Page 92 of Blood & Snow
The market continues its festive chaos while police remain unaware of the body cooling in a side alley.
If we're lucky, we might have hours before someone discovers the courier, maybe more if the weather keeps casual foot traffic away from that particular street.
At my building, Nadya gets out of the car without speaking.
Her movements remain mechanical, disconnected from conscious thought.
She follows me to the elevator, stands beside me as we ride up, enters my apartment when I unlock the door.
Then she rushes to my bathroom and vomits.
The sound carries through the thin walls—retching followed by shuddering gasps.
I've heard that reaction before from new recruits who couldn't handle their first kill.
Most wash out within weeks.
The ones who stay learn to compartmentalize, to separate necessary violence from personal emotion.
But she's not a recruit and she shouldn't have seen that.
I should've protected her and I failed her.
I allowed myself to think of her as an equal when she is anything but.
It makes my heart clench to think of the trauma I've put her through.
I should have seen it coming.
I pour myself vodka and examine the documents from the satchel.
Banking information, transfer schedules, coded references to Brotherhood safe houses.
Exactly the intelligence I needed to plan my next moves against their organization.
The toilet flushes.
Water runs in the sink.
Nadyaemerges from the bathroom with her face washed but still pale, her hair pulled back from her forehead.
"I've never seen anyone die before," she says quietly.
"You've seen plenty of bodies."
"Dead bodies. Not dying." She sits heavily on my couch.
"There's a difference."
I study her face, noting the tremor in her hands and the way she avoids looking directly at me.
She calmly analyzes blood spatter patterns and reconstructs crime scenes but now she's been undone by witnessing actual violence.
Another reminder that civilians never truly adapt to this world, no matter how long they're exposed to its aftermath.
"It gets easier," I tell her.
"I don't want it to get easier."
