Concrete Walls and Iron Curtains Chapter 9 sneak-pic
She really needed to talk to Yura.
Their chat was quiet - ever since that morning Yura only exchanged a couple of words with her on Saturday, before and after his pre-Crossing brief with her brother. The Crossing was coming, she gathered as much from listening Sergei and Olya talk through the thin walls of their flat. The days before were always the worst, even without the strain Kazarin household found itself under these days. On their first time, one out of three novice stalkers didn’t make it out in one piece. That would be Yura’s first, Sanya was painfully aware.
She checked her phone again. No new messages appeared. She quietly entered her flat, locking up behind. The door to Sergei’s office was ajar, with a ribbon of pale blue light streaming from the crack. He was drooped over his chair, in the dark, with only the monitor giving light to his space. Heroes of Might and Magic 3 - god, her brother was old.
“Tomorrow, Sasha,” Sergei said without turning. He wasn’t looking at the game either, his tired face was pivoted to the ceiling without any interest.
Sanya thought about simply walking by without saying anything. He deserved that. But she couldn’t just leave, not now, not seeing him as exhausted as she had been.
“They will be fine,” she said what she wanted to believe.
With a slow turn, Sergei faced her. He nodded, then again, more to himself then to her. Sanya took a deep breath.
“Brother,” she called out, taking Sergei by surprise.
“Let me speak, please,” she waited until he was less confused then ready to listen, “I spoke with Sergei a lot lately. Could I speak with my brother?”
She might as well have struck him.
“Yes,” the man breathed out in an acknowledgement, “Sister.”
When was the last time he referred to her as his sister, directly? Sanya did not remember.
“What you did was wrong. You had to… make a call. And you made the wrong one.”
He brother’s face twisted into something bitter right as he brought a hand to his face. Sanya saw, movement by movement, as the man brought himself together. It was Sergei Kazarin who stood up from that chair.
“Pray you will never have to make a call like this,” the man said, and Alexandra Kazarina met his eyes. He was right, she prayed she never had to. She didn’t have to forgive him for this call, too.
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