myself to watch gory horror films to get over it, but it only desensitized me to Saw movies, not real life. “I’m not the biggest fan of blood,” I admitted. He eyed me with curiosity, like I said something amusing. “Interesting.” “Pm sorry. You look like a busy man, and I’m sure I’ve ruined your entire night.” “Drink your soda, kotyonok.” I did. The cold fizz felt good on my throat. I licked my dry lips and looked around the room, from Kirill’s frown, to a crack in the plaster walls, to the frayed carpet. It wasn’t exactly a trendy executive office. “PII reimburse you for everything,” I said. “The doctor and—” I glanced at the can in my hand, which amused Ronan. “TIl add the soda to your bill,” he said. At that moment, I realized I completely overlooked his expensive suit, believing he’d have trouble affording a private doctor’s visit. Suddenly understanding he was only playing with me, I met his gaze. Click. It wasn’t the pull of a trigger. It was him clicking a pen in his hand. “U neye sotryaseniye mozga, i ona dolzhna byt’ osmotrena v bol’nitse,” Kirill said. “He believes you have a mild concussion,” Ronan translated. “The symptoms might last a few days.” I guessed it explained my odd thoughts and behavior. However, I was already feeling a little better now I had some sugar in me. The lack of food and sleep probably didn’t help the situation. An inkling tickled my thoughts. Kirill said “bol’nitse” again, didn’t he? I must have misheard him because Ronan hadn’t said anything about the hospital. I wouldn’t go regardless. “Will you please thank him for me?” I asked. “He didn’t need to come here just for me.” Ronan tilted his head in thought for a moment—click—then said to the doctor, “Ona ne khochet idti v bol’nitsu.” That was the strangest Russian thank you I’d ever heard. “Bol’nitsu” must mean something else. Kirill pursed his lips before responding. “He says someone should wake you tonight. Protocol for head injuries.” “Oh.”