We lay there for a while, tangled together, his hand warm on my belly. The Mediterranean light grew brighter through the windows, painting golden stripes across the bed. Outside, I could hear the distant calls of seabirds, the whisper of wind through the gardens.
It felt like peace. Like home.
I was afraid to trust it.
***
Over breakfast, I asked him about Lisa.
The question had been building for days—weeks, really. Ever since I'd accepted that my old life was gone, that I couldn'tsimply return to the apartment and the job and the routines I'd known. But accepting that didn't mean I could forget the people I'd left behind.
Lisa, who'd been my best friend since college. Who'd talked me through breakups and job disappointments and the endless disappointment of my father. Who'd filed a missing persons report when I'd vanished, who was probably still searching for answers I couldn't give.
"I need to talk to her," I said, watching Vasily's face for his reaction. "I know it's risky. I know there are reasons to stay invisible. But she thinks I'm dead, Vasily. She's been living with that for weeks. I can't let her keep believing it."
He was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. I braced myself for refusal—for the reminder that I was still, in some ways, his prisoner. That my freedom had limits.
"What would you tell her?" he asked finally.
"That I'm alive. That I'm safe." I hesitated. "That I can't come home. Not yet."
"She'll ask questions."
"I know. I'll be careful what I answer."
"She'll want to know where you are. Who you're with. Why you disappeared."
"I won't tell her anything that could put anyone in danger. Not her, not you, not—" My hand drifted to my stomach. "Not the baby."
Vasily studied me across the table, those green eyes weighing something I couldn't see. I held my breath, waiting.
"The call will need to be monitored," he said. "Not because I don't trust you—but because I need to know if anything she says suggests a threat. If Pankratov has reached out to people in your life, used them to try to find you—"
"I understand."
"You can't tell her where you are. Not specifically. Not the island, not Greece. If she asks, you're in Europe. That's all."
"Okay."
"And Gabrielle—" He leaned forward, his expression intense. "If at any point during the conversation you feel something is wrong—if she says something that doesn't fit, asks questions that feel scripted—you end the call immediately. No hesitation."
I nodded, my throat tight. He was giving me this. Despite the risks, despite his instinct to control every variable, he was giving me this connection to my old life.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"Don't thank me." He reached across the table and took my hand. "You've given up everything because of me. Your home, your job, your freedom. The least I can do is let you talk to your friend."
***
The call was arranged for that afternoon.
Kirill set up a secure line in Vasily's study—encrypted, untraceable, routed through a series of servers that would make it impossible to pinpoint my location. Vasily sat across the room, close enough to hear but far enough to give me the illusion of privacy.
My fingers trembled as I dialed the number I'd known by heart since sophomore year.
It rang three times. Four. I was starting to think she wouldn't answer—it was a strange number, after all, and Lisa was cautious about unknown callers—when the line clicked.
"Hello?"
