"I'll believe it when I see it."
Fair point.
“So, what’s the damage?” I ask.
"The list is extensive," Kira says, her expression somewhere between exasperated and relieved. "The bullet wound in your thigh—which they didn’t have to do surgery, but you’re lucky. Because you kept walking on it like an idiot you almost did real damage. Three broken ribs, though the doctor says at least one of those was already healing from before."
"From the last time I got shot," I mutter.
"Yes. From the last time." She gives me a look that could freeze fire. "You also have a mild concussion from hitting your head when you passed out. Or when a building collapsed on you. Hard to say. Smoke inhalation that they want to monitor. Multiplecontusions and lacerations. The gunshot to your shoulder healed nicely but you tore the one on your side. They stitched it up again. No infections but you are getting antibiotics.”
I process this information. It could be worse. I've definitely had worse.
"So when can I leave?"
"You're not leaving." Her voice is flat, brooking no argument. "The doctor says minimum one day, possibly two. You need rest. Real rest. Not 'Maksim pretends to rest while planning his next suicide mission' rest."
"Kira—"
"No." She crosses her arms. "I'm not negotiating this. You're staying in this bed until a medical professional clears you to leave. And if you try to sneak out, I will have Semyon post guards at your door."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
I study her face and realize she absolutely would. The Ice Queen doesn't make idle threats.
"Fine," I concede. "One day. Maybe two. But then we need to move. Roman is still out there."
"Semyon is handling it."
"Semyon can't—"
"Semyon is perfectly capable of coordinating people without you micromanaging from a hospital bed." She leans forward, her eyes intense. "You need to trust him. Trust that the world won't fall apart if you rest for forty-eight hours."
The hardest thing for me isn't the pain or the injuries. It's the inactivity. The feeling of being useless while threats still circle.
But she's right. My body needs time to heal. And pushing myself now will only make me a liability later.
"Okay," I say quietly. "Two days. I'll stay."
"Thank you." The relief in her voice is palpable. "Now, the doctor wants you on bed rest. That means no getting up except to use the bathroom."
"What am I supposed to do for two days?"
"Rest. Sleep. Heal." She touches my face again, her thumb brushing my cheekbone.
"Where's Anya?" I ask.
Kira's expression shifts, becoming more guarded. "ICU. With our father."
My stomach drops. "He's still alive?"
"Barely. He's hanging on, but..." She trails off, and I hear everything she's not saying. "The doctors aren't optimistic. The head injury is severe. Even if he survives, there might be permanent damage."
Guilt crashes over me. I got him out of that building, but maybe I should have done more. Moved faster. Protected him better.
"Maksim." Kira's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "This isn't your fault."
