I wasn't ready. Not really.
I wanted to stay in this warm cocoon forever. Wanted to live in the softness of Sophie's lap and the rhythm of Maya's reading and the particular safety of a space designed for exactly what I needed. Part of me wanted to never leave, to curl up here and let the weighted blanket become my permanent home.
But another part of me wanted to go with him.
Wanted to take what I'd found here and carry it forward, into the life we were building together. Because this wasn't an ending. It was a beginning. Sophie and Maya would be here again. This room would be here again. I could come back.
I had a place to come back to.
"Yeah," I whispered. "I'm ready."
Sophie helped me sit up. Her hands were gentle, supporting me through the transition from horizontal to vertical, from small to adult-sized. The shift felt physical—like putting on a coat, like stepping back into a version of myself I'd briefly set aside.
Both women hugged me.
Sophie's embrace was delicate but firm, the kind of hug that communicated everything without words. Thank you for trusting us. Welcome. You belong here. Maya's was stronger—the confidence of a woman who dealt with emergencies, who understood that sometimes the body needed to be held tightly before it could let go.
"Come back soon," Maya said against my ear. "I want to hear more about your authentication work. The forgery detection especially."
"And I want to see pictures of Ghost," Sophie added. "Maks showed us one but it wasn't enough."
I laughed. The sound surprised me—wet and rough from the crying, but real. Genuine.
"I'll bring him next time," I promised. "If that's okay."
"More than okay." Sophie squeezed my hands. "He sounds perfect."
Downstairs, the brothers were waiting.
Not in an intimidating way. In a family way. Konstantin stood by the door, his massive frame somehow less threatening than it had been hours ago. Nikolai sat on the entry bench, Katerinaon his knee, both of them watching me descend the stairs with matching serious expressions.
Konstantin reached me first.
His hand came down on my head—not the clap on the shoulder from earlier, but a genuine ruffle of my hair, the kind of affection you showed a kid sister or a niece. Playful. Accepting.
"Come back soon, little bird," he said. His voice was warm. "Maya gets bored when there's no one new to interrogate."
"I heard that," Maya called from the stairs behind me.
"You were supposed to."
Nikolai rose from the bench, Katerina settled against his chest. He didn't touch me—didn't ruffle my hair or pull me into a hug. But he nodded. A single, deliberate inclination of his head that communicated more than any embrace could.
Approval. Acceptance. Welcome.
The baby reached for me again as I passed. I touched her fingers, let her grip my hand.
Something settled in my chest.
Maks's hand found the small of my back. He guided me through the front door, into the afternoon light, across the driveway to where the car waited. The compound looked different leaving than it had arriving—less intimidating, more welcoming. The warm brick and careful landscaping of a home rather than a fortress.
A place I could come back to.
In the car, I was quiet.
Processing. The word felt clinical for what was actually happening inside me—a reorganization of everything I'd believed about myself, about my needs, about what was possible. Maks didn't push. He just held my hand on my thigh, thumb tracing slow circles against my palm, and drove.
Brooklyn passed outside the windows. The familiar cityscape I'd known my whole life, but different now. Colored by what I'd found behind those wrought-iron gates.
