Four rings. Then her voice.
"Maksim?"
My name in her mouth. Cautious, wounded, still wanting despite everything I'd done to make her stop. The way she said it made my chest crack open all over again, made me remember the sound she'd made when I'd kissed her, the way she'd reached for me when I pulled away.
I didn't have time for any of that.
"Auralia, listen to me." My voice came out harder than I intended—the Fox's voice, the voice I used for interrogations and negotiations and situations where softness could get people killed. "Has anything unusual happened today? Anyone following you, anything out of place, any deliveries you weren't expecting?"
The silence stretched. Long enough for my heart to stop. Long enough for me to start calculating distances and response times and how fast I could get to DUMBO if I ignored every traffic law between here and there.
Then: "There was—how did you know?"
Her voice had changed. The caution was gone, replaced by something thinner. Frightened.
I took the turn onto the bridge too fast, tires squealing. "Tell me."
"I came back from walking Ghost and there was an envelope under my door." The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other. "No postmark, no return address. Just my name, handwritten. I thought it was from the building management—they leave notices sometimes—but it wasn't."
"What was inside?"
"A photograph."
She sounded like she was going to be sick. I knew that tone—had heard it in her typed messages during the bad nights, when the anxiety got so thick she could barely form sentences. But hearing it in her actual voice was different. Worse. Real in a way that made me want to tear something apart with my bare hands.
"Me and Ghost," she continued. "From this morning, at the waterfront. We're just—we're just walking, but someone was watching us, someone took—"
Her breathing was going ragged. The edge of panic I recognized from five months of careful check-ins, five months ofasking are you okay and what's your color level and breathe with me, little bird.
"Maksim, what's happening? Who would—"
"I'm ten minutes away." I cut her off because I had to, because letting her spiral would help neither of us. "Pack a bag—clothes for a few days, anything Ghost needs, your laptop if you need it for work. Don't answer the door for anyone except me. Do you understand?"
"I—yes, but—"
"Auralia." I made my voice gentle. Forced the fear down, locked it away, became the version of myself she needed right now instead of the version that wanted to scream. "I know you're scared. I know you have questions. I'll explain everything when I get there. But right now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"
The silence was different this time. Not fear—consideration. She was weighing my words, processing them, deciding whether the man who'd kissed her and walked away deserved another chance at her faith.
"Yes," she said finally. "I trust you."
Three words. Just three words, and they hit me harder than any blow Konstantin had ever landed.
She trusted me. After everything I'd done—the secrets, the leaving, the twelve hours of silence that must have felt like abandonment—she still trusted me.
I didn't deserve it. But I was going to earn it, even if it killed me.
"Good girl," I said, and the words came out before I could stop them.
Her breath caught. I heard it clearly through the phone—that small, sharp intake of air that meant the words had landed somewhere deep.
"Pack now," I continued, softer. "I'll be there soon."
I should have hung up. Should have ended the call and focused on driving, on planning, on the thousand tactical considerations that would determine whether we both survived the next few days.
Instead, I said: "It's going to be okay, Ptichka. I've got you."
The silence that followed was different from all the others. Warmer. Like something broken had started to knit back together.
