Page 93 of Shadows of the Past
“Mark Komorov,” I say and I know he’ll get all the information he needs from him.
“Thank you, Julia.”
While Maksim’s been signing papers and taking over the “business,” I’ve been focused on tracking down whoever is holding the pakhan’s sister captive in Moscow.
I don’t know if I’d call Ilya a friend—not exactly—but he’s an ally, and I know if we call, he’ll show up. He’s had every reason to bow to Ivan’s manipulation, but he’s fought back at every turn. Honestly, the only reason Ivan didn’t kill Ilya’s sister back when he suspected Ilya was the one helping smuggle kids out of hell was because it was better to hold even a sliver of control over Ilya than none at all.
We all carry darkness inside us, but with Ilya, you can feel it rising and falling in waves, kept in check only by his promise to bring his sister back alive.
A black SUV pulls up, and one of our soldiers opens the car door for me. I wait as we drive toward the psychiatric clinic. When we arrive, I climb out of the vehicle into the chilly night. Cold air stings my cheeks, and even though it’s late, I spot Zoya waiting by the entrance.
She knew we were coming. Akim let her know I’d visit. Officially, she’s been diagnosed with PTSD, which is the only reason she’s at this clinic. Unofficially, she’s struggling with bipolar disorder, but if we’d put that on her chart, she’d have been transferred, and that’s something Akim refused.
She takes her medication. That’s the only comfort he has left: the hope that maybe, someday, Zoya will feel like herself again.
Her doctor knows her history, and the only explanation he’s found is this: without the meds, Zoya vanishes deep inside her own mind while the illness claws its way out in grotesque episodes. Bringing food to the kids, seeing them bruised and broken every day—maybe that was the trigger for everything that followed.
We always sit on the same bench, even now, with snow piling on top and the kind of cold that creeps into your bones. Still, I catch myself smiling as we settle into the blanket of white.
“Hey, Z,” I murmur.
She never responds. I don’t know if it’s me, though Akim says he doesn’t have any better luck.
“We did it, Zoya. We’re going to save them all." I sigh, watching the vapor from my breath feather through the icy air. "I brought you cherry cake,” I add, shaking the Tupperware container I hold out for her.
It’s her favorite, and I have to swallow hard to keep my feelings in check. She doesn’t deserve this diagnosis…doesn’t deserve to have her life dumped in the trash. Her trauma, everything she saw and heard, mixed with her disorder…it was just too much.
Akim blames himself every day. No matter what we say, he keeps insisting he missed the signs. But the truth is, when you live in the dark long enough, you stop noticing another shadow sneaking up behind you. That’s what happened to us.
I didn’t notice when the light in her eyes faded and was replaced by emptiness.
It’s quiet now, and the only sound I can hear is coming from the clinic, where dinner is being served.
I take Zoya’s hand, and for the first time, I feel her gently squeeze mine back. I don’t let the tears fall, but they’re there because we couldn’t protect her better.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers beside me, so softly that if the wind had been any stronger, I wouldn’t have heard her.
“I know, Z. I know.”
Maybe she doesn’t fully understand what she did, but the medication helps clear her mind. The harshest punishment for her will be living with the memories of those moments. That’s the downside of the meds—they make her remember everythingmore clearly, her actions and all. And I know Zoya never wanted to hurt so many innocent people. She never wanted to sign Vera’s death sentence.
Maksim didn’t come to visit her for the first two years. I know how hard it was for him to look at her and not see Vera’s death, but even he came to realize that you can’t fight an illness.
We named our rescue organization VERA, in memory of the one who showed a little mercy to the children trapped in this hell. In memory of the one who started this whole mission.
And I don’t know why, but right now I send a message out into the universe and hope she can hear me.
Take care of him, Vera. Because, sometimes, I feel like I’m losing him to his anger and darkness.
Chapter 34
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Maksim
The only sound in the room is his breathing—uneven and heavy, grinding against my nerves like a relentless itch I can’t scratch.
“What does this mean?” Ivan’s voice cuts through, indignant, from where he’s tied up like a stray dog.
