Page 108 of The King's Pawn
“I agree.”
Lena studies me. Then she shakes her head a few times, her tone suddenly growing dry. “It seems you’ve fallen for a woman who would burn her world down to save you. Congratulations. You are both stupid.”
I don’t argue.
After a beat, she softens, stepping closer again. “Just promise me one thing.”
I meet her gaze. “What?”
“Don’t let this lull of peace trick you into thinking there is no other shoe. It will drop eventually. We need to be ready for it when it does.”
I nod. “I know.”
She squeezes my shoulder once, flashing me a smile. “Then get some rest. We all are going to need clear heads.” As she turns to leave, her voice drifts back over her shoulder, quieter now. “And Sasha?”
“Yes?”
Her smile is warm when she turns to look at me over her shoulder. “For what it’s worth… I’m glad she’s okay.”
So am I.
More than anyone will ever know.
24
ALINA
Morning wakes me.
A quiet warmth envelops me, steady and anchoring, a breath soft and rhythmic ghosting over my cheek. I shift without thinking, turning onto my side, and find him there when I slowly open my eyes.
Sasha’s arm is curled around me beneath the sheets, heavy and warm where it brackets my waist. His face is turned slightly toward me, dark lashes casting faint shadows against skin that looks almost too calm for a man who carries so much on his shoulders.
His hair is mussed from sleep, one stubborn lock falling forward onto his brow in a way I’ve never seen when he’s awake. In sleep, the sharp edges of him soften. The lines of command and vigilance loosen into something dangerously human.
For a fleeting second, I let myself watch him breathe.
The slow rise and fall of his chest is quiet, undeniable proof that everything I did last night mattered. That the choice I made,the blood on my hands, the part of myself I shattered to end it all, wasn’t for nothing. Proof that the world did not swallow us whole despite how close it came.
My throat tightens.
Memories press around the edges of my mind. The sound of the gunshot. The way my father’s body collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. The silence afterward that felt thick and suffocatingly final. I feel the echo of it still lodged deep in my ribs like shrapnel.
I should feel triumph.
Relief, even.
And in a way, I do.
But underneath that is a fragile quiet. It allows me to lie here and pretend, just for a moment, that the world hasn’t been permanently altered by my hand.
I inhale slowly.
Sasha smells like the clean sheets and cedar with the trace of gun residue that never quite leaves him. It’s grounding in a way that frightens me. I fit against him too easily, my body remembering the curve of his, the heat of his skin, as if it’s always belonged here.
But… maybe I do.
Maybe this life I’ve made here with him isn’t the one I should be running from. Maybe it’s the one I should be running to.
