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He stood before Victor’s body and stared at him. He looked so much smaller curled up like this. He would have thought he was dead if not for the thread’s mild vibration.
Victor was crying.
Elias pressed his forehead against the wood of Yaroslav’s door for a moment and sighed.
Then he took a few steps back and rammed it with his shoulder.
He hit the door again and again until the wood around the lock began to splinter, then he stepped back to give himself a running start and kicked the door in completely.
Yaroslav’s house was as cold inside as it was outside. Elias did not take his shoes off to walk on his carpet. The hearth was cold; all the hearths were cold in here.
Elias went upstairs and into every room until he smelled the stink of blood much stronger than anywhere else. He followed his instincts down into a basement with walls of rough rock and stood in the doorway.
He could see a foot, bare and blue in the moonlight. Frozen.
Elias scowled and went back outside. Victor’s anguish beat against him like rain in spring. Elias crouched before him and stuck a hand underneath the scarf that Victor had wrapped around his face.
He brushed away the wetness he knew was waiting for him, held his neck like they were kin.
Then he picked Victor up, slung him onto his back, and started the long walk down the hill.