The morning after, no one spoke much. Eyes darted to shadows, to each other. So this was their first time seeing someone die.

Had I looked like that too, the first time? Wide-eyed. Frozen, the spectacle of violence seeping into my brain and permanently changing my face? Or had I been too busy making sure the kids were okay?

It was the first time I’d seen a fink kill another fink. The first time I’d seen a man crushed into red sludge by the very clothes he was wearing. And the first time I’d enjoyed watching men die.

I dropped to my knees at the thought, immediately praying for guidance. The others walked around me, some grumbling as they lined up outside.

Was the devil finally taking me? Was he whispering in my ear? I didn’t know. But the thought consumed me through the morning routine.

At breakfast, no one ate. They just stared at their trays. I glanced around, searching for something—anything—normal. My eyes landed on Anna a few seats away, but the moment she noticed, she looked away. The usual disgust was there. But this time, there was something else too.

Fear.

“Yesterday hit you hard, huh?” My voice cut through the silence. The shock was fading. But now we had to live with it. They had to live with it.

“Of course, you maniac,” Richard muttered, poking at his food. Kate looked like she wanted to cry, Marnus whispering to her, trying to get her to eat.

“Oh, I’m not a maniac. I’ve just seen what finks are capable of. And yesterday was the first time you got to see what every civvie has seen before. Congratulations.”

Tom shook his head, eyes still wide. “This isn’t normal, Boris. Sure, executions happen. But like that? In front of everyone? And to make us watch?”

“He’s not allowed to do that,” Nina added. “To just… squash him. Even after he begged?”

I scoffed. “The colonel is a fink. This is what finks do. I don't know why you're surprised.”

Anna’s voice cut sharp. “It’s surprising, you fucking monster, because we were raised not to enjoy watching men die.”

The table froze. I met her gaze, slowly shoving food into my mouth. “You got something to say, Anna?”

Her voice shook. “I saw you.”

The air in the mess hall turned heavy. “The way you smiled as that man was crushed. As he begged.”

A sharp breath from Richard. Tom stopped mid-bite. Kate looked up from her tray, her face drawn.

Richard exhaled. “You told us you only kill to protect someone.” His voice was hard. Suspicious. “But you like watching others die?”

Kate swallowed. “Did you lie to us?”

Anna scoffed. “Of course he lied. ‘I don’t enjoy it.’ ‘I only kill when I have to.’” She shook her head. “God, were the kids even real?”

Something snapped in my chest. The fork hit the table with a sharp crack. I inhaled, slowly, deeply, trying to keep the fire down.

"Don’t you ever—ever—question my children again."

Anna flinched. But the suspicion didn’t leave their faces. I exhaled through my nose. “You want the truth?” My voice was calm. Too calm. “Yeah. I enjoyed it.”

The words sat between us. Kate sucked in a breath. Tom stared. Even Richard, skeptical before, looked shaken.

Then the flood hit.

“You’re sick,” Zach spat.

“You lied to us,” Anna hissed.

“You tricked us into thinking you weren’t a fucking animal.” Diana whispered, shaking her head side to side.

I clenched my jaw. Richard sneered. “What’s wrong, Boris? Nothing to say? Guess this is what Civvies are like.” he said, waving a dismissive angry hand.

And that was it, I shot up out of my chair and banged my fists against the table.

"Shut the fuck up!"

The words hit the table like a gunshot. Silence. No one moved. No one breathed. I looked at them—each of them. Zach. Tom. Anna. Richard.

“I was going to kill them anyway,” I said, my voice trembling with something sharp-edged as I sat down. "Kate, even though you’re a baby fink, I consider us friends. I consider all of you friends.”

My gaze drifted to Richard. "Except you."

I turned back to the table. “Lust is the worst sin.” My eyes flicked to Kate. “Look what he tried to do to you.”

Her face twisted with something between anger and disbelief. “That doesn’t give you the right to enjoy it!”

The fire surged. “It does! It’s justice! What, you think a man like that dies and I’m supposed to feel bad? Like it wasn’t deserved?” I scoffed. “No. It’s natural. Actions have consequences. He got his.”

Her breath hitched, looking at her tray, “The consequences are for me to decide.” she shook her head slowly, putting her head in her hands, “i didn’t… I didn’t want that. I wanted him to be in prison.”

“What?” my voice was hard as stone. “Let him stay in a jail he’d break out of? Let him walk free and do it again?” I shook my head, my eyes never leaving hers. “No. I’m glad he’s dead. He deserved it.”

Kate’s hands balled into fists. But she didn’t deny it.

Anna cut in, “No Boris. This wasn’t justice. It was cruel.”

I looked at her, then decided to remind her what we discussed a little while ago.

I gestured at Kate, my voice rising, shaking with something deeper, something I couldn’t control. “You all wanted him dead. I remember what you said after what happened to her. The things you swore you’d do. The revenge you wanted.”

Her face paled, along with the rest, all eyes turning back to the food in their trays like it had an answer.

“And now that something horrible happened to him—what? His crimes don’t matter? He gets a pass?” My voice dropped, quieter now, more dangerous. “No. He deserved to die.”

I exhaled, leaning back in my seat. “Funny, it's the first time I’ve ever seen a fink do something worth respecting, and you lot freak out about it.”

The table remained frozen.

Then—Anna’s voice, trembling. “You’re insane.” She shoved her tray away.

“You're a monster,” Kate snapped, barely suppressed rage in her voice, her face a mask of grief and hurt.

Zach looked wounded. “You’re unhinged, Boris. You need to be locked up.”

A few others murmured in agreement—until Marnus spoke up.

“He’s right.”

Kate turned to him, her face pale. “What?”

Marnus looked down, shame written all over him. “I said he’s right.”

“How could you even think that?” Anna’s voice was raw.

“Because it’s the truth.” His voice was quiet, as he looked at Kate “What, he tries to rape you, and now we’re supposed to feel bad? No. He deserved to die.”

Nina nodded, avoiding Kate’s eyes. “He’s right. Sorry, Kate, but… rapists deserve to die.”

A breathless pause.

Then Richard finally spoke. "I don’t like Boris." His tone was flat, unreadable. "But I agree with him on one thing. That bastard deserved to die."

Kate looked around, like the room itself had betrayed her.

No one else spoke.

The silence was suffocating.

Kate’s breath trembled. “You think that makes it right?”

I finally spoke. The ones who agreed with me nodded, like it was.

“No.”

Her eyes snapped to mine. As did the rest of the table.

“I don’t think it makes it right,” I said, voice low but edged with something sharp. “But I think it makes it fair.”

Kate’s lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.

I exhaled through my nose. The heat in my chest didn’t leave, but my voice softened. “We don’t want to see you get hurt, Kate. I’m sorry, I truly am. But some things have to be done. And you know what the bitch of it is? Sometimes, those things are ugly.” I nodded at Anna, “Cruel, even. But, it's still necessary. Am I really that bad for enjoying it?”

No one spoke.

The weight of it pressed down on us. Thick. Unmoving.

Kate’s throat bobbed like she wanted to say something—but no words came.

Marnus shifted in his seat. Tom looked away. Zach exhaled sharply. Anna’s fingers curled into fists, but she didn’t argue.

The silence stretched.

Then—

The lieutenant’s voice barked from the hallway.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get to Sector B—now!”

Chairs scraped against the floor. Someone picked up their tray just to have something to do with their hands. No one looked at me. No one looked at each other. Just forward, like there was an invisible line between us now.

After breakfast, the day was… normal. We went to Sector B, did our laps and sets, pushed through those godforsaken pushups. The lieutenant seemed distracted, but otherwise, she was her usual self—barking at us to run faster, do more squats.

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When we finished, panting on the floor, she dismissed us to our rooms. We ran there as fast as possible. I followed orders, a thousand sprawls, an hour on the boxing bag, before the lieutenant walked in, small wet spots on her shoulder.

“Alright, Boris. Let’s get—”

I snapped a sharp salute. “Lieutenant! Permission to speak!” I mimicked how some of the others addressed the colonel whenever he passed by.

Her eyebrows shot up, confusion flashing across her face before her expression darkened. “If you apologize, I swear I will never let you speak again.”

I kept the salute, though my heart wasn’t in it anymore. “Uh… I do actually want to apologize. But no, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

She raised a single eyebrow, skepticism written all over her face as she placed her hands on her hips. “Fine, Boris. You have my permission to speak.”

I dropped the salute. Wretched thing. I missed my mock salute so badly, but the lieutenant deserved better.

“Look, Lieutenant. If I know you—which I do, by the way,” I added quickly, “you’re probably running around, talking to all the baby finks about the execution. They need you more than I do right now. So ignore me, and I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early with a fantastic apology planned.”

She stared at me flatly. “You think you’re in a position to give orders?”

I shrugged. “I think I’m in a position to say that you are, by far, one of the kindest people in this wretched place. And by the wet spots on your shirt, my assumption that you’ve been talking to them is spot on. So, you know. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I turned to the weapon rack, picking up a pistol and practicing with it. It wasn’t loaded, but I could still drill my stance, repeat the movements she taught me. I felt her gaze linger on me from across the room.

“Boris,” she said at last. “I just had a conversation with a few of your peers, and… what they told me is concerning. So, while I do think it’s noble of you to look after them, I need to check on you too.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine.”

She ignored that, already crossing the room and unlooping the heavy boxing bag. “Well? You going to dawdle or help me with this?”

I obliged, pulling the wretched thing down and setting it down for the makeshift chair, keeping a respectful distance as she lit a cigarette at the other end of the bag.

She exhaled, the smoke curling between us. “So. I heard you enjoyed the execution.”

I didn’t answer right away, my gaze drifting past her to the empty room, to the weapon rack against the wall. Finally, I spoke. “I won’t deny it. Yes. I enjoyed it.”

Her fingers stilled against the cigarette. “Why?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Why did you enjoy it, Boris?” She shifted toward me, resting her elbow on her knee. No mocking, no playing. She wanted an answer.

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Because they deserved it.”

She held my gaze. “And who decides that?”

I didn’t answer.

She leaned forward slightly, studying me. Then, softly, “This isn’t the first time, is it? That you’ve enjoyed watching men die.”

I hesitated before answering truthfully. “No. It is the first time I've enjoyed it. But I’ve probably seen it a thousand times already.”

She closed her eyes like she was piecing something together, then took a slow drag from her cigarette. “I see. What do you remember about the first time you watched a man die?”

I shot up a playful hand, trying to brush it off. “Why does that matter?”

She shrugged with one shoulder, “I think it does. Humour me? I'll give you some biscuits if you do.”

I looked away, mimicking her half shrug “I… I can't remember the first time. But I can remember the first time I killed someone. Not that it really matters.”

She studied me for a long moment, then nodded, reaching into her pocket and handing me a biscuit.

“The first time I saw a man die was in my second year as a Blessed.” She spoke evenly, but there was something distant in her eyes. “They sent us to the fourth floor for practical experience. Goblin culling.”

She paused, rolling the biscuit between her fingers like she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep talking. But she did.

“We followed the formations perfectly. Shields up, covering fire laid down. Textbook. And then—” she exhaled sharply, like she could still see it. “He took an arrow to the face.”

Her jaw tensed. “Dropped dead right there. One second, he was fighting. The next, he was gone.”

She fell quiet, staring at the ground like it held answers.

“We were trained for it. Told it would happen. But when it did, I just…” She clenched her fist, then relaxed it, shaking her head. “I remember thinking, ‘That’s it?’ That’s all it takes?’”

She popped the biscuit into her mouth and chewed slowly. “Funny. He was a good soldier. Did everything right. Didn’t matter.”

She looked sad, like she thought she should’ve been able to stop it.

“I’ve killed all kinds of beasts,” she continued. “But I haven’t killed a man yet. I don’t know what it’s like. So I’m here, and I wouldn’t mind listening. I think it would be good to know… good to share with a friend.”

“So we’re friends again?”

“Technically, we aren’t friends. I’m your commanding officer.” She straightened her back, placing her hands on her hips.

Then she leaned in, whispering, “But on the down-low, of course we’re friends, you idiot. I’m just angry with you because you hurt yourself, you dolt.”

I grinned, ready to respond.

“No, no. No apologies, mister,” she said, annoyance creeping into her face.

I laughed, then thought about what she said. Yeah, fine. I told this story to the kids all the time anyway.

"Well, okay. The first time I killed someone was the priest who looked after us."

I said it like I was talking about the weather.

"He was a drunk. Had heavy hands and a quick temper. After the gang war, after the finks rolled through… he just got worse and worse."

I leaned back slightly, rolling my shoulders like I was getting comfortable, spreading my hands just like he used to when he was telling a sermon.

"And so, after…. After his worst crime. I decided something had to be done. I spent the whole weekend practicing. And then, I waited for him to come outside."

I waited behind the back of the church, bottles ready, just like I’d practiced all weekend. I can do this. I have to do this. He has to die. For Svetlana.

He stumbled out the door, cigarette in hand, lighting it up as he stared at the sky. He was crying again.

I snuck up through the bushes, then yelled at the top of my lungs, “For Svetlana!”

He wheeled around, eyes going wide. I threw the bottle, just like I’d practiced—watched it sail straight past his head.

Screw it.

I ran straight at him, screaming, throwing a fist at his face.

“So Maria was about ten or eleven back then, so I think I was twelve? Thirteen maybe. I ran at him, punched him in the face… and he just… he just curled up into a ball and begged.”

I smiled. “The big monster who made me hide under the bed at night, who made me cry every time I heard him stumbling… and all I had to do was hit him once.”

I snorted. “God, I was pathetic. If I’d known what he was actually like, I could’ve killed him years earlier.”

I shrugged, the memory almost fond. “Funny, I thought I was going to die. Thought all my kids were going to follow me. Nope. Just one punch.”

I thought about it, then winked at her, “Although, apparently I didn't know how to punch until recently, hey? So not a punch… a knuckle sandwich?” I said, laughing at my own joke.

Silence.

I turned back to her—and immediately wished I hadn’t.

Her face had gone pale, fingers clenched too tight around the cigarette.

“Jesus,” she whispered.

I wagged a finger at her. “Don’t blaspheme, Lieutenant.”

She looked at me like she wanted to say something, then held it in check. “No… that’s just… a lot.”

“What do you mean? I told that story to my kids as a bedtime story?” I said frowning, disappointed she didn't enjoy the memory with me.

She closed her eyes like she was trying to process something far worse than she’d ever thought she’d hear.

“You don’t even hear yourself, do you?”

I threw my hands up. “I don’t know why you’re acting this way. It’s not even that bad.”

She nodded slowly, looking half-traumatized. “I see. Okay. Well… did you enjoy killing that man?”

“That came out of nowhere,” I said, laughing. “And… no. Well. I don’t think so.” I paused, feeling the memory again, deeper this time. “I remember feeling… betrayed. And disappointed.”

She leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees. "You said you enjoyed watching those men die."

I blinked. "Yeah?"

She placed a hand on my shoulder. "I’m going to be honest. That scares me, Boris."

I stared at her, stunned.

She sat back, eyes flicking across my face like she was searching for something lost. Then, she said it again. "It scares the others too."

I shrugged. "I don’t know why that scares you. They deserved it."

She scoffed. "That’s not the point."

I frowned. "It’s not?"

"No, Boris. It’s not." She inhaled sharply, exhaling through her nose. "You think this is about whether or not they were bad people? Whether or not they should have died?"

She pressed her palms against her forehead, then looked at me again. "It’s about what watching it did to you."

The silence stretched. Then—

"How long do you think it'll take before you start enjoying it when you’re the one doing the killing?"

I wanted to scoff, to say I would never be a fink. But the words didn’t come. Because… because I wasn’t entirely convinced my answer would be honest.

She leaned in, her voice softer now. "You don’t think this will change you? It already has."

I swallowed. "I don't—"

"Listen to me."

I fell silent.

She studied me carefully, like I was something delicate she didn’t want to break. "You don’t have to hate yourself for it. You don’t have to pretend you didn’t feel what you felt. But you do have to decide what you’re going to do about it."

I exhaled through my nose. "And what should I do?"

She tilted her head. "You tell me."

I rolled my eyes. "How the hell should I know?"

She let out a sharp breath, then took the cigarette from her mouth and snuffed it out against the ground. "I'm not religious, but I take it you are. So, I'll tell you one of the few things I can remember learning from the bible."

I turned my head toward her.

She looked at me, eyes steady. "The dead don’t have sins, Boris."

She gestured vaguely at me. "You, though? You’re still here. Still breathing. And you still get to choose what kind of person you want to be."

I turned the words over in my head.

She flicked the cigarette away, standing up and stretching her arms over her head. "You're going to feel that way again, Boris. You're going to enjoy it again. And when you do, I want you to take a second. I want you to think."

Then, she looked at me—so kindly, so full of concern for my well-being—that for a fleeting moment, I wanted to drop to my knees, kiss her feet, and proclaim her holy.

"Is that the kind of man you want to be?"

I thought about that. And you know what? She was right.

I looked away. "Yeah, okay."

I stood as she turned to leave. She glanced back at me. "This stays between us, okay?"

“Of course.”

She smiled. “No, not that, you idiot.” Then she pulled me into a hug.

It felt strange. Warm. Like a blanket. I hugged her back, feeling like I was breaking some unspoken rule

And… It was nice. Then she pulled away. “Just think on what I said, okay Boris?”

I nodded halfheartedly, then paused, thinking about it. I looked her in the eyes. “You know what? If I watch another man die and enjoy it, I'll try. I promise.”

She smiled, nodding happily. Then—“Oh, by the way, I’m still angry with you.”

And then she left.

After she was gone, I practiced with the gun for a while before settling down to pray. Somewhere in the middle of it, I came to a conclusion. I had enjoyed it—because those men deserved it. I had been able to look past the cruelty and see the colonel’s intent.

He’d actually killed the man quickly. Within ten seconds. I didn’t know why he kept crushing him after that. For show? Maybe he just liked it?

I prayed for forgiveness—for my wrathful thoughts. Yes, I was going to kill those men anyway, and I probably would have been far less kind than the colonel. But they were dead.

And the dead don’t have sins.

So… I prayed for them. For Jack. For all the people I’ve killed or hurt throughout my life.

At dinner, no one spoke. I accepted that as we went through our nightly routine.

And as I layed in bed, an ache ran through my chest. I couldn't wait anymore. I had to see them. I needed to see them. I had promised Maria, but a week was too long.

I had scanned the hall like a good thief. I wanted to kick myself. I’d been too focused on escaping, not on stealing what we needed. Maria needed money more than anything, and I doubted she’d refuse money stolen from the finks.

Silverware, towels, pillowcases—those should fetch Maria a good price. And I’d seen the fink come out of the back of the kitchen. I knew exactly where to go to steal the food for the little ones. No, not just them.

All my kids were getting real food. Fink food.

I'm going tomorrow night. That should have to be long enough for her.

But I couldn’t wait to see their faces. Especially when they had fink food in their hands.

Yeah. I had a good feeling.

Tomorrow night was going to be something special.