Slow. Deliberate.
The kid sits up, his movements groggy but focused, like he’s sensing something. He rubs his eyes, blinking into the darkness—and then his gaze snaps to mine. My breath fucking catches.
Tiny, sharp eyes lock on me like he knows exactly who I am, exactly what’s happening. It’s not just some kid. The shadow moves, and the light barely catches his face. His little head shifts, and for a moment, I think I’m losing my mind.
I almost want to stop.To abandon the whole fucking mission.
Curly brown hair. Sharp brown eyes.
Yob tvoyu mat’.
He stares at me like I’m some ghost standing at the foot of his bed. My chest tightens, but my face stays cold, locked in place. Then, the kid’s voice cuts through the silence, soft but clear.
“Mommy?”
I feel my pulse slam against my ribs.
Mommy.
He blinks again, his voice louder this time. “Mommy… bad guys inside.”
I don’t move.
Can’t.My mind reels as Clara stirs beside him, her body slow to respond. But all I can see is the kid’s face, staring right at me.
It’s like looking in a fucking mirror.
I take a step back, my boot scraping against the wooden floor again, but I don’t care anymore. My chest feels like it’s caving in, my thoughts spiraling out of control.
This kid… looks like me.
forty-two
Clara
No. Fuck. No!
I jerk awake, bolting upright from where I’d been lying down, my heart pounding, but I can’t remember the dream that ripped me from sleep. My eyes fly open, and that’s when I see them.
Three dark shapes. Huge.
Standing at the entrance like they own the place.
It’s not Mitch.
I reach out instinctively, pulling Elijah close to me, my body shielding his. My pulse races. Elijah’s tiny body still pressed against mine.
I don’t make any sudden moves. My breaths are shallow, slow. My hand moves, slow but steady, toward the gun I’ve hidden at my waist.
Then, one of the shadows steps forward.
I freeze.
The figure comes into the faint light of the lantern, and the shadows fall away from his face.
Leonid fucking Kuznetsov.
He’s standing there, watching me, and then he shakes his head—slow, deliberate,like heknowsexactly what I’m about to do.
