent panels glowed on a white ceiling. A bedside monitor beeped slow, patient.

Beside the bed Evelyn dozed in a chair, chin touching a collar splattered with dried blood. A bandage bridged her split lip. Despite the bruise darkening her cheek, she was deeply asleep, fingers still resting on a closed laptop.

A nurse noticed his stir. She was small, hair pulled into a tidy knot, early twenties perhaps. Iris Allen, read the badge on her pastel shirt.

"You are awake," she said softly, switching off an alarm he had not heard. "Try not to move too quickly."

Tristan's voice surfaced as rough gravel. "Where am I?"

"Private ward under headquarters," Iris explained. "You crashed through a bunch of trees. Forestry rescue found you by locator beacon." She took his wrist, checked pulse, and smiled. "Two broken ribs, a concussion, heavy bruises. Your legs are practically unscathed. You will walk, but carefully."

Relief broke through pain. "Evelyn?"

Evelyn stirred at her name, eyelids fluttering. She straightened when she saw him conscious, and the relief in her eyes eclipsed fatigue. She poured water, slid an arm beneath his shoulders, and tilted the cup to his lips.

"Chute opened," she said, answering the question before he voiced it. "Auto deployment. I landed in a wheat field six clicks north. RAF picked me up with the case still strapped on."

Pain flared down Tristan's spine as he swallowed. "Case secured?"

"Locked in a vault buried at sea," she murmured. "We kept something, at least. Borodin won't be releasing the toxin."

Footsteps approached. Kerr entered, suit impeccable but eyes rimmed red from lack of sleep. Iris stepped aside.

Kerr appraised Tristan. "You are tougher than rumours suggested."

Tristan tried to rise but pain pinned him. "Borodin?"

Kerr's expression hardened. "The jet never landed at its filed diversion. Bad weather forced it toward Lossiemouth, then avionics went dark and radar lost the transponder. We have no visual. Gulfstream, Borodin, crew, gone. We may never find him."

The words were a knife. Tristan's pulse jumped, monitor chiming quicker.

Evelyn's whisper was shredded by exhaustion. "He got away."

Kerr nodded once. "Satellite search grid is expanding. So far nothing. Either he has help or he ditched in the sea. The Agency Director is not optimistic."

Tristan closed his eyes against a surge of helpless anger. Evelyn gripped his hand.

Kerr tossed a folder onto the side table. "Yashin's intel gave us one small comfort. We know the list of target cities and we know the type of dispersal case. Homeland agencies on both sides of the Atlantic are on high alert." He exhaled through his nose. "I came to say you are off duty until medical clears you."

"Like hell," Tristan rasped.

Kerr raised an eyebrow. "Your skull took a hammer, then you fell out of a jet without a chute. Off duty is not a suggestion."

Iris cut in, firm but polite. "Director Kerr is correct. Minimum forty‑eight hours for brain rest. Headaches and dizziness are likely."

Kerr closed the folder. "Focus on healing. We will hunt Borodin's signal. When we have a location you will both know first."

He turned to the nurse. "Miss Allen, call me if he worsens." Iris nodded. Kerr left without further word.

The room felt colder. Tristan stared at the ceiling, fury simmering beneath the bandages. Evelyn leaned closer. "He escaped but he is running. Running leaves footprints."

Tristan's voice cracked. "I had him. I saw his eyes."

"I know," she said. "Next time ends differently."

Iris stepped in after updating notes. "Pain meds will make you drowsy. That is good. Rest is part of healing." She checked the drip, then smiled. "You already beat the odds once today. Survival from a fall of that height and leaving with little injury is beyond what I believed was possible."

Iris then left the room, leaving Evelyn and Tristan alone.

She dimmed the overhead light and withdrew. Evelyn set her laptop on the bedside tray and opened a secure feed, screen casting soft blue. She typed quietly, one hand still holding Tristan's.

"Case logs?" he guessed.

"Satellite sweeps, intercepted comms, any whisper of where Borodin is." She looked at him. "Sleep. Let me chase ghosts for a few hours."

He wanted to argue but eyelids drooped under morphine weight. The bed seemed to cradle his ribs, pain dulling into background hum. He focused on Evelyn's fingers curled around his until the touch blurred into dream.

As he drifted, memory flashed: Borodin's eyes in the cabin door, then Evelyn disappearing into the wind, red rip cord tight in her fist. The rage that had carried him through the fall banked into something harder. Resolve.

Morning would come. They would stand, and they would hunt until Borodin was trapped in a corner.