Vova stood in the middle of the room, and around lay several wounded and killed guys from the Bytovsky House. For some reason my soul was empty and it wasn’t getting any better. Vova looked at himself in the reflection, his jacket, his face, his hands... Everything was covered in the blood of those he killed. There was a strange noise in his ears, drowning out all thoughts except you. Such unusual weakness could make him raise the pistol and press it to his temple, but something stopped him.

You were sitting on the sofa, no longer trying to hold back the tears that flowed uncontrollably down your cheeks. Vova sat down on the floor in front of you and laid his head on your lap. «It's my fault. Guilty for what was done to you. Sorry, honey, I didn’t follow.» His voice was hoarse with fatigue. He will never forgive himself for not being there on time.