Viktor drives with focused intensity, eyes scanning mirrors and side streets, but his hand rests on my knee now and then—a reassurance that keeps my nerves from fraying completely. The familiar skyline feels both welcoming and threatening after days away: towering buildings that once meant opportunity now shadow us with memories of gunfire and chaos.
We pull up to Robbie's apartment building—a modest brick walk-up in a quiet neighborhood, the kind with potted plants on fire escapes and kids' bikes chained to railings.
Viktor parks in a side alley, out of sight from the main road.
He kills the engine, turns to me. "This is it. I'll be in contact later—text or call. But for now, you two stay here. No going out. Understand?"
I nod, throat tight. "Yeah. Be careful."
He leans in, cups my face, and we kiss—deep, urgent, like he's pouring all his unspoken promises into it. His lips are firm, tasting of coffee and resolve. When we break apart, his thumb brushes my cheek. "I will."
I walk up to the door, the buzzer sounds, and Robbie's voice crackles through the intercom. "Eddie? Oh my God, get up here!"
I turn and wave at Viktor as he revs the engine and drives away as Robbie appears. The Porsche disappears around the corner, and I'm left with a mix of relief and anxiety churning in my gut.
I take the stairs two at a time, heart pounding. And as soon as we enter the apartment, Robbie pulls me into a fierce hug. "You're alive! I was so worried—I thought... I don't know what I thought."
"I'm okay," I say, hugging back just as tight. "Really. It's alonggggstory."
Robbie ushers me inside, locking the door behind us. His apartment is cozy chaos—art posters on the walls, stuffies on the couch, a faint scent of vanilla candles. "First things first," he says, leading me to the living room. "Little time. You look like you need it."
He’s already prepared… a pile of coloring pencils, markers, stacks of paper, even some washable paints and brushes on a protected coffee table.
And it’s not just art supplies. A bowl of my favorite candies—sour gummies, chocolate drops, licorice twists—sits beside a six-pack of juice boxes, strawberry and lime, my go-to flavor. I feel a rush of gratitude so strong it brings tears to my eyes.
"Robbie, you're the best," I say, my voice wobbling. "Thank you."
He squeezes my hand. "Change first. I have extras."
We head to his bedroom, where he pulls out matching rompers—his lavender with stars, mine mint green with little clouds. We strip down and slip into them, the soft fabric hugging like a comfort blanket.
No regular clothes, no worries—just pure Little mode.
Back in the living room, we flop onto the rug, Goldie joining us from my backpack. I grab a juice box, puncture the foil with the straw, and take a long sip while Robbie spreads out paper.
We start simple, using coloring sheets he printed—unicorns, castles, abstract patterns. My pencil scratches across the page, filling in a rainbow mane, while Robbie dabs paint on his, blending blues and purples into a starry sky. The candies disappear one by one—sour tang on my tongue, chocolate melting sweet.
"I've been so worried," Robbie says after a while, setting down his brush. "Your message. And then nothing. After you disappeared I called the gallery, but Milo was a mess, said there was a break-in or something. Police everywhere."
I pause mid-color, the pencil hovering. "It was...bad. A shooting. Viktor saved me, but now we're tangled in his world."
Robbie's eyes widen. “Viktor? The guy in the car?”
I nod, filling him in on the basics—gallery ambush, escape, the house upstate, the growing... whatever this is between us. He listens, painting forgotten, sucking on a juice box straw.
When I finish, he sets it down. "Can you trust him? Really? He sounds...dangerous."
And the truth is that internal doubts flicker inside me— the killing, the control, the warnings. I know that I need to face the reality of who Viktor is and the kinds of things that he is capable of. I’d be a fool not to. But I push them down. "I think so. He's protected me. Cared for me. I might even be... falling in love with him."
Robbie's mouth drops open, then he squeals, tackling me in a hug. "Eddie! Oh my gosh!"
We roll on the rug, giggling like kids. "Details!" he demands, poking my side. "Spankings? Sexy times? Spill it all!"
I blush but share some, if not everything—some feels too raw, too new. "I'm still wrapping my head around it," I say, laughing as he pouts. " I just can't say it all yet."
In the excitement, my troubles fade.
The apartment feels safe, bubble-wrapped from the world. Robbie jumps up, a mischievous grin on his face. "Let's get changed and go play in the park! It's right across the street—frisbee, swings. Come on!"
