This is where Reed’s betrayal lived.
This is where Markov thought he could own me.
The roof groans. Metal shrieks as it warps. Flames claw upward, turning everything orange and black and unreal. Smoke coils into the night sky like a signal flare.
Konstantin comes back to me, standing slightly in front—always shielding without blocking my view. His hand finds the small of my back, steady, grounding.
I don’t cry.
I watch.
I let the fire take it all—the evidence that’s already been copied, the bloodstains, the ghosts. I let it erase the last place my father suffered.
Behind us, sirens wail somewhere far off. Ahead of us, the building collapses inward with a thunderous roar, sparks exploding like dying stars.
Konstantin leans down, his mouth close to my ear. “It’s over,” he says quietly.
I breathe in smoke and snow and him.
For the first time since my life shattered—I believe it is really over.
We leave the warehouse as it burns behind us, flames licking the night sky—a funeral pyre for a dead enemy. In the car, I lean against Konstantin. His hand finds mine, fingers lacing with mine, firm and grounding, all the way home.
As soon as we reach the mansion, Konstantin lifts my head, brushing hair from my face, and starts moving toward the stairs. I plant my feet firmly. “Call a doctor,” I insist.
“I’m fine,” he says, voice rough but dismissive.
“No,” I counter, voice sharper this time. “You need to be checked.”
The brothers snicker behind us.
Konstantin shoots them a dark look and mutters, “Don’t make a fuss.”
I cross my arms, refusing to relent. “Please. Call a doctor.”
He glances at Nik, expression tight, finally giving in. “Call the doctor,” he says, low, like conceding to me is a private victory.
Nik moves immediately, dialing, and I sink back against Konstantin, feeling the tension drain from both of us.
He yanks me close, chest pressing into mine, eyes dark and curious. “Who taught you to fight like that?” His voice is rough, half amusement, half awe.
I giggle, breath shaking a little. “My dad.”
A shadow crosses his face—soft, fleeting. “For a long time… I thought your father was a traitor,” he admits, voice low, almost confessional. “But he wasn’t. Not really. I—” He stops, shakes his head. “I feel sorry. But…I have forever to make it up with his daughter.”
I can’t help it—I laugh, light, unrestrained. The tension of the night melts just a little. He leans down and kisses me, hard, fast, and I melt into him.
When he pulls back just enough to catch his breath, he smirks. “Do we have to wait for a doctor? Let’s go upstairs.”
I blush, heat spreading across my cheeks. I smack his arm playfully. “You’re insane.”
He laughs, that low, dangerous sound that still makes my heart stutter. “Maybe,” he murmurs, tugging me closer again, “but I’m your kind of insane.”
He’s right.
I’m about to tell him he’s right when he sags against me.
I scream.