I help him stand. His legs are weak, but stronger than they were days ago. The protein and rest have helped.
We have hours until dawn. Hours until Ivan comes himself.
He reaches for me. His hand finds my face, cupping my jaw with fingers that still tremble from muscle weakness. The touch is warm. The touch is everything the Kennel taught me to reject.
“Then let’s go,” he says. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I nod. I offer him my hand.
He takes it.
We have until dawn before Ivan realizes I have not executed the disposal. We have no resources outside this facility. We have no allies, no safe houses, no backup plans.
We have each other. According to my training, this should be insufficient.
According to my training, I should not be standing here with his hand in mine, preparing to become a traitor.
My training was incomplete.
“Can you walk?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He swings his legs off the cot, testing. “I haven’t tried since you carried me.”
“Then I will carry you again if necessary.”
He looks up at me. Something shifts in his expression—the same recognition I saw when he touched my scar.
“Alexei.” My name in his mouth, soft and human. “Thank you.”
I do not know how to respond to gratitude. The Kennel did not include it in my social programming.
“Save it,” I say. “We are not safe yet. We are not safe for a very long time.”
I pull him to his feet. He sways, catches himself on my arm, finds his balance through pure determination. He is weak. He is damaged. He is the reason I am about to destroy everything I was built to be.
I do not regret it.
The Kennel spent seventeen years constructing me for this organization. Every skill I possess, every reflex I have developed, every piece of knowledge in my mind was installed by their methods. I am their product. I am their weapon.
And I am walking away from them for a man I was supposed to kill.
The irrationality of it should disturb me. For the first time in my operational history, I am making a choice that exists outside the parameters of my training. I am choosing him over duty. I am choosing this damaged, manipulative, broken thing over the only existence I have ever known.
The choice feels like freedom. The choice feels like falling.
I do not know which.
The door opens at my command. The corridor beyond is empty, monitored by cameras that will track our movement the moment we step outside the room.
We have until morning. We have each other. We have the beginning of something that neither of us can name.
It will have to be enough.
Chapter Seventeen
NIKOLAI
My legs do not work.
