Kiro and Iosif exchange a look, then continue ahead to keep watch, giving us space without making it obvious.
I lean against the railing. Cold metal is like a balm against my warm skin. The water beneath us churns like a restless thought.
“I thought she’d try something else,” I say softly. “I didn’t think she’d fall.”
Damian stands beside me, resting his hands on the rail, staring at the black water as if it might offer absolution.
“Inessa built herself on Anton’s bones,” he says. “Empires like that crumble the second someone stops shaking.”
“She said love makes fools of killers.”
His dark hair flutters with the wind. He looks like a prince I dreamed of as a child.
“And what do you think?” he asks.
I watch a ferry drift across the strait, its lights smearing across the surface like melting gold.
“I think…” My voice catches, surprising me. “I think love makes people like us dangerous. Because now they have something they’re scared to lose.”
Damian turns his head slowly, like he’s making sure he heard me right.
“And are you scared to lose me, Harper?” he asks.
My stomach flips apprehensively.
“I’m terrified,” I whisper. “But I’m still here.”
He closes the distance between us, his lips parting to say something when he seems to think better of it, shaking himself out of his reverie.
Not now,his eyes tell me. That’s something new I found out I can do—read his face and the smallest twitch in his expression.
“Is it done?” I ask instead, letting it go.
“For her?” he says. “Yes. For us… that depends on what we do next.”
“We deserve a break, even if it doesn’t last.”
“For tonight,” he murmurs.
The Bosphorus hums beneath us, ancient and alive, carrying away the wreckage of everything we just dismantled. Above us, the bridge lights flicker gently in the wind, reflecting on the water like promises instead of threats.
And for the first time since Moscow, I allow myself to breathe without checking for exits.
Chapter 25 - Damian
As I step through the new gates of the Ignatov estate, I realize the ground remembers the blood that once soaked it.
The wind feels like breath held and finally released. Even the snow looks like a blank page that doesn’t quite trust the ink that will stain it next.
The reconstruction crews have left for the night. The scaffolding is gone from the northern wing, and the skeletal framework that haunted this place for months has been replaced with wood beams instead of steel, wide glass panes instead of bulletproof slits.
The house no longer resembles a fortress bracing for war. It stands like a confession, newly built but carrying every scar underneath.
Kiro and Iosif lug crates through the front hall, grumbling about furniture arrangements. Iris and Sera are in the kitchen, their laughter clinking like glassware through the open windows.
Sera smiles a small, tentative smile. Harper notices it too; her shoulders soften in a way I feel rather than see. I find myself wishing I could put that expression in my pocket, keep it as proof that we haven’t broken everything we touched.
The new walls still hold the perfume of varnish and newly cut timber. Every corner feels unfamiliar. Harper chats with Sera about something involving the new comms hub in the study. She gestures animatedly, strands of red hair falling from her braid, and despite the ruined months behind us.
