He was always going to do this.
"Where is he now?"
"Gone." Viktor's jaw tightens. "We've been looking since the attack. He’s nowhere to be found. He had an exit plan ready."
Of course he did.
Aurora's hand tightens around mine. I don't look at her because if I look at her right now, I won't be able to hold my face the way I need to hold it.
The grief and the rage exist simultaneously, and I can't separate them, so I set them both aside. Later. There's a place for that later.
"He'll come again," I say.
"Yes."
"This wasn't the end. This was what happens when a plan fails halfway. He'll regroup, the Volkovs will regroup, and they'll come back with something worse." I push myself upright against the pillows, ignoring the pull of the wound. "Which means we move first."
"Axel—"
"I've been reactive." The words come out hard. "Every single time. They hit, I hold ground, I recover, I wait. That ends now." I look at Viktor. "We know who it is. We know who they're working with. That's enough to start."
Viktor nods slowly. "There's one more thing."
Something in his tone makes me look at him properly.
"Don Luca showed up during the attack," he says. "With twelve men. He came in on the east side while we were getting overrun and drove the Volkovs back." A pause. "Without him, we wouldn't have held."
The room goes quiet.
I look at the door, as if I could see through it to wherever he's waiting.
Aurora has gone very still beside me.
"H-He's here?" she says.
"Outside." Viktor looks at her gently, which is not an expression he deploys often. "He's been there since they stabilized Axel. Hasn't left."
I watch her face. The emotions move across it in sequence — shock, something fragile and hopeful, the particular caution of a person who has been hurt in a specific place and isn't sure yet if it's safe to use it again.
"Aurora," I say.
She looks at me.
"Go."
"I'm not leaving you—"
"I'm not going anywhere." I nod toward the door. "Go meet your father, I know you miss him."
She looks at me for a long moment, searching my face for something. Whatever she finds there, it's enough. She uncurls from the bed slowly, smooths her sweater, and stops with her hand on the door.
"I'll be right outside," she says. Like she needs me to know she's coming back.
"I know," I say.
She goes.
Viktor and I sit in silence for a moment.
