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“What just happened?”

“Anything that’s made up of water, I can destroy,” he says softly.

It hits me then. All animals, and all humans. . .they’re all made up of water. “You’re saying. . .” I’m hyperventilating.

“There’s a reason my father insisted on a very strict training regime for me.”

“That’s.” I pull my hand free. “No one should have that power.”

He shrugs. “And yet.”

I can’t look at him the same, not anymore. “How many people could you. . .”

“I’m not sure right now. I haven’t practiced in a very long time,” he says. “But before, thousands.”

He could destroy an entire army all by himself. “What’s your reach?”

“Miles, at least.”

Forget electric shocks or burning a dozen men. Those feel like party tricks. His power over water is horrifying.

“That’s just the beginning,” he says. “Water rights have always been hotly contested, but it’s simple for me to reroute streams, rivers, and even shift the tides to a certain extent.”

“No one should have that much power,” I say again, dumbly.

He shrugs. “If it helps, we’ve always used it to help people, like mitigating the effects of droughts and staving off widespread famine.”

“Have you ever exploded a person?” I ask.

Alexei’s eyes study mine, his beautiful face distracting, but I hold his gaze. I need to know the answer.

“Hey, guys. It’s time to go.” Kristiana’s waving at us, and Aleksandr’s car’s idling in the drive.

“Go where?”

“Shopping,” she says. “Duh.”

12

The first thing we buy is a phone, which is really helpful, because I need an internet tool to calculate exactly how much of the money I just got will be needed to repay Nojus. Figuring a percentage for the exchange rate and transfer fees. . .I should have almost eighty thousand euros left over, even after repaying him.

“What are you doing over there?” Mirdza asks. “Texting Gavriil?”

Alexei’s head whips sideways, staring as hard as he can at my lap while the sights outside the car whiz by.

“No.” I slide my phone into my pocket. “I’m not. Not that it’s any of your business.”

I don’t even know his number, though an internet search would tell me the number of the racetrack, and I should let him know that I’m safe. And thank him profusely.

“What’s texting?” Alexei frowns.

“It’s sending a message to someone,” Mirdza says.

“How do you do it?” He holds out his phone. “I want to text someone.”

“Who?” Mirdza asks. “You don’t even know anyone.”

“I want to text Adriana,” he says.