I glance at Lev and Dima.
They’re both leaning forward now. Watching me like I’m about to perform open-heart surgery instead of bouncing in three feet of water.
Lev’s jaw is tight. Dima’s got that look—the one that says he’s calculating exactly how fast he could reach me if something went wrong.
I start to bounce. Gently. Like Bethany showed us.
Lev’s eyes track every movement.
This is insane. This entire situation has gone so completely sideways that I’m doing prenatal water aerobics while two Russian enforcers watch like I’m about to explode.
My phone sits in its waterproof bag on the bench between them. Right there. Within their arm’s reach. Within my line of sight.
Five days since I heard Anton’s voice. One hundred and twenty hours. Seven thousand two hundred minutes.
Not that I’m counting.
The phone hasn’t rung since. No texts. No mysterious international calls. Nothing.
But he’s alive. I heard him. That has to be enough.
It has to be.
I’ve developed a system since that call. A routine. The phone comes everywhere. And I meaneverywhere.
Shower? Phone’s in a Ziplock bag on the sink.
Bathroom? Phone’s on the counter, volume maxed.
Kitchen? Phone’s in my pocket or on the counter, always within reach.
Sleeping? Phone’s on Anton’s pillow, ringer on full volume.
I even brought it into the pool today; waterproof bag, double-sealed, sitting right there where I can see it.
Because what if he calls and I miss it? What if those forty-three seconds were my only chance, and the next call is the one that matters, and I’m too far away to hear it?
So yes. The phone is now a permanent extension of my body.
It’s annoying. It’s obsessive. It’s probably unhealthy.
I don’t care.
“Beautiful work, ladies!” Bethany’s circling us now, passing out foam noodles. Bright blue. Long. “These are for our cool-down float. We’re going to end with some relaxation and breathing exercises.”
She hands me a noodle. I take it, feeling ridiculous.
The blonde woman next to me—the one who shifted away earlier—takes hers without looking at me.
Great. I’ve officially become the scary pool lady.
“Alright!” Bethany moves to the center of our circle. “Place the noodle under your shoulders and lean back. Let the water hold you. Close your eyes. Just breathe.”
I do as she says. Lean back. The noodle supports my weight. Water laps at my ears.
Above me, through the skylight, I can see blue sky. Clouds drifting past.
“Breathe in for four,” Bethany’s voice echoes. “Hold for four. Out for four.”
