Kavinsky pulled the knife away and sneered. The word was only half finished, well a little more, and Kavinsky wanted to finish and go, if he could. It was entirely possible they were going to sit in here until this guy either cut a sin into him as well or they both gave up the ghost.

"Stop talking," he snarled, a sharp punctuation in the words. He leaned back in and finished up the word. Н-И-Е. It spelled, in Bulgarian, coveting.

Kavinsky tossed the knife aside and stepped back. He was quiet a moment. "Cyrillic is an alphabet."