
The sounds of steel on steel made Illya Kuryakin flinch, his system still sensitive from the THRUSH drugs he’d been subjected to. He felt as though the sound was coming from his own bones, scraping against bone with no cartilage to ease the movement.
Napoleon Solo was concerned about his partner, the pallid complexion a reminder of the treatment the young Russian had received at the hands of his captors.
“You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin, Illya. Should I be worried?” The senior member of this new team wasn’t accustomed to having to worry about other people. He had made a concerted effort to work alone prior to being paired with the new Soviet addition to UNCLE, but those days seemed forever behind him now.
“I am fine. I... it is only that...’ Illya faltered in his attempt to appear indestructible.
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