"But you found me." My voice cracks. "You came for me."
"Always." He pulls back just enough to look at me, his blue eyes fierce. "I will always come for you. No matter what. No matter where. You understand that?"
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
A knock on the door interrupts us, and then it opens. Ilya steps inside, his expression unreadable. He looks at me, then at Kazimir, then back to me.
I stiffen. Kazimir betrayed him. He should have killed Kazimir for what he did. And yet here Kazimir stands, alive. Injured, but alive.
"The doctor says you're cleared to leave," Ilya says. His voice is neutral, giving nothing away. "Kazimir will take you home."
Home. I don't even know where that is anymore. Kazimir's apartment? Somewhere new?
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For helping. For?—"
"Don't." Ilya's voice is sharp, cutting me off. "Don't thank me. I didn't do this for you."
He looks at Kazimir then, something passing between them that I can't read. Then he turns and leaves without another word.
I stare at the closed door, my mind racing. "He knows," I say. "About us. About the baby."
"Yes."
"And he didn't kill you."
"No." Kazimir's jaw tightens. "He didn't."
"Why?"
He's quiet for a long moment. Then he lifts his right hand—the bandaged one—and holds it up between us. "Because I paid for it."
I look at the bandage, at the blood seeping through, and something cold settles in my stomach. "What do you mean?"
"Svetlana—"
"What did he do?" My voice rises, panic threading through it. "Kazimir, what did he do to you?"
He hesitates, then slowly begins unwrapping the bandage. The gauze is stuck to his skin with dried blood, and he has to peel it away carefully. When he finally reveals his hand, I stop breathing.
His index finger is gone. Not broken, not injured—gone. Cut off cleanly—the wound stitched closed and the flesh reddened around it.
"Oh my God." The words come out as barely a whisper. "Oh my God, Kazimir?—"
"It's fine." He says it like it's nothing, like he hasn't just shown me a part of himself that's missing. "It's a small price to pay."
"A small price?" I'm shaking now, my hands reaching for his, cradling the injured hand as gently as I can. "He cut off your finger. He?—"
"I told him everything." Kazimir's voice is steady, matter-of-fact. "About us. About the baby. About how I'd been lying to him.I told him I deserved to die for it, and I meant it. But he gave me a choice instead. My life for my finger. My life so I could save you."
Tears are streaming down my face now, hot and fast. "You told him. You knew he might kill you, and you told him anyway."
"I had to." He uses his good hand to wipe my tears away, his touch gentle. "You were gone. They'd taken you. I needed his help to get you back."
I can't speak. Can't breathe. All I can do is stare at his hand, at the place where his finger should be, and feel the weight of what he sacrificed crushing down on me.
"I would have given more," he says quietly. "If he'd asked for my whole hand, I would have given it. If he'd asked for both hands, I would have given them. My head. My life. Whatever it took to get you back and keep you safe."
"Kazimir—"
