For a moment, I don't know where I am. The plane, the hard seats, the roar of the engines—it all feels wrong, unfamiliar.
Then it comes back to me. I'm not in the cell. I'm on a plane. I'm safe. Or as safe as I can be, after everything that’s happened.
I press my hand to my chest, trying to slow my racing heart. My skin is clammy with sweat, my breathing shallow and fast.
"Svetlana."
I look up. Kazimir is leaning forward in his seat, his expression concerned.
"I'm fine," I say automatically.
"You were having a nightmare."
"I said I'm fine,” I hiss, turning away. I don’t want his sympathy or his concern. I want nothing else from him.
He studies me for a moment, then leans back. But he doesn't close his eyes again. He just watches me, worry written all over his features. I hate it. Hate the concern in his eyes, the guilt, the pity.
I don't want his pity.
About an hour before we land, he tries to talk to me again. "We should talk about what you need after we land,” he says flatly. “I can’t do much for you after this. I can’t give you a place to stay or anything like that. But it’s possible that?—”
"I don't want your help.” I cross my arms over my waist. “Forget it. I’ll be fine.”
"You need?—"
"I don't need anything from you."
"Svetlana, be reasonable. You have no money, no identification, nowhere to go—" He lets out a breath. “Do you still have your apartment? Access to your accounts? Do youknow anything about any of that? Will your father still help you after the marriage was called off?”
The mention of my father cuts through me. Kazimir doesn’t know that my father was the one who sold me to Iosef, that my failure to keep Ilya hooked was what destroyed my life. And as far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t need to know.
He doesn’t need to know a single thing more about me.
"I'll figure it out,” I tell him flatly, looking away.
"How?" His voice rises slightly, frustration bleeding through. "You can't just walk out of the hangar and disappear. You need?—"
"I said I'll figure it out." I turn back to the window. "Leave me alone, Kazimir."
He hisses out a breath from between his teeth. "Fine. But take this."
I glance over. He's holding out a thick envelope.
"What is it?"
"Cash. Enough to get you started. A hotel room for a few nights, DMV fees for new identification, a commercial flight somewhere else.”
“I can manage all that myself?—”
"Take it anyway."
I stare at the envelope in his outstretched hand. Part of me wants to refuse, to throw it back in his face.
But I'm not stupid.
I take the envelope and shove it into my pocket without looking at him. "Thank you," I say, and the words taste like poison.
He nods once, and sits back in his seat.
