I nod, but it’s automatic. My throat feels too tight to speak.
I don’t know what to believe.
When Alexei reappears from speaking with the nurses, I feel the shift before I even see him. The weight of his presence. His control. His barely concealed grief. Anya rises immediately, rushing into his arms. He holds her close, his features like stone, but the hand in her hair trembles.
I see how much Dmitri means to them.
Seeing them together sends a sharp ache through my chest. The way she fits against him, the unspoken bond between them—it’s everything I want with Dmitri and suddenly everything I’m terrified of losing. Because I don’t know if he’s ever going to wake up.
I press my hand to my mouth, swallowing back a sob. Anya notices, steps toward me, and pulls me into her arms. I cling to her like I might fall apart otherwise.
“He’ll come back to you,” she murmurs against my hair. “He loves you too much not to.”
Before I can answer, a familiar voice cuts through the air.
“Mireille.”
I turn, and there’s my father standing in the doorway, looking smaller than I’ve ever seen him. He’s still in the same clothes, his shirt wrinkled, his face pale. Guilt flickers across his features when he looks at me.
I stand slowly. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He sighs. “I had to come.”
“Why? To explain how everything you’ve ever done was a lie?” My voice trembles, but the anger is steady underneath. “Because I don’t want to hear excuses.”
He flinches. “I don’t have excuses, Mireille. Just…mistakes.”
Anya looks between us, then gently tugs on Alexei’s arm. “We’ll give you two a minute.”
They step out into the hallway, the door closing behind them.
The room feels smaller now, the air heavier. My father sinks into one of the chairs, rubbing a hand over his face. “You have every right to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” I say. “I just don’t recognize you.”
He exhales shakily. “It started small. I thought if I could use one criminal to stop another, it would make a difference. It did, at first. The FBI got results. I got recognition. But it never stoppedthere. Someone always wanted more. Sergei. Nowak. Every time I tried to pull away, they’d remind me how deep I was in.”
I cross my arms, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “So you sold out everything you stood for.”
He nods once. “And I almost lost the only thing that matters because of it.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The fluorescent lights hum overhead. Somewhere down the hall, a phone rings.
“I’ll forgive you,” I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “But only if you do something about it.”
He looks up, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“You’re going to tell the FBI everything. Convince them to drop the investigation into the Balshovs. Then you’re going to retire. For good.”
“Mireille…”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’ve done enough damage, Dad. Dmitri is my future. I love him. And if you want to be in my life, you’re going to have to accept that.”
He stares at me for a long time, something shifting in his expression, pride, regret, maybe both. Then he nods slowly. “You have your mother’s will.”
“Promise me,” I say quietly.
He nods again. “I promise. And…I owe him. He saved my life. Yours too.” His voice cracks. “If he makes it, I’ll thank him myself.”
