The thrill is fading. Reality settling in.
Volk reaches over, taking my hand. His palm is warm. Solid. Real in a way nothing else feels right now. "Breathe," he says. "You did what you had to do."
"I killed him."
"Yes." He doesn’t say anything else, and it's exactly what I need.
"I've been planning it…and now that it's done I don't…I don’t know—" My voice breaks. "I don't know how I feel."
"That's normal."
"How would you know?" I regret the question as soon as I ask it. If anyone knows, he does.
His jaw tightens , eyes fixed on the road. "I think you know how. The first time you cross that line, the first time you take a life , it changes you."
"I'm already changed. The desert changed me." It’s the first time I’ve mentioned what happened.
"This is different. This was your choice. Your hand. Your knife. There's no going back from this."
I know. God, I know. The weight of it settles over me like a shroud.
We drive in silence. Phoenix slides past outside the windows as normal people do normal things. Going to dinner, seeing a movie, living lives that don't include murder and revenge. That doesn't include the crushing weight of choices that can't be unmade.
CHAPTER 10
Sofiya
SONG: HIDE AND SEEK BY CLAIRE GUERRESO
Volk's penthouseis everything I expected. Expensive. Minimalist. It’s clear money means nothing to him, not in the usual flagrant way rich people treat money, but in a genuineI’ll be the same person whether this is here or not way. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city skyline with mountains in the background. Leather furniture that smells new , and art that probably costs more than most people make in a year.
He leads me to his room’s ensuite bathroom and starts the shower. Steam begins to fill the space.
"Get cleaned up," he says. "I'll burn your clothes."
I look down. Blood on my jeans, jacket, and boots. Igor's blood. Evidence that will send me to prison if anyone finds it.
"Okay."
He leaves, closing the door, and gives me privacy I'm not sure I want. I don’t know if being alone is what I need right now.
I strip, dropping the bloody clothes in a pile , and step into the shower. The water runs red to pink, then clear. But I can still feel it. The blood. The violence. I scrub until my skin is raw. I know there won’t be enough soap in the world to get me clean again.
When I finally emerge, wrapped in a towel that's softer than anything I own, Volk is waiting in the bedroom. He's changed too, and his hair is wet. He must have used another shower in the apartment. The bloody evidence of his own violence erased.
"Here." He hands me some clothes, a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.
Both are comically too big. They smell like him as I put them on after ducking behind the bathroom door for privacy. My hands still shake. The adrenaline crash hits hard as I walk back into the bedroom. Volk watches me, those gray eyes missing nothing.
"Come here," he says softly. This feels like an invitation, not a command.
I should refuse, maintain distance. Remember he's on my list too. That eventually I'll have to kill him the same way I killed Igor. But I'm tired. So tired. Tired of being alone. Tired of carrying this weight by myself. Tired of pretending I'm strong enough to handle everything revenge demands. I walk to him.
His arms close around me. Solid. Warm. Safe in a way nothing has felt sinceMomochkadied.
I break. Sobs wrack my body as ten years of grief and rage and pain pour out in ugly, gasping sounds. He holds me through it. Doesn't try to quiet me. Doesn't tell me it's okay. Just holds me while I fall apart.
"I killed him," I gasp. "I killed him, and I liked it and that makes me a monster."
