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I see it then. In the depths of his arctic eyes that could freeze someone to death. He means every word. If I don’t put a bullet in his heart or head, he’ll chase me relentlessly. Until either I kill him or he possesses me. And that’s terrifying because at this point, I don’t know which one is more likely to come true. I’d hate myself in both cases. I lift my rifle and shoot the sky, and just like that, a long, raw scream rips out of my lungs. Until I nearly lose my voice. Until my heart metaphorically spills out on the ground. When I look back at Kirill, he’s watching me with keen interest.
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