He holds my gaze a long moment, then his expression shifts—something softer, sadder. “And there’s one more thing I should tell you,” he says. “Selene and I…we used to be together. Years ago. It didn’t last. It’s over. I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t want it to matter. Not now.”
I let out a breath, feeling the weight of it but not the pain I thought I might. “Thank you for telling me.”
He brushes his thumb over my knuckles. “You sure?”
I nod. “I am.”
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel. It’s not like I have any claim on him. Then why do I feel this tiny pinch in my chest at the thought of him being with someone else?
I excuse myself quietly, telling Aleksander I’ll be right back, and slip down the hall toward the bathrooms. My hands are still shaking, my chest too tight. I need a moment alone, just to breathe.
The bathroom is empty. Too clean. Too quiet. I step up to the sink and look at myself in the mirror. My face looks pale, eyes too bright, hair still a little damp at the nape of my neck. I grip the edge of the counter, grounding myself, replaying everything Aleksander just told me, every name, every implication.
I take a breath.
There’s movement behind me.
A woman stands in the mirror’s reflection, just inside the doorway. For half a second my body goes rigid, then recognition settles in and eases the tension. She’s familiar. Warm smile, neat hair, the same calm presence.
The flight attendant.
I turn, surprised but relieved. “Hey,” I say, forcing a small smile. “What a coincidence.”
She smiles back, soft and pleasant, like she did on the plane. “I was thinking the same thing.”
My shoulders loosen. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” I say. “Small world.”
She steps further into the room, her shoes barely making a sound on the tile. “It really is.” Her eyes flick over my face, assessing, then soften again. “You look exhausted.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Long day.” I hesitate, then add, “Hospital things.”
“I figured,” she says gently. “I saw you rush past earlier. I hope everything’s okay.”
“As okay as it can be,” I say. There’s something comforting about her voice, about the familiarity. “I never caught your name, by the way.”
She tilts her head, like she’s amused by that. “Elena,” she says.
“Elena,” I repeat, slower now. My smile falters before I can stop it. The name echoes in my head, sharp and sudden. I’ve seen it before. Written down. In Aleksander’s room. On the board with all of his notes about Kirov and the plane, underlined twice in red.
Her eyes don’t leave mine.
Something cold slips into my stomach.
“Wait,” I say, the word barely out of my mouth as I take a step back, instincts finally screaming. “I think I?—”
She moves fast.
There’s no warning, no anger in her face. Just calm. Precision. I don’t even see what she’s holding, only feel the brutal crack against the side of my head. White explodes behind my eyes. My knees buckle instantly.
The floor rushes up to meet me.
I try to catch myself, try to scream, but my body doesn’t respond. My cheek hits the tile, the pain distant already, like it belongs to someone else. The last thing I see is Elena’s shoes stepping closer, her shadow stretching over me.
Then everything goes dark.
22
ALEKSANDER
