A few days had passed since Youri's visit to the hospital, and by any logic, he should still have been in bed. Broken ribs didn't heal in days. Bruises didn't vanish overnight. Pain didn't simply disappear. And yet there he was, standing upright, breathing freely, moving as though nothing had ever happened. His body had done what it always did. The fractures in his ribs had knit cleanly, the swelling had gone, and the deep bruises that had painted his skin purple and black had faded without a trace. By the third morning, the pain was only a distant memory. By the fourth, he felt whole again. And on the fifth, he went back to Lux.
The club was already alive when he got there, neon pulsing through the smoky air, the bass thrumming up through the floor, the smell of alcohol and sweat thick enough to taste. Lux never slept; it only changed its mood with the hour. As he stepped inside, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Well, look who decided to show up!"
Gloria was behind the bar with one elbow on the counter, and her sharp eyes swept him from head to toe, plainly looking for signs of injury. Youri gave her a small grin. "Hi, Gloria."
She raised an eyebrow. "I heard from Leo what happened."
He slid onto a stool beside her and nodded at the bartender. "Whiskey."
Gloria frowned at once. "Since when do you drink?"
He lifted the glass a little when it came and turned toward her. "Since now."
She stared at him for a moment, then let out a short laugh. "Well, I'll be damned. I guess that Boris guy really did rattle your brain."
Youri leaned back against the counter and rolled the glass slowly between his fingers. "Helped with the pain," he said calmly. "Figured I'd stick with it."
Gloria shook her head, amused. "You do you. Just don't go getting that pretty face of yours smashed in again."
He chuckled. "Can't promise that. They pay better than you do."
She snorted and pushed away from the bar. "You're insane."
As she headed off toward the podium, the doors opened again and Leo came in, still in his jacket, scanning the room. The moment he spotted Youri at the bar, he stopped dead. Then he marched over with disbelief all over his face and dropped onto the stool beside him. "Bro, what the hell are you doing here? You should be at home resting!"
Youri didn't answer. He only lifted his shirt. Leo leaned in, and froze. The bruises were gone. The swelling was gone. There wasn't even a trace of discoloration left behind.
"…How?" Leo muttered. "How the hell did you heal that fast?"
Youri let his shirt fall and smirked. "Just a little gift from good old Dad."
Leo stared at him as though he had grown a second head. "That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
Leo opened his mouth, closed it again, and shook his head. "Whatever, man. I've got a fight tonight. You coming to watch?"
"Sure," Youri said easily.
Leo stood. "Good. Watch closely. You might learn something."
Night hit Vegas hard. Lux filled to the brim, people packed shoulder to shoulder, laughter spilling into arguments and arguments threatening to turn into something worse. In the VIP section the tension hummed, and every eye was always watching, always waiting. And then it happened. A sharp crack rang out from the far corner, and Youri turned just in time to see Edward — Malkom's right-hand man — standing over a fallen guest with a broken champagne glass dripping in his hand, while the man at his feet lay unconscious with blood pooling under his head. Edward kicked him in the ribs.
Youri didn't hesitate. He crossed the distance in seconds, seized Edward's arm and shoved him back. Edward staggered, twisted free and turned with his eyes glassy from drink, and recognition flickered across his face. "You," he snarled. "It's you again."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife. Youri's stance shifted at once. Edward came at him slashing wildly. Youri leaned back and let the blade cut the air inches from his chest. Edward lunged again, lower this time. Youri caught his wrist in mid-swing and twisted. There was a sickening crack. Edward screamed. The knife clattered to the floor, and he stared down at his arm in horror. "You broke my arm, you motherf—"
Youri stepped in and hit him square on the chin. Edward dropped like dead weight. The whole VIP section went silent.
Youri dragged him outside. A moment later Leo and Peter came rushing out after him and stopped short at the sight of Edward sprawled on the pavement.
"Holy shit," Leo muttered. "You knocked him out cold."
Peter crouched, his eyes narrowing. "You could have held back."
"He pulled a knife," Youri said calmly. "It was him or me."
Peter sighed. "I know. Just be careful. You scared some of the guests."
Youri nodded. "I'll take them outside next time."
As Youri went back in, Peter lingered, staring down at Edward, and then he turned to Leo. "Does a punch from someone who's never really fought hit that hard?"
Leo shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Ever since Boris… he's different."
Later, as Lux was winding down, Leo called over to him. "You still coming to the fight?"
"Yeah," Youri said. "Wait in the car."
At the bar, Gloria was watching him closely. "You really did a number on Edward."
Youri smirked. "He had it coming."
She nodded. "Just remember — there are eyes everywhere."
Outside, Leo started the engine and glanced over as Youri got in. "So where did you learn to hit like that?"
Youri smiled. "Remember the last punch Boris gave me?"
Leo blinked. "Yeah?"
"I used the same technique."
Leo stared at him. "You learned it just from getting hit by it once?"
Youri laughed softly and looked out at the passing lights, where nobody could see the old shadow that crossed his face for a moment — Malden's tablet, a DNA print no one had ever seen before, a man named Victor Olsen whom he would never meet.
"Another gift from good old Dad."