25
Polina
Two weeks into the compound’s routine, I know Lev’s schedule better than I should.
He runs at six, spends his days shut up with Tony in the conference room, and walks the perimeter by nine at night.
When we pass in the halls, we talk like the only problem between us is circumstance.
And I’ve been telling myself that arrangement suits me just fine.
By now, Dmitri’s men have eased up in small ways. They don’t trail us anymore, and they’ve stopped acting like a hallway conversation requires intervention.
That doesn’t mean they trust us. It means two weeks have passed without either of us doing anything stupid, and men like these mistake temporary compliance for progress.
At half past midnight, I follow the sound of impact down the east corridor. No one stops me. A guard near the stairwell glances upfrom his phone, sees it’s me, and goes back to pretending he isn’t paying attention.
The gym is a large room with rubber flooring and no windows. Lev has his back to me when I push the door open, working the heavy bag, his hands wrapped in white and his shirt soaked through and stuck to his back. He hasn’t heard me come in. I stand in the doorway and watch him move, holding my breath at the sight of him.
He turns to reset his stance and stops when he sees me. He pulls one hand wrap loose with his teeth and waits, probably expecting me to storm off.
“You’re favoring your left side,” I comment.
He glances down at his torso and replies, “I’m fine.”
I stalk across the room and push his shirt up without waiting for permission. A bruise spans two ribs, purple fading to green at the edges. I run two fingers along the lower margin to check for give. He sucks in a breath but doesn’t pull away.
“Did Dmitri do this to you?”
He shakes his head. “Boris, but it’s not like that. Sparring got away from us both.”
“This is at least two days old.” I map the full extent of it with both hands. Nothing is cracked. He’ll manage. “You should have gotten it checked out.”
“I knew where to find you if it got worse.”
I drop his shirt and step back, and he watches me do it without moving. “I didn’t mean by me.”
“Polina.” His voice is quiet. “Why are you here?”
I breathe in deep as I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” I admit, because it’s past midnight and I’m too tired to lie to either of us. “The two years. Every time I get it somewhere manageable, I turn it over again and it’s still the same. You stalked me, Lev.”
He doesn’t offer a reason or a justification. He lets it sit.
“I told you everything,” he says. “I’ll keep apologizing for it if that’s what you need. I am sorry, and I will be for a long time. But I can’t say anything new.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“I have no idea,” I admit, throwing my hands in the air. “I couldn’t sleep, I heard the bag, and here I am. Make of that what you will.”
My eyes drop to his mouth for one second before I drag them back up. That’s all the signal he needs.
He closes the distance, one hand sliding to my jaw as he tips my face up to his. He looks at me like he always does—like I’m the most important problem he’s ever had. I still can’t decide if that should scare me or ruin me.
“You’re still angry,” he states.
My mouth goes dry, but I hold my ground, glaring at him. “Of course I’m still angry, you idiot.”
