I'd convinced myself I couldn't let go of Genevie—that blonde doll, the only girl who'd smiled at me during my darkest years.
But now, now that I'd actually lost something—
I realized Harper had filled every corner of my heart.
She'd loved me so carefully, and I—
"Boss?"
Boris's voice cut through my thoughts. He held a file.
"The report you wanted." He set it on the desk, hesitated. "About Mrs. Orlov's brother."
Aiden Evans.
The boy I'd never met but helped kill anyway.
I opened the file.
"Aiden Evans, male, 16, died at 11:23 PM three nights ago at St. Mary Hospital from congenital heart disease. Family member—"
My eyes stuck on the timestamp.
Three nights ago.
The night I'd locked Harper in the basement.
I flipped ahead. Phone records.
Harper's phone.
Between 10:47 PM and 11:23 PM—from the moment she learned her brother was dying until he was gone—she'd called me.
Twenty-three times.
Every single call was rejected.
My hands started shaking.
That night, while I was with Genevie, on the other end of those calls, a woman knelt in a freezing basement, desperately dialing a number that would never connect. And her only family died alone in a hospital miles away.
Because of me.
"Kirill..."
Boris sounded far away, like he was speaking from another world.
"Get out." My voice came from somewhere deep anddark.
"What?"
"I said get the fuck out!"
I grabbed the whiskey glass and hurled it at the wall. Glass exploded. Amber liquid ran down the wall like tears. Like blood.
Boris practically fled.
The door closed. I was alone.
