"Oh, like I need you to tell me how I die." Artemy's voice thunders, growing irritated.

He doesn't know what Pyotr knows or doesn't know, but isn't the fact that he's here, in front of him, proof enough that he's dead?

"What does Sabourova know that I don't, hm?" Artemy asks, tone becoming more edged, "Or perhaps you're simply drunk out of your mind. Perhaps you need someone to put you to bed."