“Masha, that's enough. Don't make me repeat myself. My mother and sister need a car and you'll take care of that,” Kirill said. His words echoed in the kitchen like a poisonous mist. Masha stood by the stove, her back to him, and felt something inside her that was icy cold not burning, not tearing, but completely frozen, cracking into thin shards of ice. She slowly set the ladder down. The rassolnik was still simmering in the pot; the air was faintly scented with dill and garlic; the gentle Octo