Sergei allows the silence to linger for a beat—long enough for my pulse to throb behind my eyes, long enough for the air recyclers to hum—then turns his attention to Maksim.
"Is that true?" my father asks.
His voice is gentle now. That is worse. It's the tone he uses when he wants someone to hang themselves with their own rope.
Maksim doesn't hesitate.
"No."
The word lands heavy, simple, unmovable.
My stomach drops, as if the floor has vanished.
"Maksim—" I start, panic rising like an animal.
"No." He cuts me off without looking at me, his eyes fixed on Sergei. Steady. Unafraid. "It is not a control mechanism. It is not strategy. What exists between us is mutual."
For the first time, Sergei's eyebrows lift slightly.
A real reaction. A fissure in the stone.
"Mutual," my father repeats.
"Yes." Maksim's voice is calm—neither defiant nor pleading. Just certain. "Ivan did not manipulate me into this. He did not condition me to want him. I chose this. I choose him."
I want to reach for Maksim under the table, to stop him by force. I want to shout. I want to drag him out of this room and shield him from my father's judgment.
But I can't move. My muscles have locked into stillness.
"I was trained to serve," Maksim continues. "I was conditioned to obey. But I was not conditioned to love."
He says the word like it's a blade he's ready to fall on.
"That is something I found on my own," he adds, "despite every piece of my training that labeled it a weakness."
Sergei studies him with that familiar, terrible intensity—calculating costs, assessing risks, deciding whether the cleanest solution is removal or assimilation.
"You love my son," Sergei states.
"Yes."
"And you believe he loves you."
Maksim's gaze flickers to me—just a moment. In it, there's a question that pierces through my ribs. Notdo you want me?Notwill you fuck me again?
Was I wrong to stake my life on this?
"Yes," Maksim replies, turning back to Sergei. "I do."
My father looks at me.
The weight of that look feels physical. It presses down on my shoulders, tightening my throat.
"Is this true, Ivan?" Sergei asks. "Do you love this man?"
There is no safe answer.
If I say yes, I confirm the weakness Boris wants Sergei to see. I confirm that I am compromised, sentimental, unfit.
