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CHAPTER III. In The Snows Grasp
The dawn broke with an icy reluctance, the darkness still heavy over the Red Room as if it knew what was to come. Elina stirred from a restless sleep, her body weary but her mind sharp, trained to snap into focus no matter the hour. It must have been barely 4 a.m. when the sharp rap of knuckles echoed through the cold metal door, followed by the jarring entrance of Ms. Smirnova. The door swung open, revealing her silhouette framed against the dim hallway light. In her hand, she clutched a tan folder-an ominous harbinger of the day ahead.
"Good morning, girls," she greeted them, her tone clipped, offering no room for pleasantries.
"Good morning, Madame," Elina and Zoya responded in unison, their voices still heavy with the remnants of sleep.
Ms. Smirnova crossed the room with brisk, calculated steps, placing the folder on a weathered desk in the corner. Zoya reached for it first, her fingers flipping through the contents with a practiced efficiency. Her expression was unreadable, but a fleeting side glance at Elina spoke volumes-whatever was in that folder was far from good.
"Mission details are inside," Ms. Smirnova continued, her voice as sharp as the cold steel of a blade. "You two will be joining Milla and Rhaena on this one."
Elina exchanged a glance with Zoya. Milla and Rhaena were not their preferred partners; the two teams rarely meshed well, each too set in their ways to easily cooperate. But in the Red Room, preferences were a luxury they could not afford.
"You leave in twenty. No earlier, no later," Ms. Smirnova ordered, her eyes narrowing as they hesitated. "Well? Don't just stand there-get ready!"
The room burst into a flurry of motion. Elina and Zoya moved with the fluidity of seasoned operatives, braiding their hair back with swift precision, donning their tactical gear, and heading to the armory to arm themselves. Elina's hand gravitated towards her katana, her fingers curling around the hilt. The blade was more than just a weapon; it was an extension of her, forged with a deadly sharpness and a balance that felt like it was made for her hand alone. Svechnikov had ensured that.
Zoya, on the other hand, equipped herself with her signature Nai's, the blades slipping into their holsters with a smooth, practiced motion. She met Elina's gaze and gave a curt nod-they were ready.
They ascended to the rooftop, the bitter wind biting at their exposed skin. Milla and Rhaena were already there, seated and prepared, a stark contrast to the rushed preparations of Elina and Zoya. It was clear that the other duo had been briefed well in advance, leaving Elina with a sour taste of suspicion. Nonetheless, there was no time for questions.
The helicopter roared to life, its blades slicing through the frigid air as it lifted off. The sun barely peeked over the distant mountains, its weak rays swallowed by the thick, swirling blizzard. As they soared above the snow-covered landscape, Elina opened the folder once more, her eyes scanning the details with methodical precision. Their target: a man named Clint Barton.
