18

In the morning Beria came to his senses. He took a deep breath, opening his eyes. Almost all the wounds healed and brightened, leaving thin pink scars as a memory. Soon they will become almost invisible. The man looked up at the ceiling, sniffed the air and looked at his brother.

Aznar did not sleep. He sat in a not very comfortable position, legs bent, but did not move, because Deya fell asleep on his lap. Trustingly, she curled up, grabbing the man by the waist. Markat carefully held it with one hand, and with the other he went through the blond strands of hair, playing and passing through his fingers. He felt the gaze, Aznar looked back. Slightly smiled at the corner of his lips.

- Where is she from? - despite the good health, Beria was in no hurry to get up. He knew how much internal resources such accelerated regeneration could use. Weakness is the least of the consequences that can be expected.

- She arrived last night, - satisfied notes were heard in Aznar's voice.

-One? Beria