Hidden meetings behind thick stone walls.
Power shifting like tides.
And somewhere in the middle of it all — my sister.
The fragile hope of seeing her face again.
Of touching her.
Of confirming she was still alive.
“When do we leave?” I asked quietly.
Ruslan didn’t answer immediately.
His fingers continued tracing slow, steady circles across my bare back — grounding me even as his mind calculated logistics I couldn’t see.
“First, Greece,” he said at last.
His tone shifted into something practical.
“We go home to Athens.”
Home.
The word felt strange and comforting at the same time.
“We reunite with Yannis and Daphne. We spend time together — real time.”
His hand tightened slightly around my waist.
“Let Daphne run through the olive groves. Let Yannis show off whatever he’s learned at university.”
A faint, almost amused exhale escaped him.
“Let things feel normal for a while.”
My throat tightened at the idea.
Something so simple — yet something we had been robbed of for years.
“Then,” he continued, “when we’re ready — when you’re ready — we move to Italy.”
I lifted my head slightly to look at him.
“Daphne comes with us.”
His voice left no room for debate.
“Yannis... he’ll have to stay behind for his studies at least until the semester ends.”
His jaw flexed.
“But he’ll visit. Often.”
I nodded slowly against his chest.
The plan felt heavy — but structured.
