I knew this moment would arrive. Maybe I refused to think about it, maybe I tried to delay it, but, to be honest, I've known for a long time that there was no other way.

I kiss her once again, for the last time, making sure that I don't wake her up. She moans something in her sleep and resumes her light snoring.

God, I'll miss that sound. Not for long, though, so it doesn't really matter.

I stand by our bed for a few desperate minutes, watching her, fighting the urge to touch her again, to lie by her side, to take her in my arms and pretend that she's mine, here, at least, in our bubble, while the world around us perishes.

I take a deep breath, and I turn my back on her sleeping form.

It's time to go.

First, I need to contact Duke. That's easy.

I have his number. Not in my phone. In my head. Just like his flat, I'm one hundred percent sure that he still uses his old number, and that's the only one I know by heart of all the fucking numbers I've encountered in my life.

Then, I must fulfill my promise to Mary. I have to take care of everything.

Easy, too. Not many variations in the possible outcome. I might have refused to think much about it, but the solution has always been in the back of my mind. It's pretty self-explanatory. It doesn't take a genius like her to calculate that.

There's only one step of my plan that's not that easy. To leave the headquarters remaining undetected.

My men are good. I trained them well. I hope they're going to stay together. Not as if it would matter to me in the least, but they are a singularly organized, effective company, and it would be a waste of effort if—

Okay, it's not my problem from now on.

I almost reach one of the side doors when I notice someone standing there, in the darkness, blocking my way.

"Where are you going, boss?"

It's Jorge. My men aren't only good, they are too good. Him, I couldn't beat up like those stupid Red Eagles. The double-bladed knife in his hand makes that very improbable.

"To meet Pavlov," I inform him.

"Alone?" he asks. "Do you have something to discuss in private, boss?"

He tests the blade of the knife on his thumbnail. Now he looks like the frost spirit he is. The one that hums a lullaby while cutting your throat.

"It's none of your business, Jorge."

The hate in his eyes could slice my throat alone, without the help of the knife in his hand.

Very good. Things are turning out better than I expected. He won't put himself in danger by asking stupid questions of Pavlov. He'll take my place seamlessly.

"I'm disappointed in you, boss," he says. "I thought you'd give your plans up for the missus."

"It's funny, Jorge. I'm doing quite the contrary. I'm giving her up for my plans."

"You can't do that," he pleads, forgetting even about his hate. "You've never been this happy, boss! I know it."

"Well, she'll be gone by tomorrow, too," I inform him.

"Too?"

I curse under my breath.

"If I knew for sure," Jorge snorts, "that you're about to take all the money and flee with her to start a new life, I'd say nothing. Do you know that, boss? If the price weren't the life of millions, I'd even be happy for you."

I roll my eyes. I see where this is going, and I don't want to fight. That's the last thing I want now. I can't kill Jorge, and I can't get myself killed, either. Not now. Not yet. So I listen to him in silence.

"I know nothing about your plans, boss."

That's right. And I can tell him nothing, either. Pavlov didn't make the contract with my army, he made it with me. There's no need to put anyone else in danger.

"But she's the one keeping your ghosts away," he goes on. "And look at you! What about your policy of sleeping alone, huh? I knew it was serious when you called for her in your sleep, even before I met her. And now I know—"

"She's nothing special, okay?" I interrupt him. So much for listening to him in silence. I wish my voice were less revealing of my misery, though. "She's just a hoe, like all the other hoes."

"That's not—"

"Or even worse," I shut him up. "She's the spirit of desperation. Remember?"

"Oh, boss. The spirit of desperation can change her form, did you know that? Into a mirage spirit. Which is the most confusing spirit of them all."

"Well, she's confusing," I admit. "But how is that a good thing?"

"It's not a good thing in itself. But the mirage spirit is the one that fits a death demon best. Only a death demon can handle a mirage spirit, they say."

"Says who? Your grandma?"

"It's common knowledge, boss."

"Bullshit," I snort.

"I'm serious, boss. It runs in my family. I see things. And now—"

"Now you shut up, Jorge. Enough of this. If you don't want your own fucking blade inserted where your fucking ever-seeing eyes are now, let me through."

"Do you doubt me? All right. I also see that you're doing everything for her. I can't tell how, I can't tell why, but I can tell that you're trying to walk out that fucking door for—"

I hit him without warning. I take the knife effortlessly out of his hand before he hits the ground.

He doesn't faint, though. He has an incredibly hard skull. This is the moment when I should kick him in the face. It would solve all my problems. He'd hate me even more. He'd be out for a while. He'd stop reminding me of things that can't be changed.

He'd stop reminding me of her.

But I can't bring myself to do it. Not while he stares at me with his bloody nose, making an effort to come up with an explanation for what happened to him.

Apparently, there are a few moves I've never shown to my men.

The hating part is maxed out, anyway. Death demon or not, he'd give a try to strangle me with his bare hands if he could get up. But he can't. He tries, though. He's ready to die to keep me from leaving, the idiot.

"Jorge," I tell him. "Listen to me."

He doesn't listen. He grabs my ankle and refuses to let it go. I don't know what his plan is, maybe to drag me to the ground and bite my throat.

I don't have time for this. I place the blade of his knife on his neck.

"Will you listen to me now?" I ask him again.

He has no other choice this time.

"I won't kill you," I tell him. "And you don't need to kill me, either. I'm leaving for good. Let's say my past caught up with me, and I need to disappear."

He tries to speak, but I don't let him. There's a thin red line appearing on his neck, looking harmless but hurting like hell.

"I'm still not finished," I carry on. "The army is yours. Lead the guys on. You'll do all right."

He wants to spit on my shoes for an answer. But he can't because he can't turn his head without being killed.

"And the last thing," I warn him. "Don't go close to Pavlov again. Never. Understood?"

He refuses to nod. Or he can't. But it doesn't really matter. The hatred he feels makes his eyes darker than they usually are.

Very good.

I hit him on the head with the handle of the knife, and I step over his prostrate body. He'll live. And by the time he understands what's going on, everything will be over.

I leave the blade by his side. I won't need it. If I had it, I might use it, and I can't risk that. I need to get rid of some obligations I took on without anyone else getting hurt.

Outside the building, I start running. I don't have any more time to waste, and it's a pace I can keep without breaking a sweat.

The death demon activated in me, I failed to notice when, but I feel it now. It happened when I hit Jorge, or when I cut his skin and saw his blood.

It doesn't matter. Death demon is good.

It will get me through this. Not in the way it usually does; there's no need for his fighting skills now. But I gratefully welcome its callous attitude.

It will get me where I'm going without feeling much.