I snort. “You’re impossible.”
“The point of the window,” he says firmly, “is that bullets don’t come in at all. Not that they knock politely and fall to the floor.” His jaw tightens. “I’ll replace it. With something stronger.”
I step forward and wrap my arms around him before he can spiral any further, pressing my cheek to his chest. His heartbeat is still fast. Still angry.
“Konstantin,” I murmur. “Stop worrying.”
His arms come around me instantly, holding me close. Too close. Like he needs the pressure.
“I can never stop,” he says quietly. “Not until the people who tried to kill you are a hundred feet under.”
I pull back just enough to look up at him, smiling despite everything. “Isn’t it six feet?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Details,” he mutters, tightening his hold again.
Then he stills.
His gaze sharpens, searching my face like he’s trying to read something dangerous between the lines. “You shouldn’t be laughing,” he says quietly. Not angry. Uneasy. “After what just happened.”
I open my mouth to deflect. To joke. To say something light.
Instead, the truth slips out.
“Because you’re here.”
His breath catches—barely, but I feel it.
“I was terrified,” I continue, my voice softer now, stripped of bravado. “When it happened. I thought I was alone. I thought—” My throat tightens. “But the moment you walked in, it all disappeared. I knew I’d be safe.”
Silence crashes between us.
His pupils dilate, darkening until there’s almost no gray left, like something primal just woke up behind his eyes. His grip shifts—not tighter, but more certain, like he’s anchoring himself.
“You will be the end of me,” he says hoarsely. “If you keep saying things like that.”
There’s no humor in it. No threat.
Just truth—raw and dangerous.
His forehead drops to mine, his breath warm against my mouth. “Do you understand what you’re doing to me?”
I don’t answer.
I don’t need to.
Because the way he holds me now—like the world has narrowed down to this one fragile, terrible thing—tells me everything.
Chapter 12 – Konstantin
I don’t leave her alone.
Not when the glass is still being swept from the library floor.
Not when the rain finally stops.
Not when the house settles into that deceptive quiet that always follows violence.