At her father’s words, Misha felt a prickle ran through the fine hairs at the back of her neck, giving her the impression that something terrible must have happened to them. Adamantly, she refused to voice out the question, not knowing exactly her stance in that crime. However, her conscience was not letting her off hook so easily.
As a new member, she was not supposed to know such things even if she had figured it out as she listened to the Don explaining that they had a misfortunate accident and that their names would never be mentioned again. Not that she cared about them, but she surely didn’t want their “accident” on her conscience.
“Don’t kill them,” she said, her voice coming out hoarse as she struggled to stand up, her legs giving way under the weight of the action. Refusing help
