He shifts Vladimir higher, settling him against his shoulder with practised ease. “That’s none of your business.”
“Of course it fucking is.” I push off the wall, closing the distance between us. “What about Vladimir? You can’t just run with him. That’s no life for a kid.”
“You’re right,” he says as he turns to face me again. His tone is soft enough that for one stupid second, I think I’ve gotten through to him. Then he steps toward me. Vladimir is warm, half-awake, and confused when Ari presses him into my arms. My whole body locks in shock before instinct catches up, and I adjust my hold so he doesn’t slip.
“No,” I whisper. “Ari, don’t do this.” He’s close enough now that I can feel his breath.
Ari leans closer, close enough that I can see how badly he’s holding himself together now. His voice drops lower, roughened by something far uglier than grief.
“You can watch him grow up without him,” he says. “You can watch him learn how to walk and talk and laugh, and you’ll see every single fucking second of it because Niko doesn’t get to be here anymore.”
His breathing catches harshly for a moment before he keeps going anyway. “You’ll look at him every day and remember exactly what you did. I hope it follows you everywhere. I hope the pain claws so deep you never get a moment’s peace again.”
His face twists violently, anger finally splitting straight through the control he’s been clinging to. “I hope it destroys you and the guilt eats you alive.”
My throat closes. “This isn’t fair.” The words are pathetic. I know it. I say them anyway because there’s nothing else left and because some childish part of me still thinks fairness should matter to somebody in this room.
Ari’s face twists. “Neither was trusting you,” he says. I hold Vladimir tighter because my arms have started shaking.
“Ari,” I say again. “Don’t— I love you.” I’m begging now, he can see it, I know he can. Then he laughs in my face. It’s honestly the worst sound I've ever heard. “You love me. I know you do.” I try again.
“You’re wrong,” he says. “I hate you, Caiden Varrik,” he says, taking a few steps back. There’s enough space now that there is no reaching him, even if I were stupid enough to try. “I swear on my brother’s grave, if I ever see your face again, I will fucking kill you.”
I stare at him, trying to take in what’s happening. I think part of me genuinely expects him to take it back. To snap and shout then calm down enough to look horrified by what he just said.
But he doesn’t.
He just stands there looking at me like I’m something rotten he can barely stand to breathe near.
Ari doesn’t look angry anymore. He looks done.
Then he slips past me, walks out of the room, and out of my life for good. There’s no pause or backward glance.
He’s just gone.
I stay where I am long after Ari has disappeared, staring at the doorway he went through and replaying every word with brutal clarity. Not because I doubt them, but because I believe every last one.
I wanted responsibility. Now responsibility has Niko’s eyes and a father-shaped hole.
They let me leave without asking questions. Maybe because nobody wants to be the one to stop a man who looks like I must look now, or maybe because there is nothing left to explain.
I carry Vladimir outside, but it feels... unreal, like I’m watching myself from somewhere half a step above and behind. The doors slide open, and the cold air outside hits me hard enough that I hiss through my teeth. Snow drifts through the light, catching in Vladimir’s hair before melting. He squirms, gives one fussy little complaint, then settles again against me as if this is ordinary.
“Okay,” I murmur without thinking. “It’s okay.” I don’t have a clue who I’m talking to.
I walk over to the car I borrowed from base, open the back door and hesitate. It feels wrong to put him down. Deeply, physically wrong. Like if I do it, something final will click into place. Like I should just keep holding him and start driving and never stop until I’m back in England.
But I don’t, obviously.
I buckle him in with hands that are only now beginning to shake. My fingers are clumsy as I tug the seatbelt untilit clicks loudly in the quiet. Vladimir blinks up at me, unfocused, and trusting, and something inside me caves in completely.
“There,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the word. I close the door, and the sound cracks through the car park like a gunshot. I make it round to the driver’s side before my legs go. I catch myself against the roof, then drop into the driver’s seat, folding forward over the steering wheel, hands locked on it hard enough to turn my knuckles white.
Ari was right.
This is my fault.
I should never have put him on that mission. Niko asked, and I said yes, and then he followed my voice into the dark, and now his son is asleep in the back seat of the car while his body is lying on a slab in a building behind me.
