She nodded, though she knew that, if ever, it would be a long, long time. Save my soul from evil, Lord, she prayed humbly, and heal this warrior’s heart.

“Stop! Do you have clearance to be here?” the soldier asked. He was tall and fresh-featured, with blond hair showing under his blue UN helmet. He held his gun a little snugly, earnest instead of with the casual swagger he was used to seeing on the Russians. Marcus placed him as Scandinavian.

Marcus didn’t answer immediately. He gazed past the soldier at the entrance to the casino. There it was, not looking nearly as menacing now as it had the last time he saw it. Nothing in Talas looked like it had. Now everything was drab, fatigued, like even the stone and steel and cement had been through hell and back. Well, he had been, too. “Clearance?” he asked, speaking with a tongue that still felt shiny and new and perfect, a gift from Nurassyl. A pink tongue. Olena had already joked that people would start calling him IPT. “Come on. With all that happened, you still want to check people’s papers? It’s a war zone, all of it, and we’re the survivors. That’s all the clearance I need.”

“Yes but this isn’t just anyplace.”

“I know,” Marcus said. “People will vouch for me. I was at Baikonur with the Committee. Call them if you need to.”

The soldier considered this for a moment, and then let his official sternness fall away. He smiled. “I don’t have their number. I know you, though. I saw the video footage. Before all this started, you were here in Talas, weren’t you? You took part in the fights.”

Marcus inhaled. Oh, great. “Look, that was not like it seemed. I didn’t have much choice.”

“I know,” the soldier said. “I saw the one where you wouldn’t fight.”

Marcus met his grey eyes. “You saw that one, huh?”

The soldier said something, likely yes in Swedish or something. “I saw. You made me think about what I would do or not do to stay alive. It’s not an easy question. You know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah,” Marcus said. He exhaled, a long, tired breath. The soldier was probably a similar age as Marcus, but standing before him Marcus felt himself much older. Too old, really, for the years he had to his name. “I don’t think a person can know until they face it. I’d like to think that everybody has some limit, though. Something they won’t do. Someone they care about enough to die for. Most people, though, they never have to find out.”

“You think it’s better that way? Not having to find out.”