"How long?"
"A week. Maybe two. Your body needs time."
"We don't have two weeks. Every day we wait, Roman consolidates power. Hunts for us. Plans his revenge."
"And every day you push too hard, you risk dying for real this time." Semyon's voice hardens. "I didn't drag your ass out of that compound just to watch you kill yourself with stubbornness."
Before I can argue, I hear movement from the bedroom. Soft footsteps. Then Kira appears in the doorway.
She's wearing borrowed clothes—sweatpants and a t-shirt that are too big. Her hair is still tangled. The bruises on her face look worse in daylight.
But her eyes light up when she sees me sitting at the table.
"You're up." She crosses to me quickly, her hands immediately going to my face, checking my temperature. "You shouldn't be up. You should be resting."
"I'm fine."
"You're a terrible liar." Her fingers trace the edge of the bandage on my shoulder. "You're bleeding through again."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine." She looks at Semyon. "Tell him it's not fine."
"It's not fine," Semyon says dutifully. "But he's stubborn."
"I'm aware." She moves behind me, her hands gentle on my good shoulder. "Come back to bed. Let me change your bandages at least."
I want to argue.
But her touch is so gentle, and I'm so tired.
“You two were planning,” she says.
I nod. “We were.”
"Maksim heals," Semyon says. "That's the only plan for now."
“Are you sure we’re safe?” Kira asks.
"For now," Semyon agrees. "Maksim needs to heal. When Roman does find us—and he will eventually—we're ready."
I know he's right. I know I need time to recover if I'm going to be any use in the fight ahead.
But every instinct screams at me to move now, strike while Roman's vulnerable.
"One week," I say. "I'll give it one week. Then we end this."
Semyon looks like he wants to argue but finally nods. "One week. But you actually rest. No pushing. No testing your limits. You heal properly."
"Deal."
Kira's hands tighten on my shoulder. "Come on. Back to bed. Let me take care of you."
I let her pull me to my feet, leaning on her more than I want to admit. The walk back to the bedroom is slower than the walk out, my body finally admitting defeat.
She helps me back into bed. Then she disappears and returns with fresh bandages and supplies.
"This is going to hurt," she warns.
