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“You what?” I bark. “You discussed this with my boy without consulting me first?” I loom over the much smaller man, and he shrinks back, eyes wide with fear.

“He already knew about it,” he says quickly. “He raised it himself at our last examination and wanted to know if we were considering it as an option for him.”

Chert voz’mi!

That boy of mine is too smart by half.

“Yebat,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes with one hand. “Of course, he fucking knew.”

The doctor nods quickly. “Yes. And when he showed such enthusiasm, I promised him that I’d discuss it with you.”

Pizdets.

What the fuck do I say to that? There’s no way I would break my boy’s heart.

“Tell me about the risks,” I grit out.

“The technology has advanced considerably,” Malhotra assures me. “Success rate in adult trials has been remarkable— over 85% showing significant improvement, with nearly 60% regaining full or near-full function.”

“Adult trials?” I press, eyes narrowing.

“Yes,” he replies. “Unlike the previous surgery, this procedure has evolved from successful operations, just with the AI component added.”

I clear my throat, fighting against an unexpected tightness. “So, you’re saying this could really work? He could actually walk? Not bullshit this time?”

“Yes.” The simplicity hits harder than any elaborate explanation. “I believe he could.”

The symmetry isn’t lost on me— as one Tarasov approaches death, another might finally begin to live. My father rotting away behind that door while my son prepares for something that could transform his world.

“When?” I demand, voice rough.

Ne tormozi, Aleksei.

Don’t rush into this shit again.

“I’ll need to bring the Vanguard team here for initial assessment. Discreetly, of course.” He understands the security concerns without me spelling them out. “Then we’d schedule the procedure at their facility— specialized equipment we can’t bring here.”

I nod, already calculating security arrangements, private transport, cover stories. “Whatever it takes.”

“I thought you’d say that.” Malhotra reaches for his bag. “I’ll make arrangements immediately.”

For a moment, I forget my rage. All I see is Bobik running for the first time. Playing with Diana and Polina in the garden. Living the childhood stolen from him by negligence and vodka.

“Doctor,” I say, voice deadly quiet. “This time, no mistakes.Ponyatno?You understand me?” My tone stays controlled, but something tightens in my chest— anticipation, maybe. For Bobik. For a future we’ve been chasing for years.

Malhotra nods quickly, catching the unspoken threat beneath my words. “I’ll call tomorrow with details.” His eyes meet mine with determination, and more than a little fear. Good. He’d be a fucking idiot to risk my boy’s life again.

As Malhotra walks away, I stand in the hallway, caught between my dying father’s room and the future suddenly opening for my son. Endings and beginnings. Death and possibility. The worst of my past and what might come next.

Before I can catch myself, I imagine Bobik standing. Taking steps. Running toward me. The image hits like a fist to the sternum, creates pressure behind my eyes that might, alone, become something else. Butkhvatit— enough of that weakness. I’ve shown too much these past days.

Stay in the present, dolboyob.

I turn from my father’s door, moving toward the rooms where my son waits with his books and dreams. Towards hope.

The darkness of my father’s approaching death can wait.

This moment belongs to Bobik.