The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

"Irinarhov," he said vaguely. "Oh."

A pause.

"What?"

Ocelot's expression must have said it all to his company.

He put his finger to his lips, although he was pretty sure the Captain had heard the sudden and questioning whisper.

"Put your clothes on," he hissed, aside, in an undertone. "No, it's..not that. We'll...later, all right? We have a problem."

He scowled, rubbing his temple, then he heard breathing.

He'd forgotten the sniper, as soon as he'd remembered him.

"...Irinarhov. Are you there?"

Of course he was. He hadn't been dismissed.