“Papa, but the Rusnaks—”
“They are the only ones strong enough,” he cuts in, sharper despite the strain. “The only ones who can protect you now.”
“They won’t accept me, Papa. I’m a Petrov.”
“They will accept you. Trust me, Valeria. Do as I say.”
A beat.
Then, softer—
“Do not trust anyone who promises mercy.”
The same lesson.
The one he taught me all my life.
Only now, it sounds like a warning.
Like a final truth.
“Papa, please—come with me,” I whisper, my hand flat against the wall, desperate, useless. “We can still—”
A sound cuts through.
Distant.
Shouting.
Closer now.
Then gunfire.
Right outside. On the other side of the wall, where Papa is.
I go still.
Completely.
Then I hear it.
My father’s voice.
Sharp. Commanding, and cut off too quickly.
Another gunshot echoes through the passage, the sound muffled but unmistakable.
Final.
Something inside my chest caves in.
I don’t need to see it.
I know.
They came back.
To make sure.
