Just like I’d imagined. And how, according to Kolya, Chloe described the night.
Apparently, the island became a slaughterhouse as everyone tried to protect their own.
I note Roman’s white-knuckled hands, which are locked behind his back and the only sign that the man speaking is flesh and blood and not machine.
“That’s where I lost Lilia. And Nika. Nine years old.” His voice holds no inflection or pain. He just states the facts, recited from a distance so great that feeling can’t reach anymore.
I can’t imagine how much the Pakhan has suffered over the years. “And now this detective thinks he’s found something.” Igor’s eyes dart to the door. “Something that connects to Sasha.”
“To all of us.” Mikhail catches my eye. “To Jordan Thorne. To Chloe Davidson. To everyone present that night or attached to someone who was.”
Vanya shifts, straightening his cuffs. “Well, those women are family now. And we will all protect the family from what happened on Chaos Island.”
The name hangs in the air, fitting itself to the shape of the threat.
Chaos Island.
The place where everything began to unravel.
Everything connects. Everything matters. Jordan would say it’s all energetically aligned, pushing us toward revelation, whether we want it or not.
And I think she might be right.
Chapter 37
Kirill
No one speaks for a long time as every man sits trapped inside his own cage of sorrow, each an unreachable island adrift in the aftermath of recent revelations. The thick, heavy air presses in, squeezing breath from our lungs.
The crushing gravity is almost too much.
Despite everything, though, my mind keeps slipping back to the hotel, to Jordan in that sterile, ugly light, with her arms locked around her body.
I left her there. I let the lifeline go, convinced I did the right thing. Something I rarely have a chance to do.
Why, then, does it feel so wrong?
My palm sweats against the gift box, and I shift my stance.
No one lifts their head.
Kolya glares at the floor as if willing it to swallow him whole. Vanya is stiff, his usual ease splintered and leaving nothing left but glassy edges. Max’s fists dig gouges in his thighs, his knuckles bone-white as he punishes his own flesh. Alexei breathes slow and steady. As I watch his lips move, counting every inhale, every exhale, I know he’s fighting to stay above water.
Broken men. All of us. Yet still loyal.
Loyal enough to…
The irony tastes like blood.
I abandoned my only light so she wouldn’t have to see this. Wouldn’t have to break the same way we did.
But right now, I just want to hear Jordan’s voice slicing through this silence. Listen to her wild talk of wavelengths and auras. Drink in her green gaze, which always sees more than the rest of us. Feel her warmth beating back this cold.
Roman moves first. The lethargy snaps, burned away in an instant. A new heat blazes in his eyes, his jaw clenches, and every muscle draws tight with purpose. He’s constructed of iron once more, forged in the flames of loss and pain.
“Enough about the past. Kirill, tell me what happened. What did you find?”
Old reflexes return. Stand straight. Report. Turn everything into clean lines, facts, and orders.
