But knowing and seeing are different things.
My shin connects with the coffee table. Hard. Sharp pain radiates up my leg.
I stumble forward. Off balance. Reaching for something to catch myself. My hand finds the back of the sofa but my momentum is already wrong. Furniture scrapes across the floor.
"Fuck!"
The word rips out of me, raw and vicious.
I'm a child stumbling through the dark. Helpless. Pathetic. Unable to navigate my own goddamn living room without hurting myself.
"Easy." Artan's voice comes from my left. Close. He must have been sitting there the whole time. Watching me fumble aroundlike an invalid. "The doctor said it's good news overall. You're healing faster than expected. You'll recover fully. It just takes time."
He's trying to comfort me. Like he's done a thousand times before. Steady. Reliable. The only constant in my life.
"Time I don't have," I snap.
The words come out harsher than I intended. But I can't pull them back.
Artan doesn't deserve that. He's been here every day. For years. The only person I can trust without question. The only person who's never left.
There used to be someone else. Mira. My sister.
She was the only one who ever loved me. Not for what I could become or what I could do or what I represented. Just for being myself.
My mother died when I was twelve. But she'd been gone long before that. Mentally unstable. Lost in her own spiral of breakdowns. Barely present even when she was physically in the room.
And from my father, all I had was violence. Cruelty. Fists and belts and words designed to cut deep and leave scars that never fully healed. Making absolutely certain I understood I was never good enough. Would never be good enough.
But Mira loved me anyway. Saw me weak and scared and struggling and loved me regardless.
Until she left.
And then I found out the truth. That she didn't just leave to escape the mafia. To start a new life somewhere clean and safe. That wasn't the whole story. There was more. Things I wasn't told. Things that make rage burn hot and acidic in my chest whenever I let myself think about it.
But I can't think about that now. Can't let that old fury surface on top of everything else boiling inside me.
"Oh good, you're back."
Lily's voice, bright and warm, comes from the doorway. Like sunshine cutting through clouds.
My thoughts shift immediately.
Lily.
She's been here for a few days. And the apartment feels different. Lighter somehow. I can breathe easier. Like pressure I didn't know I was carrying lifted slightly.
I notice her care in small ways. The way she warns me before I might trip over something. The way she tells me what she's cooking, describes the plate before she sets it down. The way she moves through the space quietly but not silently. Always makingjust enough noise that I know where she is without her having to announce herself.
Thoughtful. Considerate. Without making it obvious that she's accommodating my limitations.
But then I remember. Erion, after our meeting, saying he was going to "find something sweet" and heading toward the kitchen. I couldn't see what happened. Couldn't watch their interaction. But I heard her laugh.
That sound hit me like a fist to the gut. Jealousy. Sharp and immediate and irrational.
And Artan. I can hear how he reacts to her. My stoic, solitary friend who's been alone as long as I've known him. He has his own apartment across the city but he's been here constantly. Every day. And I know I'm not the only reason why.
I can't see Lily. Can't look at her face or watch her move or read her expressions.
