Probably from the gift shop down the street. Plastic case, metal ring, the kind of thing you bought for five bucks and forgot in a junk drawer.
But my throat closed.
Because he knew.
He remembered.
“I lost mine in Aleppo,” I said, voice thin.
“You told me once,” he said quietly, “that you used to carry a compass because it made you feel like you could find your way home in any city. Even when you were scared.”
I swallowed hard.
“I thought,” he continued, “maybe you could use another one. Just until you find your bearings again.”
Something broke then—softly, beautifully.
I stepped toward him and he let me, letting me tuck myself into his chest like I belonged there.
His chin brushed the top of my head.
“I needed some time alone,” I murmured.
“I know,” he said.
“Then why come?”
His hand slid down my back, slow and steady.
“Because I wanted you to know you’re not alone,” he said. “Not anymore.”
The words wrapped around me like a blanket. Like home.
We stood there a long time, the sidewalk warm beneath us, the hotel lights buzzing softly overhead. Cars passed. People drifted by. None of it touched the bubble we were in.
Finally, I pulled back just enough to look at him.
“Are you staying?” I asked quietly.
He studied me in that Levi way—eyes sharp, expression soft. “Want me to?”
I nodded slowly.
His jaw flexed—not with tension, but something close to relief.
“Then I’ll stay. But first, there’s something I need to do.”
25
LEVI
The thing I needed to do was buy flowers.
Why? Because I'd never bought anyone flowers before, and I figured what better time than now.
"Meet me back in your room," I told Amelia. "I'll be right back."
She looked at me, curious but trusting, and nodded.
