Not for Lev.
Not for Arsen.
Not for the mission.
Forher.
Some dead part of me still hoped he wouldn’t be this far gone. That maybe, somehow, Lev would walk out of 42 and Arlo wouldn’t have to break all over again. I never had a father. But a father is all she had.
And now?—
I inhale deep and head down the corridor, swallowing whatever the fuck that feeling is before it festers. Arsen’s voice drifts through the cracked door in sharp Russian syllables. I lean against the frame.
Inside, Sovereigns are trying—and failing—to get an IV into what’s left of Lev. Arsen catches my eyes across the room, and his shoulders drop a fraction. I’m three steps in when I hear it behind me.
“Daddy?”
The room stills.
The air is sucked from my lungs. My heart stumbles. I freeze in the doorway, my body refusing to listen to my mind’s commands.
“Daddy?”
It slips out in a whisper, broken and small?—
Childish.
Because that’s what I feel like again.
A child.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Time warps and my pulse goes still as I take in the shattered body on the bed. What’s left of him.
My world.
My everything.
His face is barely recognizable. Bones exposed, skin purple and raw, gauze soaked in blood that won’t stop leaking. His chest rises, barely. One eye is sewn shut. The other…blinks slowly in my direction.
“Irina?” His voice is wet and slurred. So quiet I almost miss it. I’m on my knees beside him, grabbing his hand before I even realize I’ve moved.
“No… Dad…”
I don’t have words. Only sobs. My mother’s name rips through me.
It can’t be him.
Not my strong, fearless, impossible-to-kill father. He was always untouchable. Untouchable even when he bled.
“It’s me, Dad. It’s Arlo. I’m here.”
“Arlo…” His head turns slightly. “Firecracker? Is it really you?”
I try to nod, but I’m already crying too hard.
His right hand trembles in mine—and I realize there are only three fingers left. A sob rips through me, but I force it down and kiss what’s left of his hand.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”
