{NIKOLAI}
When something terrible occurs, two kinds of people emerge.
The first kind shriveled up and wept, the mind folding in on itself like a house of cards. This group couldn't see past the hopelessness or the fear of saving themselves.
The second type fought. These people became alley cats in the face of life-threatening danger, striking out, clawing, and scratching to survive.
Something told me Dasha would fall into the second group.
But even fighters could be broken. I remained strong when Sakharov's men burned my skin and shoved a knife between my ribs. And when they broke my bones and dislocated my shoulders. Yet, as time dragged on, I felt myself weakening with infection and dehydration. Every breath became agony, my body mangled beyond comprehension. I hated lying on that cold stone floor, at the mercy of my enemy.
