And now Ivan was letting him go. The anger Stas had not permitted himself to feel about the loss of his wife flooded through him in a rush, draining him of his cooler senses and igniting his pain like a burst, a throb of grief. It was sharp and unopening, knives that tore up from his limbs, and he shoved Ivan aside to bring himself face-to-face with Marya’s murderer, gritting his teeth in anguish. In loss.
