Chapter Twenty Three
The house feels colder than it should. I’m already upstairs, sitting on the edge of my bed, when I hear the front door open. The quiet that follows is worse than footsteps, worse than voices. It feels like the whole place is holding its breath.
Then I hear him—steady movements, unhurried, the sound of someone who knows he’s in control. Viktor appears in the doorway, shoulders filling the frame. His shirt is open at the throat, his hair slightly mussed, but his face is calm, like always. Too calm.
“You’re late,” I say before I can stop myself.
“Had things to deal with.” His voice is even, almost flat. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the chair like nothing in the world is pressing down on him.
I can’t take it. “You look like you know something,” I blurt.
