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Cillian

A Little While Later

I look back at the closed door, hoping Saoirse will sleep for a little while longer. In fact, a part of me wishes she’d just sleep right through the battle.

Theoretically, I could lock her in right now, but I respect her too much to do that to her.

And anyway, knowing Saoirse, she’d probably bust out through one of the windows and scale down the walls by herself. Ma would kill me if the stained glass got fucked up.

When my phone starts ringing, I pick up without really looking at who’s calling.

“What’s up, zhopa?” says the voice on the other end of the line.

“Artem,” I breathe in relief. “Wait a second—who the hell are you calling an asshole?”

“You know damn well who.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

“You might be right about that,” he laughs. Then his voice darkens. “Anyway, I’m hearing some disturbing reports coming from your part of the world. Something tells me that it’s too big a coincidence to have nothing to do with you.”

“No faith in me,” I mutter.

“When it comes to you staying out of trouble?” he asks. “None at all.”

I laugh, but it sounds stilted and hard. “I’m fine,” I say. “Things are fine.”

“Cillian…”

“I’m serious. I’ve got everything under control.”

Mostly.

There’s a second of silence and I hear some major static on the line. “What’s happening?” I ask.

“Sorry. Traveling,” Artem explains.

“Where to?”

“Don’s council meeting. We’re hashing out some land disputes. The damn Turks think they can just take whatever they want.”

“Keeping shit interesting, huh?”

“I always do.”

I hesitate a moment when I hear a sound come from the room Saoirse’s sleeping in. Nothing follows, so I relax again.

“You’d tell me if something was going down, right?” Artem inquires.

I wish I could. Hell, I should.

What would be the point of telling him though?

There’s nothing he can do from there. He’s halfway across the world, dealing with problems of his own. And as much as I’d like to have my best friend by my side, I can handle this shit. I can do what must be done.

“Of course,” I lie smoothly.

“Good man,” Artem says. “How’re things with Saoirse?”


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