“Vchistuyu,” he whispers, a sad smile stretching across his face. It’s a word I don’t recognize from my partial, limited Russian. “I don’t know that.” I shake my head, my throat catching. “Finally.” He smiles but it’s watery. Between him and my mother, the intensity of emotions in this house has always been welcoming. After the hit, it was stifling. Now… now it is starting to feel like home again. “It means finally, Rhys.
