The guard escorted him to table 17 and stepped back.
Still close.
Still alert.
Hand resting near a baton.
Ruslan sat across from us.
The Plexiglas barrier between us reflected both our faces — overlapping like ghosts trying to reconcile with memory.
He placed both chained hands on the small ledge in front of him.
His fingers flexed slightly against the metal.
His gaze didn’t move from Yannis.
“Thank you for bringing him,” he said quietly.
His voice sounded different through the barrier.
Duller. Muted.
But sincere.
I folded my arms across my chest.
“I won’t take him far from you.”
The words were neutral — practical. “Yannis is doing better in school now.”
Ruslan’s eyes shifted to me briefly — listening carefully.
“His teachers give good reports.”
I continued. “Straight A’s in math.”
A faint flicker of pride crossed Ruslan’s expression.
“He joined the chess club.”
That got his attention. “Chess?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
I tilted my head slightly.
Ruslan’s mouth curved. Just a ghost of a smile.
Almost fragile.
“I’m glad you did what I couldn’t,” he admitted.
The words weren’t defensive. They were acknowledgment.
“I thought I was protecting him,” he continued.
“Keeping him busy. Keeping him safe.”
