Page 87 of Violent Possession
He picks up a rounded white piece and places it on the second rank of the board.
“He wanted to poison him against you, to make me seem reckless for putting someone with a history of being a ‘snitch’ in our midst. My lie about you… amplified that. And it ended up serving my brother.”
I stay quiet. I let him speak.
“What he didn’t know,” he says, and now his eyes meet mine, “is that I discovered the name of the man you informed on, hiscodename, as the same as the intermediary he used to betray me in a past operation. Seraphim.”
He speaks without emotion, without blinking. And I realize, suddenly, that he is explaining himself. He is explaining himself tome. Which, coming from Alexei, is a confession of weakness.
I look at the board. At the black pieces on my side.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
He gives a sad smile, which lasts less than a blink. “There’s a chance that, in the end, you won’t be on my side. I’d rather you listen to me before I have to cut your throat.”
I look at my own fingers, and at the black knight, now abandoned on the table.
“I didn’t know,” I say, and it’s true. “About Seraphim. About what he did with your brother. It’s been more than ten years since I last saw him.”
I reach out, pick up a black piece identical to his, and place it on the second rank, mirroring his move. His eyes widen, light up. More receptive.
“If it’s true, then all he did really was warn you. He’s trying to protect you, or to use you.”
I think of Seraphim, the way he looked at me as if he saw the whole future, but said nothing. I never quite knew if he was guarding me or sacrificing me. But this… this is how it has always been.
Alexei observes my every micro-expression, as if writing everything down in a mental diary. “And, if that’s the case, you’re not as good a liar as you think,” he says, as a compliment. “But you are an excellent survivor.”
I laugh, dryly. “Must be the trauma.”
He picks up other identical pieces. Places them side by side.
“...What if I was with your brother, Alex?”
I mirror the pieces.
“Then you’ll report all of this to him, and I’m signing my own death sentence.”
He talks about his own death, the chance of being stabbed in the back like just another acceptable occurrence, part of the math. He says it calmly, impassively, and yet the weight floats behind the facade. His jaw tense, his mouth thin, his gaze never resting.
“Are you afraid to die?” I ask. The words come out weak. I don’t know if it’s sincere curiosity or just self-pity.
“Today? Maybe. It’s not just my life at stake, but the entire structure of my family.”
He holds the white king.
Then, he sighs. He looks into my eyes.
“I don’t expect loyalty from you, Griffin. I just don’t want to be caught by surprise.”
I think about what that means.
On the cold cement floor of solitary. The taste of blood from the last round.
The total absence of anyone to trust, even for a second.
“I’m simple. What you see is what you get.” It’s the closest thing to an oath I’m capable of making.
Alexei stares at me across the board. He picks up the black knight, the piece I held before, and places it in what must be its starting position, on my side of the board.
