He nodded. And his eyes churned. And the rest of him stayed so very still, even as he walked beside her.

She had a feeling he was like a matryoshka doll too—a placid exterior that hid layers of secrets and mysteries. And she couldn’t help but wonder what lay beneath this carefully crafted shell.

Perhaps she ought to suggest that the newcomer to their city be invited more often too, along with Clarke. He could surely use the company.

And Lily hadn’t yet gotten a snapshot of him on his own.

4

GOOD FRIDAY, 29 MARCH 1918

Zivon jerked awake, his heart hammering with such force that it felt as if his chest might crack from the pressure. The images still warred in his mind, not fading fast enough as he blinked into the darkness to clear them.

Matushka, broken in the streets of Petrograd. Alyona, crumpled and pale on his doorstep. Evgeni, bleeding and unconscious by the twisted rail that had sent them into chaos.

His eyes hadn’t seen them all, but that reality didn’t keep his mind from tossing its imaginings at him night after dreaded night. It didn’t keep him from picturing the Red soldiers advancing on everyone who mattered, weapons raised, hatred in their eyes.

Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.

He sat up, tossing his sweat-soaked sheet aside, and tangled his fist in the bedding. That was a promise from God that he would cling to. Hurry, Lord. Show them the penalty for what they’ve done. Show them what they’ll reap when they deny your very existence.

His pulse was slowing now, finally. A bit. He dragged a breath of cool air into his lungs and swung his legs off the bed. Just enough light came through his window to tell him that dawn wasn’t far off, so he pushed to his feet and walked over to the wavy glass.

There, to the east, the sky was pearly grey instead of deepest blue-black. A new day. Another chance to find Zhenya.

It would begin at the embassy. Today. He only had to wait—he glanced at the pocket watch barely illuminated on the table under the window—ninety-two minutes.

Too much time to spend shuffling about his empty flat. He slipped out of his nightclothes and into his athletic ones. It wouldn’t be the first time in his weeks here he’d resorted to a predawn jog around his neighborhood to calm the frantic beatings of his mind, and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last either.