“Of course.”
Misha didn’t reply. But I felt it in the way his hand found mine across the console.
He wasn’t done fighting.
Not by a long shot.
Chapter 16
LUNA
A soft knock pulled me from half-sleep hours later.
I didn’t answer. But the door clicked open anyway.
Misha stepped in with quiet precision, the weight of his presence filling the room like an unspoken command. He wasn’t in his usual suit now. Just black slacks and a white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, as if the power he carried didn’t need tailoring to fit. His hair was damp from a shower, a faint hint of smoke and pine lingering around him like a shadow.
In his hands: tea.
I sat up slowly, a wave of cold dread and something more stirring in my chest. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes didn’t meet mine right away. Instead, they swept over me, lingering a moment too long, before he said, “You haven’t eaten. Or drunk anything. It’s been hours.”
“I wasn’t thirsty,” I muttered, not trusting my voice.
He didn’t seem convinced, his gaze sharp, yet tired, like he hadn’t slept either.
“Luna,” he whispered my name, and for a moment, there was no ice in it. Just something darker, something broken.
He stepped closer, offering the cup. I took it, wrapping my fingers around the porcelain to steady myself, to keep my hands from betraying how much I wanted to tremble. But when I looked at him, my gaze dropped to his knuckles.
Bruised. Split. Blood still dried beneath his nails.
He noticed and quickly hid them behind his back.
I felt the cold tension in the room thicken, seeping into my lungs, making it harder to breathe.
“Was it just Chernov?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper, afraid of the answer.
His jaw tightened, eyes darkening. “You don’t need to know the details.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He didn’t sit. He didn’t move.
“I only kill what threatens what’s mine,” he said, so quietly that the words seemed to hang between us like a promise and a curse.
What’s mine.
I squeezed the cup so tight my knuckles ached, the burn in my chest flaring again, part anger, part something I didn’t want to face.
“You can’t protect me by destroying everything that looks at me,” I said, my voice cracking as it broke against the weight of it all.
He took a step forward, his presence so heavy, so overwhelming. “No. But I can protect you by reminding them who I am.”
His words were low, but there was something in the way he said them that made me feel like he was not only claiming control of the room, but of me.
“Is that what you think I need?” I asked, my breath unsteady. “A protector who trades blood for peace?”
