But we’re still keeping her.
ButI’mstill keeping her.
“She’s a liability,” I hiss.
“She’s useful.” His voice stays flat, matter-of-fact. “And more than that, she fits.”
“Fits what?”
“This.” He gestures around the gym, at Boris, at me. “Dead weight doesn’t sit at the table with us. Dead weight doesn’t get trained, doesn’t keep breathing after everything she’s seen. She’s not a liability. She’s the crack in the wall. And you know as well as I do, we don’t let cracks go. We either seal them… or we keep them close.”
I narrow my eyes. Since when does Lev talk like this? He’s the one who laughs when the world burns, and now he’s preaching about cracks and keeping them close.
“Besides, she makes us more… human,” Lev continues. “And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
“We’re not human. We’re predators.”
“Yeah? Well, even predators need something to protect.” He tilts his head, studying my face. “And you want to protect her. I can see it eating you alive.”
The water bottle crackles in my grip.
“You think she pities you,” he says. “But that’s not what I saw out there.”
“What did you see?”
Lev leans back, shoulders loose, mouth quirking like he’s half-amused at me. But his eyes… those stay serious.
“I saw a woman scared out of her mind, and still standing there, wanting to learn. That’s not pity, boss. That’s trust.”
I want to tell him he’s wrong. Want to remind him what we are, what we do, why someone like Mary should run screaming in the opposite direction.
Instead, I finish the water and set the empty bottle on the ring apron.
“She doesn’t belong here,” I say finally.
“Maybe not,” Lev agrees. “But she’s here anyway. Question is: what are we gonna do about it?”
Boris finally speaks up from across the room. “She makes good food.”
Both Lev and I turn to stare at him.
He shrugs. “What? I like food.”
Lev laughs, short and sharp. “There you go, boss. Boris likes her cooking. Dima thinks she’s brave. I think she’s interesting.” His grin fades. “And you think she’s worth protecting, even if it scares the shit out of you.”
“I’m not scared.”
“No?” Lev steps closer, the stink of cigarettes clinging to his clothes. “Then why are you bleeding all over the gym?”
I glance down. My knuckles are cracked open, red drops hitting the canvas.
I smirk, dry. “Because bags don’t talk back when you hit them. Unlike you.”
Lev huffs but doesn’t push.
I toss the towel aside and peel the wraps off my hands, skin raw underneath. Enough. Time to work.
“We move Viktor tonight.”
