I finally break the silence. “What are you going to do?”
He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tense. “First, I’m going to figure out how Kirov died on that plane. That’s the only way we get answers.”
I nod, but doubt creeps in. “We don’t have access to the security footage. The authorities are already involved, and we can’t exactly ask for it without drawing more attention.”
He gives a tired smile, humorless. “Whoever did it must have been careful. It takes skill to kill a man like Kirov and not leave a trail.”
“Isn’t that the problem?” I ask, voice low. “Anyone bold enough to do that on a public flight, they either had nothing left to lose, or they’re hiding something big.”
He considers this, eyes narrowing. “Which means we don’t look for an obvious suspect. We look for the one who blends in best, who had access and wasn’t noticed. Flight crew. Security detail. Someone traveling with false papers.” He shakes his head, thinking out loud. “Or maybe someone who was never on the passenger manifest at all.”
I watch him—how the gears turn, how easily he slips back into the cold, calculating part of himself that terrifies me. But there’s something protective in it too. He’s doing all of this for Lily. For me.
I tuck my knees to my chest. “Do you really think you can find them?”
His gaze is hard, unyielding. “I don’t have a choice.”
We finally pull ourselves out of bed, the heaviness of everything lingering in the air between us. Aleksander’s movements are slower now, stiff with pain and fever, but determined as ever. I slip into my robe and pad barefoot through his apartment, heading down the quiet hallway to check on Lily.
The place is almost absurd in its size—sleek, modern, and full of hidden corners and soft light. It should feel intimidating, but today, with sunlight spilling across the floors and Lily’s laughter echoing faintly from the far room, it feels softer, warmer. Maybe this is what home is supposed to feel like.
I step into the bedroom Aleksander has quietly, meticulously set up for our daughter. There are plush animals stacked on the dresser, a little reading lamp shaped like a bear, tiny socks in a drawer, picture books already waiting on a low shelf. There’s even the faint scent of her baby shampoo on the pillow.
After years of drifting, never settling for long, never daring to think Lily and I might be safe somewhere for real, I feel it settle in my chest—this is what home feels like. Not the walls or the view, but the sense that we belong somewhere, that someone thought about what Lily would need to wake up happy.
It’s a strange, quiet relief, and more than a little ironic. After all the running, all the hiding, the place that feels most like home is the one owned by the man who upended my entire world. Maybe that’s the cruelest joke of all.
Lily is curled up in bed, thumb in her mouth, bunny clutched to her chest. I lean down and kiss her forehead, tucking the blanket under her chin. For just a moment, I let myself believe that maybe we could stay—just a little longer.
Aleksander appears quietly in the doorway, broad shoulders filling the frame. He stands there, arms folded, just watching us—watching Lily. For a moment he’s not the man I met in a whirlwind of danger and secrets, but something gentler, someone I could almost call family.
He steps into the room, careful not to wake our daughter. His gaze softens as he looks down at her, his hand brushing lightly over her curls, almost as if he can’t believe she’s real.
I let my fingers trail over her blanket. “She looks so peaceful when she sleeps,” I whisper.
He nods, his voice rough. “She has your stubbornness. She’s stronger than she looks.”
We drift into the kitchen, the tension of the morning fading into something quieter. I move on autopilot, pulling out a mug, pouring milk, adding a drizzle of honey—something my mother did for me whenever the world felt overwhelming. Aleksander watches, bemused but pleased, as I set it in front of him.
He takes a sip and gives me a look of surprised approval. “This is good.”
I smile, the moment warm and normal in a way that feels almost foreign. “You should try it when you can’t sleep.”
He glances at me over the rim of the mug. “I don’t sleep much.”
I lean against the counter, studying his face in the golden light. “Can I ask you something?”
He sets the mug down. “Anything.”
“Selene,” I say. The name hangs in the air. “Who is she? She was at the estate.”
His expression shifts, something shadowed crossing his features. He doesn’t answer immediately, turning the mug in his hands. “Selene works for my mother. At least, that’s what she wants everyone to think. She’s been around the family for years. She’s…complicated. Smart. Not someone you want as an enemy.”
“She helped me, a little, when we were trapped at the estate. But it always felt like she was holding back, or hiding something.”
He nods. “That’s Selene. She picks her loyalties carefully. She knows how dangerous Irina can be, and she knows how quicklythings change in our world. She…she protected me before, when I was younger. Covered for me. But she has her own agenda, always. Don’t mistake her kindness for softness.”
I think about that—about the way Selene carried herself, about her careful, calculating calm. “Do you trust her?”
