It was three in the night, and Alexei Vetrov was pacing in circles like a restless beast.
In his hands rested a monster of a book. Not a nice bedtime novel.
No, this thing could kill a man if you swung it with enough enthusiasm.
Unlike the unfortunate breed of humans who thought studying was a fun way to spend a life, Alexei had never been the type to sit quietly with books.
His grades had always been fine, of course.
They had to be — growing up with an army of private tutors breathing down your neck made sure of that.
Whoever decided that was a good idea should be executed. Twice.
But while those tutors drilled him in arithmetic and the finer points of grammar, most of Alexei's brainpower had been happily reserved for the important stuff.
Stuff that included fighting, shooting, and the occasional hobby that could get you arrested in at least four countries.
So this — him, reading for hours — was new.
