The Prey

My chest tightened as if the very air had turned to stone. I froze, my lips parting slightly as I tried to process why he—why now—would bring up him. Ivan was dead. Gone. And good riddance. Now that I thought of him, I did not feel anything except the strange hollowness that must be humanely grief but not what I thought it was.

What could Judas possibly have to say about him?

“What about Ivan?” I asked cautiously, my voice steadier than I felt. I did not want to provoke him. I knew the consequences of mentioning other man in front of him, dead or alive.

The way...