The safehouse smells like fresh paint over old secrets. A wide room stretches out with mismatched furniture, blackout shades, and a kitchenette that looks too modern against the ancient backdrop. There’s nothing on the walls. There are two doors in the back, one ajar and one closed. He steps in first, does a quick sweep, then nods me over the threshold.
I stand just inside and listen to the quiet settle around me. It’s a strange thing, the quiet you don’t have to fight for. My body doesn’t trust it. Neither do I.
Matteo locks the door, resets the alarm, then turns and studies me like a problem with too many variables. “You hungry?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Fine, water,” I allow.
He moves to the sink. I watch the line of his shoulders and hate that my hands want to shake. I curl them into fists, and they obey. The cut on my throat throbs in time with the old scar across my heart. I press my palm to the tattoo under my jacket, just once.
Matteo hands me a glass, and I’m careful not to let our fingers touch. I’m terrified what that would ignite. He notices but thankfully, pretends he doesn’t.
For a minute we just stand there, two ghosts hovering aimlessly in an empty room.
“There’s a ton of food in the pantry.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder. “I can whip up some pasta.”
“Not hungry.”
“You should sleep then.” His voice is gentler than the situation deserves. “You’re practically vibrating.”
“I don’t sleep well in cages.”
“Then don’t lock the door.”
I stare at him. “You really think I’m going to stay here?”
“I think you’ll do what keeps you alive.” He leans a hip against the counter. “And I think right now that means letting me take care of you until the heat dies down.”
“You always liked to play the hero.”
“I always liked you breathing.”
The words land between us and won’t get out of the way. I look down into the glass, see my mouth set like a wound, then tip the water back and feel it hit vacant places.
“Fine,” I grumble as I set the glass in the sink. “A few hours of sleep. Then I’m gone.”
He nods like that hurts less than it does. “Whatever you need.”
I turn for the back room. My hand lifts out of habit to press at my chest and the small name it protects. I have to survive this for her.
Behind me, Matteo clears his throat and tries again at lightness, like he can stitch us back together with threadbare jokes. “Before you pass out, one last vital question.” His eyes sparkle with a hint of amusement. “Do you still refuse to watch movies with subtitles?”
I pause in the doorway. “I refuse to watchyourmovies with subtitles. You read the words out loud.”
“That’s a vicious lie.”
“You annotate.”
He huffs, almost a laugh. “Go. I’ll keep watch.”
“Try not to burn the safehouse down making those world-class eggs.”
A hint of something that looks a lot like hope flashes across his face. “Does that mean you’re staying until morning?”
I shrug. I shouldn’t.
