Adrik sat stiffly in the train seat, staring out the window as the landscape blurred past. He barely registered any of it. His mind kept circling the same terrifying thought—his mother needed surgery, alone, and he had no idea if she’d survive. His chest felt tight, like someone had cinched a belt around his ribs.
Hans sat beside him, their knees touching. He kept glancing over, worry written all over his face. After a few minutes of silence, Hans nudged him gently.
“You’re awfully quiet.”
Adrik let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
“That’s impossible,” Hans whispered. “But you don’t have to sit inside your head alone.”
Adrik swallowed hard. He wanted to lean into him, to let Hans take some of the weight, but the fear was too big. “I just… I don’t know what’s happening to her. She’s in fucking in Western Siberia. And it’s so far. I hate that it’s so far.”
Hans reached over and took his hand, threading their fingers together. “You’re doing the right thing. She’ll be relieved the second she knows you’re coming.”
Adrik stared down at their hands. “I hate leaving you.”
“I hate it too,” Hans admitted. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you get back.”
That hit him harder than he had expected. He blinked fast, looking away before the emotion could spill over. “I know. I just… wish you could come.”
“I know,” Hans said. “But you’re not going through this alone. I’m with you, even if I’m not physically there.”
The train rattled on, and Adrik leaned his shoulder against Hans for the rest of the ride, letting the warmth ground him.
At the airport, everything was too bright, too loud. People rushed around them with suitcases and coffees, living normal lives. Adrik was moving in slow motion.
Hans walked beside him, close enough that their arms brushed. When they reached the security line, Adrik stopped. He didn’t want to take another step.
Hans turned to face him. “Hey,” he said gently, cupping Adrik’s cheek. “You’re going to be okay.”
Adrik’s throat tightened. “I’m scared, Hans.”
“I know.” Hans’ thumb brushed his skin. “But you’re strong. And your mother is strong. You’ll get to her.”
Adrik let out a shaky breath. “I hate leaving you like this.”
“I hate watching you go,” Hans said, voice cracking just a little. “But I love you. And I want you to get to her as fast as you can.”
A tremor ran through him, small but impossible to hide. He pulled Hans into a tight hug, burying his face in his shoulder. Hans held him like he didn’t want to let go either.
When they finally separated, Hans smoothed his hands down Adrik’s arms. “Text me when you land in Berlin. And Antalya. And Tomsk. All of them.”
“I will,” Adrik promised. “I’ll call you whenever I can.”
Hans gave him a small, sad smile. “Go. Before I drag you back home.”
Adrik managed to make a weak laugh, then grabbed his bag and stepped toward security. He looked back once—Hans stood there watching him, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to be strong.
Adrik’s chest ached as he turned away. He hated leaving him. He hated the fear twisting in his gut. But he had to get to his mother.
He had no choice.
Adrik stepped out of the Tomsk airport into the snowy night air, exhausted and wired at the same time. His body felt like it had been folded and unfolded a dozen times over the last twenty-seven hours when he had to board different flights. He pulled out his phone and dialed Yakov.
“I’m here,” he said, voice rough.
“I see you! Hey, Adrik!” a man shouted from across the pickup area.
Adrik turned toward the voice he’d heard a hundred times over the phone. He expected someone younger—someone closer to his own age. Instead, a tall, broad-shouldered man with gray hair and a thick beard strode toward him. Blue eyes, sharp and bright even in the dim light. He looked like he could lift a car if he felt like it.
