Page 183

“Tiho, syn,” I’d murmured into his hair. “Zdes’ net nikakikh monstrov. A esli by oni byli, ya by ubil kazhdogo iz nikh.”

Quiet, son.

There are no monsters in here.

And if there were, I’d kill every last one.

He’d believed me. Of course he had. I was his father, after all. I was invincible. I was the unyielding wall between him and everything terrible in the world.

Little by little, his breathing slowed and his grip on my shirt loosened. Sleep took him back under.

I sat there for hours after he drifted off, watching my boy breathe. In that moment, I’d have killed anything that threatened him. Would have torn the world apart with my bare hands.

And now?

Now, my son looks at me and sees me as the monster.

When did that happen? When did that small, trembling boy who believed in me without question transform into the cold-eyed man who tried to eviscerate me in front of a boardroom full of witnesses?

Was it the night his mother died?

Was it the years after, when I buried myself in work and vodka and empty women while he raised himself amidst the wreckage of our family?

Or was it slower than that? A gradual erosion, year by year, silence by silence, until one day, he woke up and realized his father was no hero? Just a hollow shell wearing a dead man’s skin?

My knee throbs. My chest aches.

Ibecamethe monster.

Idid that.

I shake my head angrily until the memory dissipates. Just like that, this place returns to being what it is, what it’s been for nearly two decades now: merely an abandoned room. Nothing more.

In any case, there’s no sign Rae was in here. I would’ve seen her footsteps in the dust coating every surface.

I back out slowly and close the door behind me silently, same as I did that night all those years ago, as if I might still awaken the boy who was once my son if I make too much noise.

When the door is closed, I look up—and there she is. Rae pauses mid-descent, halfway down the stairs that lead up to the third floor.

“Hi,” she says, smiling like she hasn’t just shaved ten years off my life. “You’re awake.”

The relief that crashes through me is so violent it’s almost shameful. My hands are shaking. I ball them into fists so she won’t notice.

“Where the fuck were you?” I spit.

Her eyebrows lift at my tone. “Exploring. There’s a little veranda up on the third floor—did you know? I couldn’t sleep, so I went up to watch the sunrise.” She tilts her head and squints. “Lukas, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I charge up the stairs, aching knee be damned, and haul her against my chest. She makes a small sound of surprise but doesn’t resist.

“I woke up and you were gone,” I mumble wearily. “I thought… I thought you’d left.”

Rae pulls back just enough to look at my face. As she does, her body stiffens against mine. “Even if I wanted to leave,” she says slowly, “where would I go?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I have no job, Lukas. I’m basically FBI’s Most Wanted. The press is circling like vultures waiting for me to step outside so they can pick my bones clean.” She laughs humorlessly. “I’m not saying I’m trying to go anywhere; really, I’m not. It’s just that I’m not exactly spoiled for choices, either.”

“I’ve told you: I’ll take care of everything. The press, the job, whatever you need?—”