The media is outside Lincoln Center—reporters, cameras, chaos. The FBI escorts us through the back exit, avoiding the circus.
In the SUV heading back to Philadelphia, I finally process.
Anton is dead. I watched him die. Danced over his corpse. Completed the performance he tried to interrupt at Halloween.
I don't feel guilty. I feel—accomplished. Like I finished the performance perfectly.
Silence settles as the SUV hums through the dark highway back to Philadelphia.
We arrive at the mansion a little after midnight.
Natasha meets us at the door, still dressed despite the late hour. She pulls me into a tight hug immediately.
"I watched the news," she says, voice shaking. "Saw reports of the incident at Lincoln Center, hostage situation, fatalities. I was terrified—"
"It's over. We're okay. The baby's okay."
Sergei appears from the hallway—he went with us to Lincoln Center, returned in the convoy. Natasha turns at the sound of his footsteps, and something passes between them. Relief. Connection.
She crosses to him quickly, gives him a brief but meaningful hug. His hand settles on her back for just a moment—careful, respectful, but unmistakably intimate.
"You're safe," she says quietly to him.
"We all are. It's finished."
They separate, both aware Maksim and I are watching but not caring. Natasha returns to me, studying me with a dancer's eye for detail.
"You performed after he died," she says. "I saw a video—someone posted it online already. You danced over his body. You're magnificent," she says simply. "Terrifying and magnificent."
Sergei moves to Maksim. "The perimeter is secure. I've doubled the guards for tonight, though the threat is eliminated. Old habits."
"Thank you," Maksim says, gripping his shoulder briefly. "For everything tonight."
"Always, Pakhan."
After Natasha and Sergei return to their own rooms, Maksim and I are alone.
1:00 AM. We are finally in our bedroom. Twenty hours since we woke up this morning planning to face Anton at Carnegie Hall.
He's dead now. Really, truly dead. Confirmed by the FBI, body in morgue, threat ended.
I should be relieved. Should be celebrating.
Instead, I feel emptied. Hollowed out. Five years of fear and isolation and rebuilding, all leading to watching a man die on stage while two thousand people screamed.
Maksim pulls me against him. "You're shaking."
"Adrenaline crash. It's hitting now."
"You were incredible, the strongest person I've ever known."
"I'm terrified I'm going to fall apart now that it's over."
"Then fall apart. I'll catch you. That's what I'm here for."
I do fall apart. Cry for Elena, for the baby she lost, for eleven minutes of bleeding out knowing her daughter died first. Cry for the five years Anton stole from me. Cry for Natasha's three days as hostage. Cry for all six victims.
Maksim holds me through it.
