NIKOLAI
I barely reacted. Just exhaled through my nose, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and walked past him, heading straight for the liquor cabinet.
The glass was cool in my fingers, smooth against my skin, and I poured the whiskey without thinking, knocking it back in one go, letting the burn slice through my throat.
Only then did I turn.
Boris stood there, chest rising and falling, his breathing harsh, his eyes burning with something dangerously close to hate that he didn't try to hide, his one hand clenched into a fist at his side, his entire body coiled tight like he wanted to hit me again. His missing arm—nothing more than an empty space where something should have been—was gone. Because of me.
His gaze flicked to my mouth, to the blood smeared against my sk
