I open the back door.
Bella’s still holding Lily like she’s afraid someone will reach in and pull her out. Her hair is full of glass dust and her eyes are too bright, too focused on not falling apart. Lily is hiccupping against her, exhausted from crying.
“We’re changing cars,” I say. “Safer this way.”
She doesn’t answer. She just nods once, stiff, and slides out with Lily on her hip. I see the way her legs shake when her feet hit the ground. She pretends I don’t.
I take their bags, transfer them to the new car. Every movement feels too loud in the echoing space under the bridge. The air smells like old rain and exhaust.
“Bella,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“No.” Clipped. Automatic.
“Sure?”
“I said no.”
She won’t look at me. She settles into the back seat of the new car, straps Lily in, checks the buckle twice. Her hands are shaking, but she still won’t let me help. By the time I slide in beside them, she’s turned her body toward the window, creating a small cocoon around her daughter.
Nikolai pulls us back onto the main road like nothing happened. The old car sits under the bridge, waiting to become someone else’s problem.
I try again, softer. “Bella.”
Nothing.
“I know that was?—”
“Don’t.” Her voice is quiet, but it cuts clean. “Just…don’t.”
She keeps her eyes on Lily, stroking her hair, counting her breaths. I recognize the move. Focus on what you can control. Ignore what you can’t.
So I shut up. I sit there with glass itching my scalp and the phantom echo of gunfire still ringing in my bones, and I let the miles slide by. Every now and then I check the mirrors, the sky, the flow of traffic. Old habits. Necessary ones.
She doesn’t speak. Not for an hour. Not for two. The silence in the back seat gets thick, heavy, like a fourth person riding with us.
The landscape changes as we get closer to New York. Traffic thickens, billboards crowd the sky, the horizon clutters with metal and concrete. The GPS on the dash ticks down the time, indifferent to what’s sitting in the car.
Just before we hit the outer ring of the city, Bella finally says something.
“I’m hungry.”
Her voice is flat, almost surprised, like the feeling snuck up on her.
I look over. Lily’s asleep now, head lolling sideways in her car seat, mouth open, cheeks sticky from dried tears.
“I can call ahead,” I say. “There’s a place in the city—private room, staff I trust. We’ll be there in forty minutes. They’ll have something ready.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want private. I don’t want ‘staff you trust.’ I just want food.”
“There are better options than?—”
“Aleksander.” She finally meets my eyes. There’s no heat in her tone, just worn-out resolve. “I’m hungry. I want to stop somewhere. Here. Now. Somewhere normal.”
“Normal isn’t safe,” I say automatically.
She lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You had us in a moving shooting gallery not hours ago. ‘Normal’ already left the building.”
Nikolai glances at me in the mirror, waiting.
