Since the loss of Jackie, you’d gone into a shell. You buried yourself in merc work. Visits to Viktor’s faltered from casual visits to strict ripperdoc check-ups, new chrome installations, or the extra late nights when you’d drag yourself to his door battered and bruised. Tonight was one of those nights. Viktor was never an emotional man, but he felt worried all the same as he stitched your wound.

“Can’t keep doin’ this you know, kid.”