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“But…what if I’d listened to you? What if I hadn’t dared—”
Pritkin gave me his old impatient look. “You never listen to me!”
“That’s not the point!”
Someone put a fist through five inches of Romanian oak and almost grabbed him before he could skip away. “We can discuss this later,” he said quickly. “Get us the hell out of here!”
I gazed at Mircea, still feeling stunned. “You might have hoped I’d be successful,” I said, “but you couldn’t have known—”
“I knew you,” he repeated. “Therefore I knew how it ends.”
I grabbed both their hands, just as the door exploded off its hinges. “How it begins!” I said, and shifted.
