I know Alexei doesn't have children, but usually, there's some sort of succession.
"No," Saint says.
"Is that bad?"
"Depends." He looks at me. Studies my face. "Doesn't matter," he mutters. "It actually works in our favor. The Russians will be so busy fighting amongst themselves, they won't worry about looking too closely at who killed their Pakhan."
I don't say anything.
He takes my hand carefully. Avoids the cuts. "You're safe."
Safe.
The word feels foreign.
I don't feel safe.
I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff.
One more step and I fall.
Or fly.
I don't know which.
"I killed someone," I whisper.
"Yes."
"I stabbed him. Over and over. I couldn't stop."
"I know."
"I should feel—" What? Guilty? Horrified? "Something."
"Do you?"
I think about it. Really think.
"No." The admission feels dangerous. "I just feel?—"
"Powerful?"
I look at him. "Yes. How did you know?"
"Because that's how it feels. The first kill." His thumb traces my knuckles carefully. Avoiding the cuts. "Welcome to the family business."
The words should terrify me.
They don't.
Because he's right.
I'm not the ghost anymore.
I'm not the broken thing.
I'm something new.
