"She needs space," Sophia whispers into my shirt. "Marina needs... normal."
I stroke her hair, feeling her tears soak through the fabric. "I know, tesoro."
"I destroyed her life." Her voice cracks. "She can't even use her hand because of me."
"Because of Daniil," I correct firmly. "Not you."
She pulls back slightly, wiping her face with her sleeve. "I need to not call her every day. Need to let her heal without me constantly reminding her of what happened."
"Everything needs time." I cup her face, thumbs brushing away fresh tears. "Marina's been through hell. So have you."
"I just want something normal," she says, voice small. "Just for a little while. Something that doesn't involve guns or territories or?—"
"You want to go for a walk?"
She blinks at me, confusion replacing grief. "A walk?"
"Yeah."
"Like... with our feet? Outside? Just walking?"
I can't help the laugh that escapes. "Yes, Sophia. A regular walk."
Her entire face transforms. The devastation vanishes, replaced by something I haven't seen since before Daniil attacked her. Pure, uncomplicated joy. She looks like a kid who's just been offered a trip to Disneyland.
"Really?" She bounces slightly on her toes. "We can just... walk? Like normal people?"
"Like normal people."
She grabs my hand and yanks me toward the door with surprising strength. "Come on!"
"Sophia, wait?—"
But she's already pulling me outside, and suddenly we're running. Actually running down the sidewalk like teenagers escaping curfew. Her hand grips mine tight as she drags me along, laughing for the first time in days.
"Slow down," I call, but I'm laughing too. When did I last run anywhere that wasn't toward violence or away from it?
She doesn't slow down. If anything, she speeds up, her hair flying behind her as we race past confused pedestrians. An elderly woman jumps out of our way, clutching her purse.
"Sorry!" Sophia calls over her shoulder, still pulling me along.
My lungs burn. Not from exertion, but from the surreal normalcy of it. Lorenzo Sartori, who hasn't taken an unguarded step in fifteen years, running down a Chicago street in broad daylight because his wife wants to feel normal.
We reach the corner and she finally stops, breathing hard, cheeks flushed. She's still holding my hand.
"That was..." I search for words.
"Normal?" she supplies, grinning up at me.
"Insane."
"Same thing, apparently." She tugs me forward at a walking pace now. "Where should we go?"
"Wherever you want."
She considers this seriously, like she's been given an impossible puzzle. "The park? Can we just... sit in the park?"
"We can sit in the park."
