"And my apartment? My things?"
"I'll have someone pack everything and bring it here. Whatever you need."
She nodded slowly. "And how long? How long do I have to stay hidden?"
"Until we neutralize the threat."
She looked like she wanted to argue. Instead, she just sighed, a sound of exhaustion and resignation.
"I need to shower," she said. "And change. I've been wearing these clothes for two days."
"There are clothes in your room. Nina had some things sent over this morning."
"Nina?"
"She figured you'd need more than one outfit. She has strong opinions about preparedness."
Something softened in her expression. "That was... kind of her."
"She's a kind person. When she wants to be."
Keira turned to go, then stopped in the doorway. She didn't turn around.
"Rodion?"
"Yes?"
"The things you said. About seeing you. About protecting me." A pause. "I don't know what to do with that."
"You don't have to do anything with it."
"But I want to." She did turn then, and her eyes were conflicted—wary and curious and something else I couldn't name. "That's the problem. I want to understand. I want to believe you. And I don't trust that impulse."
"Why not?"
"Because people who care about me get hurt. People who protect me end up regretting it. That's been the pattern my whole life." She held my gaze. "I don't want to be the thing that destroys you."
The words hit me harder than they should have. She wasn't just scared of the Petrovics; she wasn't just running from her family's legacy. She was scared of herself. Of what caring about her might cost.
I wanted to cross the room. Wanted to take her face in my hands and tell her that I'd spent my whole life destroying myself, that she couldn't possibly make it worse, that whatever damage she thought she might do had already been done long before she walked into my life.
Instead, I stayed where I was. Gave her the space she needed.
"I'm not easy to destroy," I said. "I've had a lot of practice surviving."
"So have I. That's not the same as living."
"No. It's not."
We looked at each other across the kitchen, and I felt it again—that pull, that connection, the thing that had drawn me to her office three weeks ago and hadn't let go since. She felt it too. I could see it in the way her breath caught, the way her hands tightened at her sides.
Then she turned and walked away, and I was alone with the morning light and the lingering scent of her shampoo and the growing certainty that I was in far deeper than I'd ever intended to be.
My phone buzzed. Yegor.
"Boss. We have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
