I picture my father being verbally dismantled by that sharp-eyed woman who supposedly made him lose his cool and immediately start laughing.
“This is insane,” I say.
“Probably,” he replies.
We lean into each other, shoulders touching, watching our guests swirl across the floor while the future rearranges itself in unpredictable, ridiculous ways, and for once, the uncertainty doesn’t scare me. It just feels like life.
Epilogue
Two Weeks Later
Kazimir
Hospitals have a way of making everyone look small, even men like me.
The corridors stretch too long and too bright, washed in sterile white light that reflects off polished floors and turns every footstep into an echo. I move through them with measured strides, nodding once at the nurse trying to guide me, my expression composed and unreadable, the same mask I wear in negotiations and interrogations, the same mask that has kept men twice my size from testing me.
Inside, however, my thoughts are unraveling at a speed that would embarrass me if anyone could hear them.
An hour ago Makhari Medvedev’s wife called, her voice tight but controlled, explaining that Aly had felt a sharp pain and they were heading to the hospital just to be safe.
“Just to be safe” has never meant anything good in my experience. I thanked her, ended the call, and was in the car before the screen went dark, already calculating distances, traffic, worst-case scenarios that stack one on top of anotheruntil my chest feels too tight. Damn the Bear for having such remote weapons caches.
I’ve faced gunfire without flinching. But the thought of my wife and child in a hospital, in harm’s way, without me—that terrifies me.
A nurse finally gestures me into a room at the end of the hall. I don’t wait for permission and step inside immediately, my gaze locking onto the bed like a compass finding north.
Aly is propped up against a mound of pillows, hair a little mussed, skin pale with fatigue, but otherwise intact. The sight of her whole and breathing knocks the air from my lungs so abruptly that I have to pause.
She smiles when she sees me.
“Oh, good, you’re here?—”
I cross the room in three strides and take her hand, brushing my thumb over her knuckles as if confirming she’s solid. “Of course I’m here,” I murmur, already scanning the monitors, the IV, every detail.
Then I notice the phone on the tray table, speaker lit.
Liev’s voice crackles faintly through it, low and impatient, and Devin’s higher tone overlaps, both of them talking at once.
“You called them?” I ask, confused.
“I wanted everyone together,” Aly says, looking strangely pleased with herself despite the hospital gown and the exhaustion in her eyes.
My stomach drops.Togetherusually means bad news.
“What happened?” I ask carefully.
She squeezes my hand. “Nothing bad. Relax.”
I do not relax.
Her smile widens. “Kaz… we’re having twins.”
For a second the word doesn’t register.
Twins.
Devin shrieks through the speaker like someone just set off fireworks in her office, babbling congratulations so fast it blurs together. Liev goes completely silent, which is somehow more alarming, and in the background, I can hear Nika repeating his name with growing concern, asking if he’s okay.
