Her eyes spark with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “It’s none of your business.”
The cat twists in her arms and leaps to the floor. Freed from one burden, she hugs the book tighter to her chest, like it’s precious. Not just a book but a talisman. A connection to someone.
My curiosity sharpens. I want to know why this particular book matters so much. Want to know everything about this woman who’s rapidly becoming an obsession I can’t afford but also can’t shake. “The Romans built their empire on blood. On conquest and subjugation. Not so different from my world.”
She flinches. “I wouldn’t know about your world.”
“Seems like you’re learning.” I gesture toward the destruction around us. “Fast.”
I move away from the bookshelf to continue my circuit of the tiny apartment. There’s not much to see beyond what I’ve already observed. Cheap furniture and minimal possessions all destroyed with methodical precision. But the details paint their own story.
A stack of past-due notices on the kitchenette counter, half hidden under shattered plates. Old sneakers by the door, the soles nearly worn through. A bottle of generic pain reliever next to a jar of multivitamins on the bathroom counter. The basic necessities. No luxuries. A few articles of clothing still hang inside the closet, all fabrics showing signs of wear.
She clearly lives on the financial edge with no safety net. A single missed paycheck away from disaster. And now she’s lost her job at Red Bird’s. Herkakashkaformer boss told me when I went searching for her at the bar.
The thought sits on my chest like an elephant. I’m the reason she lost her income. One more thing I’ve taken from her, along with her sense of safety, her peace of mind, and her belief in a world where men don’t execute others in alleyways.
“You don’t have much.”
She stiffens, a subtle flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. “Not everyone needs much.”
The similarities between us create an uncomfortable resonance. I push the feeling aside to resume my assessment of her living space.
No men’s clothing in the visible wreckage. No sports equipment, no tech gadgets, no typical male possessions. No photos of boyfriends among the shattered frames. No evidence of any man in her life at all.
A glint of broken glass draws my attention to a half-hidden object beneath the overturned coffee table. I bend down, pushing aside the wreckage to reveal a picture frame. The glass is shattered, but the photo inside is intact.
Two women smile up at me, arms tossed around each other’s shoulders, heads tilted together in easy affection. Aurora and a slightly younger girl with auburn hair, brown eyes, and the same curve to her smile. Despite the difference in hair and eye color, the family resemblance is unmistakable.
I straighten, frame in hand, the broken glass tinkling as it plunges to the floor. My chest tightens at their preserved happiness, at the unguarded joy on Aurora’s face, so far from the fear and defiance she shows me now.
The photo was taken outdoors, against the backdrop of a campus building. The younger of the two wears a Northwestern sweatshirt, her auburn hair caught by the wind. Aurora stands beside her, pride evident in her posture and in the protective way she leans toward the other young woman. Without words, this photo tells the story of sacrifice, love, and fierce loyalty. Qualities I understand all too well.
I hold the frame up for Aurora, who’s frozen across the room. “Sister?”
When her eyes lock on the picture in my hand, her face drains of color. “No.”
The desperate lie is a final, futile attempt to shield someone she loves from the danger she finds herself in. From me.
“Yes, she is.”
Her fingers curl around the book until her knuckles turn white. “Leave Samantha out of this.”
I file away the name confirmation, though I already knew it from my brief initial research after she escaped. Aurora and Samantha Bailey, orphaned young, raised by a grandmother who died a few years ago. Aurora dropped out of college to care for her sister. Worked multiple jobs to support her over the years. Lives in this shithole so Samantha can have a future.
It’s admirable.
Sacrificial.
Something I understand more than she might expect. I’ve sacrificed for my family, too, in different ways. Taken falls. Served time. Protected my brothers and was protected in turn, especially by MJ. Not that sacrifice or family loyalty saved him in the end.
I open my mouth, ready to demand the reason behind the lying.
I’m too slow.
Her expression breaks, the last thread of her control snapping. The heavy book drops from her arms, thudding against the floor with a finality that echoes through the small studio. In a wild motion, she lunges for a nearby table lamp, one of the few items still intact, and hurls it directly at my head.
I duck, the lamp sailing past me and shattering against the wall. “What the fuck?”
