I’ve dreamed about it for nearly three months since?—
Since he died.
It’s like I’ve just been body slammed by that thought.
Alexei Volkov is dead. I went to his funeral.
This can’t be Alexei. It’s impossible.
But those eyes. That smile. The way he’s standing like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s waiting for me to recognize him.
Like hewantsme to recognize him.
My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. The mall around me starts to blur at the edges. The noise fades to white static.
The man (Alexei, it’s Alexei, but itcan’tbe Alexei because he’s dead) holds my gaze for one more heartbeat. Two.
Then he does something that makes me want to cry out.
He raises one hand from his pocket and brings it up to touch the brim of his hat in a small salute. The gesture is playful. Intimate. The exact same way he used to greet me when we’d meet in secret before everything fell apart.
Hey beautiful. Miss me?
I can almost hear his voice in my head. That low, warm tone that used to make me feel special.
Then he casually turns and disappears into the crowd.
“Vera!” Dimitri’s hands are on my shoulders now, shaking me slightly. "Vera, what’s wrong?”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. How do I explain what I just saw? How do I tell him that I just watched his dead brother salute me from across a mall corridor?
How do I say the words when I don’t believe them myself?
“Vera, you need to breathe.” Dimitri’s face is close to mine now, his eyes searching, but he sounds so far away, like he’s underwater. “You’re having a panic attack. What did you see, Vera?”
I stare at the spot where the man was standing just moments ago. How do I tell Dimitri what I saw?
I just saw Alexei Volkov.
And Alexei Volkov is supposed to be dead.
20
DIMITRI
Vera’s frozen in the middle of the mall corridor, her face drained of all color. Not pale butwhite. Like every drop of blood has fled from her skin. Her eyes are wide and fixed on something across the crowd, unseeing, unblinking.
“Vera?” I grip her shoulders. Nothing. No response. “Vera, what’s wrong?”
She doesn’t even look at me. She keeps staring at some point in the distance with an expression that makes my stomach drop.
This isn’t fear. This is something worse and it looks like shock bordering on horror.
“Vera, you need to breathe.” I turn her toward me, shaking her slightly. Her body moves but her eyes don’t follow. She's still looking past me, through me, at something I can't see. “You’re having a panic attack. What did you see, Vera??"
Her breathing is coming in short, sharp gasps and her chest rises and falls too quickly. I immediately recognize what this is—the beginning of hyperventilation.
Fuck.
