It was smaller than the penthouse—two bedrooms, a modest kitchen, a living room with windows that looked out on a quiet, tree-lined street. But it was clean and warm and secure, and right now, that was all that mattered.
Keira stood in the middle of the living room, looking around with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"It's not much," I said. "But it's safe."
"It's perfect." She turned to face me, and I saw the exhaustion written across her face. The bruises forming on her arms where Branko had grabbed her. The haunted look in her eyes that would take time to fade.
"You should rest," I said. "There's a bedroom upstairs. I can—"
"Don't." She crossed the room and took my hands. "Don't leave me alone tonight. I can't—" She stopped, swallowed. "I don't want to be alone."
"You won't be."
I led her upstairs to the larger of the two bedrooms. The bed was made with clean sheets, the curtains drawn against the night. I'd had Yegor call ahead, make sure everything was ready.
Keira sat on the edge of the bed, and I knelt in front of her to remove her shoes. The gesture felt strangely intimate—more intimate, in some ways, than anything we'd done before. She watched me with those whiskey-colored eyes, her breath slowing, her body finally beginning to relax.
"You're covered in blood," she said quietly.
I looked down at myself. She was right—my shirt was ruined, dark stains spreading across the fabric. Some of it was mine, from a cut on my arm I didn't remember getting. Most of it wasn't.
"I should shower."
"Wait." She reached out and caught my hand as I started to rise. "Stay. Just for a minute."
I stayed. Knelt there on the floor with her hand in mine, watching her face in the dim light.
"I thought I was going to die," she said. "In that room, with him—I thought that was it. That everything I'd built, everything we were building—it was just going to end."
"It didn't."
"But it could have. If you hadn't come—if you'd been a few minutes later—"
"I wasn't."
"But you could have been." Her voice cracked. "And I realized something. Sitting in that room, waiting to find out if I was going to live or die. I realized that I've spent my whole life running from connection. From letting anyone get close. Because I thought being alone was safer than being hurt."
"Keira—"
"Let me finish." She squeezed my hand. "Tonight, when I thought I might never see you again, I understood something. Being alone isn't safe. It's just empty. And I don't want to be empty anymore."
I rose from the floor and sat beside her on the bed. She leaned into me, her head finding its familiar place on my shoulder, her body fitting against mine like it belonged there.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said.
"Promise me."
"I promise."
She lifted her head and looked at me, her eyes searching my face. Then she leaned in and kissed me.
The kiss was soft at first. Tentative. Like she was asking a question. I answered by pulling her closer, my hand cupping the back of her neck, my mouth opening to hers.
She tasted like salt—tears I hadn't seen her shed—and something sweeter underneath. Something that was just her.
When she pulled back, her eyes were dark, her breath unsteady.
"I need you," she whispered. "I need to feel you. I need to know this is real."
