The southern port city of Meridian sprawled along the coast like a stain, its docks reaching into the gray water like the fingers of a drowning man. Irina stood at the window of the hotel room, watching the cargo ships move through the harbor, and thought about the shipping manifest that had brought them here.
It had been six weeks since the Solstice ball. Six weeks of depositions and hearings and media interviews that had turned Irina Volkov, Katya Morova, and Sloane Merrick into names known across Columbia and beyond. The Westmore trafficking case had dominated the news cycle, the lurid details of the adoption registry and the conditioning reports generating a public outrage that had forced the government to act. Seventeen defendants had been indicted. The trials were scheduled to begin in the spring. The Lyceum Circle had been disbanded, its members facing charges ranging from conspiracy to torture. Prescott and Helena Wallingford were in federal custody, their assets frozen, their gilded life reduced to a prison cell and a court-appointed attorney.
But the network was still out there. And somewhere in the labyrinth of shipping records and financial documents that Kostova's team had recovered from Vandermeer's office, they had found a lead.
Mira Danovich had been sold to a buyer identified only as the Meridian Consortium. The shipping manifest listed her destination as Port Serrano, a city on the southern coast of Columbia that had long been known as a hub for illicit trade. According to the records, she had been delivered three weeks before the Solstice ball. She had been alive at the time of delivery.
Now, six weeks later, Irina was standing in a hotel room in Port Serrano, looking out at the docks where Mira had been brought, and trying to figure out how to find a single girl in a city of half a million people.
"We have an address," Sloane said from the desk, where she was studying a map of the city on her laptop. "The shipping manifest listed a receiving warehouse. It's in the old industrial district, near the container port. If the Meridian Consortium is still operating there, someone might know where Mira was taken."
"Or they might shoot us on sight," Katya said from the bed, where she was cleaning a handgun that Kostova had provided. The prosecutor had been reluctant to arm them, but she had also understood that sending three teenage girls into a city controlled by a trafficking syndicate required some concessions to practicality. "The network knows who we are. There's a bounty on our heads. If we walk into a Consortium facility asking questions, we won't walk out again."
"Then we don't walk in asking questions." Irina turned from the window. "We need someone on the inside. Someone who knows the Consortium's operations but isn't loyal to them. A competitor. A disgruntled employee. Someone we can turn."
Sloane frowned. "How do we find someone like that in a city we don't know?"
"The same way the network finds victims. We go where the vulnerable people are. We look for someone who's been hurt by the Consortium and wants payback." Irina crossed to the map on the laptop. "The docks. The warehouse district. The bars where the crews drink after their shifts. If the Consortium has been operating here for years, they've made enemies. We just need to find one."
The search took three days.
On the first day, they scouted the warehouse district, identifying the building listed in the shipping manifest. It was a sprawling concrete structure surrounded by a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Security guards patrolled the perimeter, and cameras monitored every approach. Breaking in would require resources they did not have.
On the second day, they visited the docks, posing as journalism students researching a story on the shipping industry. The dockworkers were suspicious of outsiders, but a few were willing to talk for the right price. They learned that the Meridian Consortium was a front for a larger organization, one that had connections to the same Eastern markets that Vandermeer had served. The Consortium specialized in high-value merchandise: young girls, rare artifacts, anything that could be sold to wealthy buyers who valued discretion over legality.
On the third day, they found their informant.
His name was Vasco, and he was a former dockworker who had been fired from the Consortium's warehouse after a dispute over pay. He now spent his days drinking at a bar near the container port, nursing a grudge that had festered into something like obsession. When Irina approached him, he was three drinks into his afternoon and willing to talk to anyone who would listen.
"You're looking for a girl," he said, after Irina had explained their purpose. "A specific girl. From Krovia."
"Yes. Her name is Mira Danovich. She was shipped here about two months ago. She was sixteen. Dark hair. Dark eyes. She was carrying a canvas bag when she arrived."
Vasco stared at his drink for a long moment. Then he said, "I remember her."
Irina felt her heart stop. "You saw her?"
"I unloaded the container she was in. They bring them in on cargo ships, packed like furniture. This one was half-dead when she came out. Dehydrated. Scared. The handlers had to carry her to the transport van." He took a long swallow of his drink. "I asked what was wrong with her. One of the handlers said she'd been crying for three days straight. Said she was more trouble than she was worth."
"What happened to her?"
"They took her to the processing center. It's an old hotel on the east side of the city, the one they use for high-value merchandise. They clean them up there, get them ready for sale. The girl you're looking for was only there for a few days. Then she was moved."
"Moved where?"
Vasco shook his head. "I don't know. The Consortium doesn't tell dockworkers where the merchandise goes. But there's someone who might know. A woman named Rivas. She runs the processing center. She keeps records of every girl who passes through. If your Mira was sold, Rivas will know who bought her."
"Where can we find this Rivas?"
"The Hotel Esperanza. It's a derelict place on the east side, looks abandoned from the outside. But inside, it's all locked doors and security cameras. Rivas lives there. Runs the operation from a suite on the top floor." Vasco looked at Irina with something like pity. "You're not going to be able to walk in there and ask questions. Rivas is protected. The Consortium pays a lot of money to make sure no one interferes with their business."
"We're not going to walk in," Irina said. "We're going to find another way."
The Hotel Esperanza stood at the end of a dead-end street in the worst part of Port Serrano, its facade crumbling, its windows dark. To a casual observer, it looked like a relic of a more prosperous era, abandoned to rot and decay. But Irina, watching from across the street, could see the signs of occupation. The security cameras hidden in the eaves. The reinforced door at the side entrance. The black SUV parked in the alley, its engine idling.
"It's a fortress," Katya murmured, crouched beside her in the shadow of a boarded-up shop. "How do we get in?"
"We don't. We make her come out." Irina pulled out her phone and showed Katya a photograph she had taken that morning. It showed Vasco, the dockworker, standing outside the Hotel Esperanza with a package in his hands. "Vasco owes us a favor. He's going to deliver a message to Rivas. A message that will make her want to meet us on neutral ground."
"What kind of message?"
"The kind that threatens her operation. Vasco is going to tell her that federal agents are planning to raid the hotel. He's going to offer to sell her information about the raid, but only if she meets him in person at a location we choose. When she arrives, we'll be waiting."
Sloane frowned. "What if she doesn't believe him?"
"She will. We've been feeding information to the local press for the past two days, stories about an impending federal operation in Port Serrano. Kostova's office has been issuing vague statements about ongoing investigations. By now, Rivas will be nervous. She'll want to know what Vasco knows."
"And when she meets him? What then?"
"Then we convince her to give us what we want."
The meeting was set for midnight, in a warehouse on the edge of the dock district that Vasco had assured them would be empty. Irina, Katya, and Sloane arrived an hour early, scouting the perimeter, checking for any sign that Rivas had brought backup. The warehouse was dark and cold, the air thick with the smell of salt and rust. They positioned themselves in the shadows, waiting.
Rivas arrived exactly at midnight.
She was not what Irina had expected. The woman who ran the Consortium's processing center was small and unassuming, with graying hair pulled back in a bun and glasses that gave her the look of a librarian. She wore a dark coat over a simple dress, and she carried a briefcase that might have contained documents or a weapon or both. Two men accompanied her, large and silent, their hands in their pockets.
Vasco met her at the entrance, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. "I have the information. But I want payment first."
"Show me the information, and you'll get your payment." Rivas's voice was calm, almost bored. "What do you know about the raid?"
Before Vasco could answer, Irina stepped out of the shadows.
"The raid is real," she said. "But it's not coming from the federal government. It's coming from us."
Rivas turned, her eyes narrowing. The two men reached for their weapons, but Katya and Sloane were already behind them, their guns drawn. "Don't," Katya said. "We're not here to hurt anyone. We just want information."
Rivas looked at Irina, and something flickered in her eyes. Recognition. "You're the Volkov girl. The one from Westmore. I've seen your photograph."
"Then you know why I'm here."
"You're looking for one of the girls. The one who was shipped here before the raids." Rivas shook her head slowly. "You came a long way for nothing. The girl you're looking for is gone."
"Gone where?"
"Sold. Three weeks ago. A buyer from the Eastern Consortium. They paid a premium for her. Young, untouched, psychologically vulnerable—that's what the file said. She fit their specifications perfectly." Rivas's voice was clinical, detached. "I remember her. She cried constantly. Made the handlers angry. But the buyer didn't care about that. They wanted someone who could be molded. Broken in. The crying would stop eventually, they said. It always does."
Irina felt the rage rising in her chest, but she forced it down. "Who was the buyer? Where did they take her?"
"I don't know. The Eastern Consortium doesn't share that information. They have agents who handle the transactions, anonymous accounts, shell companies. The trail goes cold as soon as the merchandise leaves the country."
"You're lying."
"I'm a businesswoman, Miss Volkov. I don't lie about business. It's bad for the bottom line." Rivas adjusted her glasses. "But I can tell you something that might help. The Eastern Consortium doesn't just buy merchandise. They also sell it. They have a network of private estates across the Eastern bloc, wealthy clients who purchase girls for long-term... companionship. If your Mira is still alive, she's probably in one of those estates. But there are hundreds of them, scattered across a dozen countries. Finding the right one would take years."
"Then give us the records. The transactions. The shipping manifests. Everything you have on the Eastern Consortium."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because if you don't, we'll make sure that every federal agent and international law enforcement officer within a thousand miles knows exactly where to find the Hotel Esperanza. The raid that Vasco told you about? It's not real yet. But it can be. Kostova has been looking for an excuse to expand her operation to the southern ports. Give us the records, and we'll leave Port Serrano. Refuse, and you'll be in federal custody by the end of the week."
Rivas studied her for a long moment. Then she smiled, a thin, cold expression that did not reach her eyes. "You're very confident for someone who's standing in a warehouse in a city you don't know, surrounded by people who would happily kill you for the bounty on your head."
"The bounty is only good if someone collects it. And if you try, you'll never get the information Vasco has. You'll never know when the real raid is coming. You'll spend every day looking over your shoulder, waiting for the agents to kick down your door." Irina stepped closer, her voice dropping. "We're not here to destroy your operation, Rivas. We're here for one girl. Give us the records, and we disappear. It's that simple."
The silence stretched. The two men shifted uneasily, their hands still on their weapons. Katya and Sloane held their positions, their guns steady.
Then Rivas opened her briefcase.
"The records are in here," she said. "Six months of transactions. Names, dates, destinations. Everything you need to trace the Eastern Consortium's network. But I'm warning you: what you find in here will not bring you peace. The Consortium is larger than you can imagine. Their clients include people who are beyond the reach of any law enforcement agency. If you go after them, you will fail. And you will die."
"I've been told that before." Irina took the briefcase. "Thank you for your cooperation."
"Don't thank me. Just leave Port Serrano. And don't come back."
Rivas turned and walked out of the warehouse, her two men following. Vasco watched her go, his face pale. "Is that it? Are we done?"
"We're done," Irina said. "You did well, Vasco. There's an envelope waiting for you at your bar. Enough to get you out of the city, if you want to leave."
He nodded, a quick, nervous motion, and disappeared into the darkness.
Back in the hotel room, they spread the contents of the briefcase across the bed. The records were extensive: transaction logs, shipping manifests, buyer profiles, photographs. Page after page of girls being bought and sold like commodities. Irina scanned the documents, looking for one name in particular.
She found it on the forty-seventh page.
Mira Danovich. Age 16. Origin: Krovia. Sold to: Eastern Consortium, Agent designation "M." Purchase price: $35,000. Destination: Valdrak Estate, Belovaria.
"Belovaria," Sloane said, reading over her shoulder. "That's a small country on the eastern edge of the continent. Former Soviet bloc. Known for corruption, organized crime, and a complete lack of extradition treaties with the West."
"That's where they took her." Irina stared at the entry. "Valdrak Estate. Whoever owns it, that's where Mira is."
"Or was," Katya said quietly. "The transaction is three weeks old. She could have been moved again."
"Then we find out where. We trace the ownership of the estate. We find out who lives there. We figure out how to get in." Irina looked at her friends. "This is the lead we've been looking for. The first real lead since Mira disappeared."
"It's also a trap," Sloane said. "Rivas gave us these records too easily. She could have falsified them, or planted false information to send us into an ambush. The Eastern Consortium knows we're looking for them. They might be using Mira as bait."
"Then we don't walk into the trap. We go around it." Irina pulled out her phone and dialed a number. "Kostova needs to know what we've found. If she can coordinate with international authorities, maybe we can get into Belovaria without triggering an alarm."
"And if she can't?"
"Then we go anyway. With or without backup. Mira is out there, and we're not leaving her behind."
Outside, the lights of Port Serrano glittered against the dark water of the harbor. Somewhere in the distance, a cargo ship sounded its horn, a low, mournful note that echoed across the waves. Irina stood at the window and thought about the girl who had been pulled from a container on these docks, dehydrated and terrified, crying for three days straight. Mira had been sold twice now: once by Vandermeer, once by the Eastern Consortium. She was property, according to the records. A commodity to be bought and sold.
But Irina knew the truth. Mira was not property. She was a girl who had clutched a canvas bag to her chest on a transport van in Kostov, who had believed the promises on Vandermeer's flyers, who had arrived at Westmore Academy with hope in her eyes and a butterfly clip in her hair. She was a girl who had been betrayed by everyone who was supposed to protect her.
And Irina was going to find her. No matter what it cost. No matter how far she had to go.
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