I grinned at her with tear-stained eyes. “You're a bit slower than I remember. Hi, Maria,” I said.

“I can’t understand you, you idiot,” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck, jostling the others awake.

I just held onto her, wrapping the whole group of slowly waking up kids into my arms. I sat there for a long time before getting up, waking all the others in a similar way—some of them crying, others just shoving their heads into my shoulder. They were safe. By God, they were safe.

They were all blurry through my tears, but they got up and sat on the floor with me, ogling my tattoo and uniform like a cow had learned to sing…. Although, now that I think about it, it would probably be less strange actually. Otherwise, it felt like just another night—me telling them Bible verses I had memorized as a boy or stories that had occurred during the day.

But the usual stories weren’t being passed around tonight. All the little ones were piled around me, clamoring for turns to sit on my knee. I just laughed, ruffling their hair and tossing Yelena onto my back when she complained it wasn’t fair. Finally, Natalie spoke up, her words slow and deliberate, like she was savoring every syllable.

“Boris… why are you dressed like a fink?”

I sighed, leaning back against the wall as all their little eyes turned to me. “Alright, settle down. I’ll tell you the story. But no interruptions, okay?” I grinned. “That means you, Ivan.”

The group giggled, but they stayed quiet as I recounted the events of the last few days, carefully skipping over the grislier parts—no need to tell them about the end of that taxi ride. When I got to the end of it, I spread my hands wide.

“So, yeah. I’m still confused why The General spared me. Honestly, I think she’s just insane.” I grinned, leaning forward like I was sharing a big secret. “And you should see her face, kiddos.”

I covered one half of my face with my hand and whispered dramatically, “On one side, she’s this beautiful woman. Looks like she walked straight out of one of those fancy picture books, right? But on the other side?” I flipped my hand, now covering the other half of my face. “She looks like she could be my granny. All wrinkles and staring straight through your soul!”

The kids gasped in unison, and Yelena clutched at my shoulder. “That’s not real, Boris! You’re making it up!”

“I’m telling you, kiddo, it’s real,” I said, lowering my hand and tapping my temple. “Still haunts me, you know? I keep waiting to see her pop up every time I close my eyes. That’s the real reason I didn’t tuck you in a few nights ago—thought she might be hiding under your blanket.”

They all burst out laughing, though Ivan shook his head, unimpressed. “You talk too fast, Boris. You sound like one of the Blessed now. Slow down next time.”

I blinked, taken aback, then chuckled, shaking my head. “First time anyone’s ever told me I talk too fast during a story. Still getting used to this… finkness?”

As Yelena climbed up on my shoulders and fell over my head, I could have probably showered and shaved before she hit the ground. I just casually plucked her out of the air, before she could even yelp, and slung her onto my back. She giggled, saying, “Again! Again!” I just patted her head, gently letting her know that was not happening a second time.

All the others stared at me, before Maria sighed. “So you're really a fink now? A true, bonafide fink?”

“I must have angered God in some way, Maria. I think you know how,” I said, glancing up at her, then looking back down quickly, trying not to look at her. I had been mulling it over when I had been counting in bed. God was angry with me because I worked for Vincent. I knew it.

“But I’m going to earn his forgiveness. I shall start with the gift I left on the front porch,” I said sternly, like this was a fact that had not yet come to pass.

I raced outside again, grabbed the bag of food, and then ran back. Just before I got to the door, I heard Mikail say, “Maria, Boris is back! We're going to be safe!”

I heard the sadness barely contained in her voice. “Yes, but only for a moment. He must leave. If he stays, they will k—”

Then I was opening the door, before she could say another word. “Alright, kiddos, who's hungry?” I slung the bag over my shoulder onto the floor, opening it to reveal the dinner I had eaten earlier.

Their mouths watered as they raced toward the bag. I pushed them back, making them form a line before letting each of them take out a handful for them to stuff their faces. After the little ones got their share, I let the older ones do the same. The slosh of food was cold now, but from the looks on their faces, I knew it still tasted good.

All of them ate what their hands could carry, the sounds of chewing filling the room, not a word spoken. I just watched them, smiling inwardly to myself and to God. He had answered my prayer. Every single one of them had been fed at this moment, all eating together—no longer having to divvy up small rations, not having to let them starve just so we could save some money to move.

But then anger filled me. I got to eat hot food, and they have to eat this? Why were they still here? Why didn’t they leave? Why did Maria think I have to leave? I swallowed the anger down while I thought about all of those questions.

I waited until they were done, fluffing the bag again, drawing their attention. They had only gone through about half the food. Natalie almost started crying, still licking her fingers from the sauce left on them.

I waited until the bag was completely empty, all of them looking far happier, before I put on my you-do-as-I-say voice. “Maria. Come with me. We need to speak alone,” I said as I turned and walked out the door, heading to the congregation area, standing underneath the large cross that looked out over the whole church.

She came out what felt like five minutes later, but she had clearly rushed to get here, sauce still on the tips of her mouth. I walked up to her,rubbing the stains on her face gently as I asked, “Why have you not left, Maria?”

She looked at my feet. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Then, after what felt like five years, she whispered, “Boris. We almost left. But how could we?”

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She looked away from me, like she did when she knew she was going to get a hiding. “I’ve been giving the money to the people you stole from. I’m trying to help them out after what you did to them.”

I almost slapped her. My hand shot forward, gripping her collar, lifting her off the ground before I even realized what I was doing. She gasped—but didn’t fight back.

My other hand rose, fingers curling into a fist. Then—she flinched.

Not a full recoil. Just a twitch in her shoulders. A tiny flicker of instinct, trained into her by years of knowing when to brace.

The air left my lungs. My gut twisted. Her eyes weren’t wide with fear. They were waiting. She thought I would hit her.

The floor felt too solid. Too cold. Too familiar. The scent of incense and dust crept in. But it wasn’t here. It wasn’t now. I blinked, and I was standing in front of Father Nikolei, a belt going over his shoulder, cruelty twisting his face.

No, a little voice in the back of my head said. No. I wouldn't be him. Something wrenched inside me. My breath came out wrong. Too fast. Too sharp. I forced my fingers to uncurl, dropping her.

Maria stumbled back, hands darting to her throat—not clutching, just checking. Like she had expected worse.

My hand shook. My rage always had a target before. This time, it had found the wrong one. I turned away—the shame kept me from even looking at her.

Instead, I kicked the nearest bench. The wood exploded under my foot. Splinters flew. The crash echoed through the church like a gunshot.

"Maria!" I roared, my voice cracking. "That money was to get us out! To be safe! Do you think you’re safe now?"

The words barely left my mouth before I hated myself even more. I had almost hit her. And she had been ready for it.

“No, Boris,” she whispered, her voice trembling but steady as she rubbed her throat. “I don’t think we’re safe. Far less now that you’re not here. But how can we be safe when it costs others their safety? Innocent people who’ve done nothing wrong? You abandoned your faith to help us, Boris. Look what it’s done to you. Look what it turned you into” she said as she gestured at my uniform. “How could I live with myself if I did the same?”

My chest burned as I roared, “What about the kids? What about their safety? We worked so hard for that money, Maria! And now you just give it away, like it’s nothing!”

She didn’t flinch, though her hands trembled. “Boris. I will not use money made from greed. And… they helped us. The old granny across the street knitted a blanket and gave us a meal.”

I stared at her, my voice dropping dangerously low. “You got a blanket. You might have doomed every single one of the kids to being dragged off to brothels or starving in the street. And you got a blanket.”

“Boris—”

“No!” I shouted, cutting her off. “They need food, Maria! They don’t need your guilt! I beat those people so they could eat!” I jabbed a finger into her chest. “So you could eat! And you just gave it away!”

She reached out, her small hand closing around mine, steadying the tremble that had taken over my fingers. Her voice softened, cutting through the storm inside me. “We’ve been starving for years, Boris. Even when you worked for those bastards, we starved. But we got by. We always got by. And now, we’ll get by without making deals with the devil. You taught us that. You taught me that.”

Her words landed like blows, chipping away at my anger, leaving behind something heavier. I wanted to shout back, to tell her how wrong she was, how blind she was being—but I couldn’t. The fight in me was unraveling, pulled apart by the quiet conviction in her voice.

I stood there, shaking my head, the motion more to myself than to her. My chest ached, and I could feel something inside me breaking, splintering under the weight of her truth. “You think you’ve got this all figured out, huh?” My voice cracked, the words bitter and thin, like they’d been wrung out of me. Giving in felt like admitting defeat, and it burned. “Fine. You want to do this your way? Do it.”

I let out a long, shuddering breath, the last of my anger at her slipping away, leaving me hollow and tired. I looked at her, so sure of herself, so fragile in her resolve, and felt the sadness settle in like an old wound reopening. “But don’t expect me to sit back and let you struggle alone,” I added, my tone quieter now, almost pleading.

The fight was gone, but the need to protect her remained, even if it meant following her down a path I didn’t believe in. She needed me. And like I said, I'd do anything.

Her eyes widened before she smiled, looking down. The anger at her had died, but I still felt the heat in my chest, the wonderful need to strangle someone until they stopped moving.

But God had been there for me. I had abandoned Him long enough when I was working for Vincent. Maybe sticking to God’s side would be better in the long run, now wouldn’t it?

Maria kept turning my hand over, her fingers tracing the new calluses. She was still smiling, like she’d already won.

“Still,” I said, breaking the moment, “what’s this about me leaving? Are you insane? You won’t be safe.”

At that, her smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet disappointment that hit harder than the Lieutenants. She looked up, meeting my eyes. “You can’t stay, Boris. If you do, they’ll hunt us like dogs. You said so yourself—you caught The General’s eye. If you stay, you’ll put everyone in danger. Please. You need to leave.”

I shook my head, pulling my hand free. “No. That’s not how this works. I don’t leave people behind. Not you, not them. I need to look after you, Maria.” My voice was firmer now, desperate to make her see reason.

She stood her ground, taking a step closer. “And you think keeping that promise means standing here and making us targets? You think you’re helping us by staying? Boris, you’ve been protecting us since we were kids, but maybe it’s time you trusted us to stand on our own.”

I clenched my fists, the words stinging more than they should have. “You don’t get it. If I leave—”

“We’ll survive,” she interrupted, her tone soft but unyielding. “We always have. You taught us how to survive, how to make it through the worst. We’ll manage. But if you stay, you’ll make us weaker. They’ll come for us, and it’ll be because of you.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the resolve in her eyes silenced me. She wasn’t budging, no matter how much I wanted to fight her on this.

I leaned my forehead against hers, sighing heavily, “You’re right. You’re always right. Why do you always have to ask me to do the impossible?” My voice came out hoarse, almost a quiet whisper.

She smiled faintly, like she knew she’d won, but didn’t rub it in.

I pulled back, forcing a small smile of my own, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “But don’t think for a moment you can keep me away. Whenever I get the chance, I’ll come back—with food, with whatever I can. God Himself won’t stop me.”

Her fingers tightened around mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. The silence was heavy but full of understanding.

She smiled through her tears. “Fair enough. But before you go, come tuck the kids into bed. Yelena’s been crying for you since you left.”

"Of course. Why do you think I came back? I promised, didn’t I?"

She looked away and started walking toward the door. I turned to follow—but then I saw the bench. A deep dent, the size of my foot. My chest tightened. Then I looked at her back. I couldn’t leave it like this.

"Maria."

She turned back, eyes confused. Waiting.

I swallowed. "I'm sorry. For… hurting you. I'm sorry."

She didn't say anything, just watching me for a long moment.

Shame dragged me down, heavy as stone. I stepped past her, opened the door—hesitated—then walked through without looking back.