“So you had him invent a… a drug?”
His eyes finally open. They veer to me, more gold than amber right now. “Venera is a drug, yes, but it’s meant to be a poppable aphrodisiac. We conducted months of trials to ensure that its effects weren’t harmful or addictive. We were so thorough. Except now, five people are dead and my whole venture is over before it even started.”
I’ve never heard him talk like this. The defeatist attitude is not him. I move even closer, cup his face with my palm, and force him to look at me.
“Nothing is over,” I insist. “You’re Ruslan f*****g Oryolov. There’s nothing you can’t fix.”
“I can’t bring people back from the dead.”
My face drops. “Right. No, of course not. I’m sorry—that was a stupid thing to say.”
He doesn’t smile but his expression softens, just a li
