Alexei turns, and as he walks down the narrow hallway, he mutters, “Demitri was distracted.”

Like a moth following a flame, hoping it will lead her to the sun, I follow after Alexei.

‘Demitri was distracted.’

We walk into a bathroom, and I hover near Alexei as he washes the blood off his hands. Then he turns to me, and taking hold of my wrist, he pulls me to the sink and cleans my hands, as well.

The water turns bright red, then pink, and then clear.

‘Demitri was distracted.’

Because I fought with Alexei earlier?

Because I was there?

Because he was worried for my safety?

Guilt eats a hole in my soul, and it begins to spread like cancer.

Demitri was distracted because of me.

Hours have passed where I sit like a frozen statue next to Alexei.

Damien’s pacing a hole in the floor while Winter and Carson keep watch.

When Alexei gets up, my body mimics his, and I rise to my feet. Pins and needles spread through my legs, but they move, following Alexei down the hallway until we stop outside the room where Demitri is being operated on.

Alexei turns to me, and when our eyes meet, the raw agony between us becomes explosive, and then he grabs hold of my shoulder and yanks me against him. His arms clamp around me.

I hug Alexei back, knowing he’s the other half of Demitri’s heart.

There’s no comfort, though. Only Demitri can give me that. But there is compassion because if it feels like my world just ended, it must be so much harder for Alexei.

When the door opens, Alexei yanks back and turns his attention to the doctor.

They speak in Russian, and then Alexei takes my hand, and we get to go into the room.

The moment my eyes land on Demitri, where he’s hooked up to machines, silent tears begin to spiral over my cheeks.

Alexei moves to Demitri’s side and presses a kiss to his forehead. “You better pull through, brother. I can’t do any of this without you.”

My tears flow faster as I take in the two bandages on Demitri’s torso. The blood on the floor. The used materials.

“What did the doctor say?” I somehow manage to ask.

“We have to wait and see,” Alexei answers, his eyes not leaving Demitri.

I step closer and tentatively reach for Demitri’s hand. His skin is surprisingly warm as I wrap my fingers around his palm.

The doctor and elderly couple come back with fans, and they position them around Demitri. They say something to Alexei, then the old woman begins to rub Demitri down with a sponge.

“They need to bring down his temperature,” Alexei explains.

Damien moves to the old woman and saying something, he takes the sponge from her and continues to wipe his brother down. I stare at the younger version of Demitri, and seeing him healthy makes the cancer eat away faster at my soul.