"It was a long time ago," he says quietly.
"How long?"
"Ten years. Him and my mother. It was a car bomb."
The words are flat, emotionless, but I hear what he's not saying. The grief underneath. The rage. I can hear it because I feel it every single day.
"That's terrible," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."
He drains his wine glass and refills it. "What about you? You said you don't have family."
It's my turn to look away, to stare into the fire instead of at him.
"My parents died when I was twelve. A car accident." I take a shaky breath. "But I don't like talking about it."
When I finally look back at him, his expression has changed. It’s softened. And there's something in his eyes that looks almost like understanding.
"I'm sorry," he says, and it sounds genuine.
"Me too."
We sit in silence, the fire crackling between us, and for a moment, I forget that he's my captor and I'm his prisoner. Like we're just two people who've both lost the people they loved most.
"Can I ask you something?" I say.
"You can ask. I may not answer."
"Am I ever going to get out of here?"
He pauses and the firelight catches in his eyes, making them look almost silver. "I don't kill innocent people."
"But you do kill people."
"Yes."
"Doesn't that bother you?"
"No."
The honesty of it should terrify me. Should send me running from this room.
But it doesn't.
Maybe it's the grief we both carry. Maybe it's the way he's looking at me right now, like in another life this could be something.
Or maybe I'm just losing my mind.
A sound from somewhere in the lodge makes us both pause. A door opening and closing. The sound of voices.
Nikolai's posture shifts slightly, his attention sharpening even as he maintains his relaxed appearance. His phone buzzes on the table, and he glances at it.
He stands. "Excuse me for a moment."
He disappears into the hallway, and I hear the low murmur of voices. Male voices. One is Nikolai’s deep rumble. The others I don't recognize.
My wine-fogged brain struggles to make sense of it.
Who would be arriving this late?
