“I’m sorry I didn’t stay last night,” I say quietly, but she waves it off immediately.
“Don’t apologize. I get it.” Her tone stays gentle, matter-of-fact. She squeezes me once more, a steadying kind ofcontact, then steps back and studies my face. “I’m really glad you came today.”
“You were incredible,” I manage, and I mean it. “That performance was…unreal. You had my cousin hooked in the first few bars.”
Erin laughs, pleased. “She has taste. I approve.”
She leads me into the living room—minimalist but warm, with framed sheet music on the walls and glass doors cracked open to chilly spring air.
“Coffee?” Erin asks. “Tea? Dmitri made coffee this morning that could probably power the city grid.”
“Him and my aunt have something in common, then,” I huff a laugh.
Before I can make a joke about Eastern Europeans, a small tornado of curls and sparkles barrels around the corner. A tiny girl skids to a stop right in front of me and tips her head back, studying my face with cheerful, blunt curiosity.
“You’re Wren,” she announces, as if confirming a fact Erin promised her.
“I am,” I say softly.
Her grin goes wide. “I’m Amneris. But you can call me Ris.” She holds out her hand, solemn and brave, then, without waiting for my response, steps forward and wraps her arms around my waist.
My body goes still, not in fear, but surprise.
The contact lands somewhere I’ve kept sealed since the night everything cracked open.
Small and trusting.
I soften into it, returning the hug with the same quiet certainty she offers me.
Something in my chestloosens.
When was the last time touch didn’t ask me to prepare for what came next?
“Hi, Ris,” I murmur.
She pulls back and studies me with serious eyes. “You’re really pretty,” she declares, matter-of-fact. “Erin said you were smart and brave. She didn’t say pretty.”
My eyes sting. “Thank you, Ris. You’re really pretty too.”
“I know,” she says easily, patting my arm with grave authority before spinning toward the hallway. “Papa! I’m ready!”
Dmitri appears behind her in a navy sweater, expression set to a stoic Slavic neutral that somehow reads like home.
He gives me a single nod. “Good morning, Wren.”
I manage a small smile. “Morning.”
Erin tips her head toward the foyer, her tone sliding into mock-scolding. “Dmitri is taking Miss Sparkle to a birthday party, so you caught us at the perfect moment.”
Amneris plants her hands on her hips, scandalized. “You told me sparkle is a state of mind.”
Dmitri’s mouth twitches. That is his version of a full grin, I suppose. “Get your coat,” he says, and the way his hand settles on her shoulder is all quiet tenderness.
She bolts toward the closet, and a minute later they are out the door, Dmitri’s steady calm and Amneris’s glittery energy trailing behind them.
When the lock clicks, the apartment falls into a softer kind of silence.
Erin gestures toward the sofa. “Come on.” Her tone lightens, but her expression doesn’t. “Let’s sit.”
