But I’m stronger.
I take a hit to the ribs. Pain spikes, but I ignore it and drive forward, forcing him back step by step. My grip locks onto his jacket, and I slam him into a nearby structure—wood cracking under impact.
He tries to recover—too slow.
I strike again. Controlled. Heavy. Clean.
He staggers. Just for a second.
That’s all I need.
I hook his arm, rotate, and drive him down hard onto the ground. The impact knocks the air out of him. Before he can roll away, I’m on him again, pinning him fully.
His breath is sharp now. Less controlled.
And I hit him once more—final, decisive—enough to break his momentum completely and send him flat to the ground.
He doesn’t get up immediately.
I whip out my gun and train it on him. My arm steady, my breathing hard but controlled. Everything narrowed down to a single point.
Anton lets out a short laugh from the ground.
“Kill me already,” he says.
“Try again,” I answer coldly. “You’re not mine to kill.” My eyes don’t leave him. “Valeria will do the honors.”
“And I’ll do it gladly.”
Valeria steps into the clearing.
For a second, everything else fades. Smoke. Forest. Noise. Even Anton. My focus locks onto her instantly—checking her, confirming she’s real, that she’s here, that she’s not injured.
She smiles at me like we’re not standing in the middle of a war.
“You run really fast,” she says lightly. “I’m too pregnant to compete.”
A breath leaves me that almost turns into a laugh. Almost.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter.
Her gaze shifts then. The smile fades as she locks on Anton, who’s sprawled on the dirty ground.
She steps forward. Past me.
The gun rises in her hand. Anton shifts slightly, eyes tracking her now.
Valeria shakes her head slowly.
“You know,” she says, voice calm, almost conversational, “anytime I used to imagine killing you…I always thought I’d make it slow. Painful. Gruesome.” Her eyes sharpen. “I wanted you to feel what you made me feel.”
She tilts her head slightly, studying him like something she’s already decided isn’t worth the effort.
“But now….” A faint, cold smile touches her lips. “…looking at you like this?” She exhales. “You don’t matter that much.”
Anton’s jaw tightens. Anger flickers across his face—quick, sharp, almost involuntary. The mask slipping for the first time.
Valeria notices. And she laughs.
