Zeden.
I paced the room like a caged animal, every step heavier than the last. What the hell was wrong with me? I had meant to do it—meant to clip those nails from her fingers, make her feel the sting of real consequences.
That was why I’d told Rukov to bring the bag.
That was the plan. Clean. Simple. Final.
But my hands had trembled.
They’d shaken like I was some scared kid holding a knife for the first time. I’d stood there, gripping her wrist, steel in one hand, her fragile skin in the other, and I couldn’t do it.
The rage was there—burning hot, screaming loud—but something else got in the way.
Something weak. Something I didn’t recognize.
Impossible.
There was no room in me for that kind of emotion.
Not after all these years.
I’d pulled triggers without blinking.
He
