“I’m not going to faint.”
“You absolutely look like you might.”
He snorts. “I’m not ready for this.” I flick him a glance. He looks stripped of his usual certainty. Right now, he’s not a soldier; he’s just a man panicking, about to become someone’s father.
“No one ever is,” I say.
He scoffs weakly. “That’s a terrible reassurance.”
“You’ll do fine. You always do,” I say honestly, that finally shuts him up.
The hospital comes into view quickly, and I pull in hard, throwing the car into park. Niko’s already flying out of the door before I’ve killed the engine. “Hey,” I bark, grabbing his arm. He turns and looks at me wild-eyed. “She’s already in good hands. Getting there calmly is more useful than getting there fast.”
He breathes in.“Okay,” he says hoarsely. “Okay.” We move through the car park together. At the desk, I give the information while Niko quietly has a heart attack. My mouth knows what to do even if my head is still lagging behind reality.
They take Niko back first, and I don’t follow.
I stop in the hallway, my hands on my hips, my chest rising and falling as if I’ve just run a mile. The adrenaline starts to ebb, leaving behind the tremor underneath. I press my fingers briefly into the bridge of my nose, and it’s just enough to get my feet back under me. Then I straighten up, becausewhatever comes next, I need to be standing for it. — and because, for the first time in a long time, there’s more than one life I’m not allowed to drop.
Time stretches in places like this. Hospitals don’t move forward so much as they loop. I’ve been in the waiting room long enough to memorise the crack in the vinyl chair opposite me, and the flicker in the fluorescent light that never quite commits to going out when the door finally opens, and the doctor steps out. He looks calm, tired, and professional all at once. He looks at me, then at the clipboard, then back again. “Arseny Zakirov?”
“Yes,” I say, straightening up.
“You can come through,” he says. “They’re ready.”
That’s it. No buildup. Just a door opening and something changing forever.
The corridor beyond is quieter. I can hear Niko’s voice; it’s quiet and threaded with disbelief. He’s sitting beside the bed, leaning forward like he’s afraid to breathe too hard.
Cassie is asleep, looking all kinds of exhausted. He looks up when he sees me, and his face does something strange. I see relief, panic, and awe, all stacked on top of each other like he doesn’t know which emotion to feel.
“You took your time,” he says weakly.
I snort. “Hetookhistime.”
He laughs once, then gestures helplessly with his chin. “They... uh. He’s...” I step closer before he can finish. Then the nurse places something in my arms without even asking anyone.
He’s smaller than I expected. His face is scrunched up, red and indignant, and his fists are curled tight like he’s already got opinions.
“Vladimir Zigfried Zakirov,” Niko says quietly.
The weight of the situation hits me all at once. A responsibility I didn’t agree to but would bleed for anyway. I stare down at him, my brain stalling completely. “Well,” I murmur. “You look angry.”
Niko lets out a wet laugh, and Vladimir shifts, making a tiny sound that punches straight through my ribs. My grip tightens instinctively. I’ve held weapons, explosives and men bleeding out in my arms — but this? This terrifies me. “He’s perfect,” Niko says. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”
“You protect it,” I say automatically. “You adapt.”
“You’re good at that,” he says, after watching me for a minute.
I look down at the baby again. The way his fingers twitch, searching for something to hold onto. “I’m good at being where I’m needed,” I say. Vladimir’s eyes flutter open briefly. He doesn’t see me, not really, but something in his tiny body settles anyway, like he’s decided I’m not a threat. “Hey,” I say quietly. “Welcome to the mess.”
Niko wipes at his face, nodding. “You’re his godfather, by the way.”
I stiffen. “You didn’t ask.”
“You would’ve said no,” I laugh because he isn’t wrong. I adjust Vladimir slightly, feeling his warm, tiny body through the layers of cloth and inevitability.
The world doesn’t stop. Caiden is still out there. Orders are still posted. Time is still running. But right now, there’s this small, furious, breathing thing in my arms. And for the first time in my life, the future doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels like something I might actually stay for.
