She's picked up one of the dead guards' guns, and now she presses it against the back of Grigory's head. Her hands aren't shaking anymore.
"You held me down," she says, her voice cold and clear and utterly without mercy. "You laughed while I screamed. You told me no one was coming to save me."
Grigory's eyes are wide with terror, his face pale. "Please—please, I was just following orders, I didn't want to?—"
"Liar." She presses the gun harder against his skull. "You enjoyed it. I saw it in your eyes. You got off on it."
"I'm sorry!" He's sobbing now, snot running down his face. "I'm sorry, please, I have a family, I have?—"
"You held me down," Svetlana repeats, and her voice doesn't waver. "You laughed while I screamed. You told me no one was coming to save me."
She looks at me then, and I see something fierce and unbreakable in her gaze. Someone who has survived everything they did to her and come out stronger.
"You were wrong," she says to Grigory, though her eyes never leave mine. "Someone did come. And now you're going to die knowing that everything you did to me, every way you tried to break me, failed."
She pulls the trigger. Grigory's body drops at our feet, blood and brain matter spraying across the concrete.
Two down.
That leaves Iosef.
He backs toward the far wall, his gun swinging between Svetlana and me, his face pale and slick with sweat. "You think this changes anything? You think killing us makes you free? There will always be others. She'll never be safe. That baby will never be safe. You've signed their death warrants by?—"
"Shut up." Svetlana's voice cuts through his rambling like a blade. She steps forward, and I move with her, keeping pace. "You're wrong. I am free. I was free the moment Kazimir found me in that cell. I was free every day I survived you. And I'll be free every day after this, because you'll be dead, and I'll be alive, and that's all that matters."
Iosef's back hits the wall. He has nowhere left to run. His weapon is shaking in his hands, the barrel wavering between us.
"Who gets him?" I ask quietly, looking at Svetlana. "Your choice."
She meets my eyes. Then she points her gun at him. "Together," she says.
We raise our weapons in unison, standing side by side. Iosef opens his mouth to speak, to beg, to threaten—it doesn't matter.
We fire together.
The two bullets find their target in the same instant. One through the heart, one through the head. Iosef's body jerks once, then slumps against the wall, leaving a red smear as he slides to the floor.
Three down.
It's over.
The room falls silent except for our breathing and the ringing in my ears from the gunfire. Svetlana sways on her feet, and I catch her, pulling her against me. She's shaking again, the adrenaline draining away, leaving only exhaustion and relief mingled together.
"I've got you," I murmur into her hair, breathing in the smell of her. "I've got you. You're safe now."
"The baby—" Her voice breaks. "Kazimir, the baby, I need to?—"
"We're getting you to a doctor. Right now." I look at Ilya, who nods and is already speaking into his radio.
I pull back slightly, my hands framing her face, tilting it up so I can see her. There's blood on her cheek, and her eyes are red-rimmed and wild.
"Are you hurt?" I ask, my hands already moving over her, checking for wounds. "Did they?—"
"I'm okay." Her voice is hoarse. "I'm okay, I just—" Her eyes drop to my right hand, to the blood-soaked bandage, and her face goes white. "Your hand. Oh God, Kazimir, your hand?—"
"It's nothing."
"It's not nothing, you're—" She reaches for it, but I pull away.
