Page 167 of Nemesis

“Kirill?”

The soft word bounces further than I anticipated, a testament to how large this room truly is. The walls and ceiling are made of the same sturdy rock as the floor, and weapons hang along one side like free samples in a candy shop. I glance back, watching the three soldiers who dragged me up here slip inside with Popov and lock the door with some heavy iron mechanism.

“O…Octavia?”

Breath whooshes out from my burning lungs. Blazing chestnut eyes. The voice is worn and ragged, and yet, still the most beautiful thing I’ve heard in my entire life. I scramble up, racing to the dark corner as fast as my feet can take me.

My hands ghost over his pale arms, wary of angering one of the many injuries littering his skin. He’s here. He’s alive. A dark substance coats him, thickening near the hand huddled into his side.

“No. You can’t be real…”

“I know,” I choke, swallowing thickly. “But I am.” One of my hands finds his free arm, chained up to the wall. “I’m real.”

“Stop.” He buries his face into his huddled knees. “You’re not, and I can’t take this. I can’t…I can’t.”

My chest constricts.

It’s been months in the light, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget the false phantoms that teased me in the dark cell.

“Are you enjoying your wedding gift?”

My assessment halts. Kirill flinches at the amused tone, pressing further against the wall.

“It’s a bit premature, I’ll admit, but we’ll tie up the loose ends after this annoyance is dealt with.”

My fingers grip Kirill’s chained wrist. I’m careful not to touch the other hand—the one that reeks of infection and stale blood. My ribs ache, remembering where his missing ring lies.

Vasiliy was supposed to get him out. A scream of frustration builds in my lungs until I can no longer hold it in. The horror rips out of me. Tears prick my eyes, blurring my vision. I’m so sick of holding bloody hands and praying for their owners’ hearts to keep beating.

“No one can hear you, dear,” the haughty voice says from my back. “Your mother fell to tears often, too. I suppose it’s a family trait.”

How dare he speak of her pain? The footsteps are nearing, but all I can do is curl protectively over Kirill. Salt drips down my lips.

Suddenly, the door shakes beneath a pounding fist. “Octavia! OCTAVIA!”

Vasiliy.

“Huh. I guess they can hear you. No matter, we’ll just wait it out until my men sweep the floor and execute the stragglers.”

At least that part went right. He was never supposed to enter this room. But Kirill was supposed to be safe on the outside, too. From my mother’s entries, I knew Popov would run here at the first sign of danger and likely take me with him. Cowardice is predictable.

My tears fall faster, and a genuine shiver rolls down my spine.

“Actually, the only time your mother didn’t break down was in the end. We tore her to pieces, you know. Your future husband spent hours with her in the basement, stripping her skin and chopping off her fingers.”

Vomit rises.

“She didn’t even look human when he was done. It was horribly upsetting to see my daughter like that, but we gave her every opportunity to reveal your location.”

Kirill blinks up at me like he still can’t decide whether I’m really there, even as my tears drip onto his chest.

I don’t realize I’m shrieking between cries until my throat starts to burn, but once I do, I can’t stop. Vasiliy was going to get him out of this mess. Dad should be alive, lounging in his reading chair and beating me in chess. Mom was supposed to escape from this monster and live a full, vibrant life far away from this place.

Another scream rips out, and my throat burns beneath the force. I embrace the agony. I breathe it. I become it.

“Someone shut her up,” Popov snaps behind me. “I can’t listen to the dramatics anymore. So much shouting and crying…”

The floor vibrates beneath the weight of boots. I learned how to count footsteps months ago. My chest heaves beneath another sob, but Kirill gazes up at me with big, round pupils.