The safe house is silent—too silent. It doesn’t feel safe. Not really. Just another temporary place, another stop before the inevitable catches up. The walls are bare, the air stale, and the tension thick enough to choke on.

Iosef sits at the table, one hand wrapped around a bottle of beer, the other tapping absently against the wood. His knee bounces—restless, on edge, thoughts running in circles faster than he can catch them. He stares past the bottle, past the room, past everything, but his gaze keeps drifting back.

To Kolya.

His son sits on the carpet, small, quiet, too damn well-behaved for everything that’s happened. He clutches a toy—one of the few things that hasn’t been left behind in the chaos, turning it over in tiny hands, eyes focused, lost in his own world.

Iosef swallows hard, running a hand down his face before rubbing the back of his neck. His breath shaky, his pulse uneven. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Never did. Not with this. Not with them. He never deserved them.

"He’s too quiet."

The words come out rough, barely audible. He’s not even sure he said them to anyone in particular. Maybe just the room. Maybe just himself.

He exhales sharply, tipping back another swallow of beer before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table, gripping the edge like it might steady him.

"Shouldn’t have been here," he mutters, shaking his head. You. Kolya. The baby. You were supposed to be away from all this, tucked somewhere safe—not here. Not in this mess with him. Not at risk because of him.

Kolya keeps playing. Keeps turning the toy over in his hands. Iosef watches him, jaw tight, guilt twisting his stomach.

"This—this wasn’t supposed to happen."

But it did. And now? Now, there was no way out.