"We were both victims." He squeezes my hand. "Roman used your father's desperation and my rage. Manipulated us into destroying each other while he consolidated power."
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of it all settling between us.
"What can we do?" I ask finally. "There has to be something. Some way to warn Anya. To stop the wedding. To expose Roman."
"I don't know." The admission costs him. "I've been trying to think of something. Anything. But we're locked in a cell. Wounded. Watched. They've made sure we can't escape."
"There has to be a way." I refuse to accept helplessness. "Maksim, we can't just sit here and wait to die. Not with Anya's life at stake."
"I know." His arm goes around me, pulling me closer despite the pain it obviously causes. "I know. But I don't have answers. Not this time."
The despair in his voice mirrors what I'm feeling. For the first time since this nightmare started, we're truly helpless.
"Tell me what happened," I say, needing to focus on something other than our fate. "After he shot you. What did they do?"
"Dragged me down here. Beat me until I passed out. When I woke up, I was in this cell." He touches his bandaged shoulder. "They wrapped this—barely. Just enough to keep me from bleeding out. Then left me."
"No food? Water?"
"Some." He gestures to a mostly empty bottle in the corner. "Not much. They're not trying to keep me comfortable. Just alive enough to be useful."
I examine his shoulder as best I can in the dim light. The bandaging is crude, and blood has soaked through. I can see infection setting in—red streaks radiating from the wound. And it smells.
"This is bad," I say.
“But it doesn't matter. If Roman's planning to kill us tomorrow, infection won't have time to do the job."
The casual acceptance in his voice breaks something in me.
"Don't." I grab his face, forcing him to look at me. "Don't give up."
"Kira, we're locked in a cell! There's no way out! No cavalry coming! It's over!"
"It's not over until we're dead!" I'm shouting now too. "And even then, we go down fighting! We don't just accept—"
"What choice do we have?" He grabs my hands. "Tell me. What's the plan? How do we escape a locked cell when we're wounded and outnumbered?"
I don't have an answer.
The realization makes me deflate. He's right. We're truly trapped.
"I'm sorry." He pulls me close again, and I let him. "I shouldn't have yelled. I just... I can't see a way out this time. And that terrifies me more than dying."
"What terrifies you?" I ask against his chest.
"That Anya will marry Roman. That he'll destroy her. That you and I will die without stopping him." His voice breaks. "That after everything—after all the hate and rage and wasted time—we finally understand each other and it's too late."
Tears stream down my face. Because he's right.
We finally believe each other. Finally see the truth. Finally stop fighting long enough to realize we never stopped loving each other.
And it's too late.
"I love you," I whisper. "I never stopped. Even when you hated me. Even when you were destroying everything I built. I still loved you."
"I know." His arms tighten. "I love you too. Always have. I just forgot for a while. Let rage blind me to what was real."
We hold each other in that terrible cell, and for just a moment, it feels like we're kids again. Planning a future that seemed golden and certain.
