The Waiting Game

But then, he sees him. Malik. Leaning over a cot, his broad shoulders obscuring the figure lying beneath. And then, a flash of familiar curly hair, a glimpse of a pale face. It's Robin.

Ramsey's heart lurches. Relief, so intense it's almost painful, washes over him. He wants to run to him, to pull her into his arms, to ensure her safety. 

But a cold wave of reality washes over him. He remembers the stories in the meetings with the Volkovs, the whispers of Malik's growing power after his parents demise, his ruthless efficiency. 

He looks at the sheer size of the man, so different than when he was fifteen, now filled out with muscle, his body a long line of tightly constrained strength. He remembers his own weakness, the throbbing pain in his body, the exhaustion that threatens to overwhelm him.

He can't fight Malik. Not now. Not like this.

A wave of nausea sweeps over him, the taste of bile rising in his throat.