She looks away, pacing a little, jaw tight, the fight in her fading as fast as it started. For a second I think she’ll start again, but she just sighs and presses her palm against her face. The silence stretches between us.
I watch her, the defiance in her shoulders softening until it’s almost gone, and for the first time tonight, she looks less furious and more lost.
I move past her into the living room again, scanning the space out of habit. Small couch, tiny kitchen, one picture on the wall, all telltale signs of a life built out of routine and survival. No room for mistakes, no luxury, no protection. She’s the kind of person who lives clean because she has no one to clean up after her.
It makes her different from the women I usually deal with.
When I turn back, she’s still in the doorway, barefoot, the blouse slipping off one shoulder like she forgot to fix it. Her hair falls into her face as her eyes find mine, steady and too open for what she’s just agreed to. There’s a kind of quiet innocence in them that doesn’t fit this room, and it does something to me I don’t care to name.
“You’ll get used to it,” I say.
“Used to what?”
“Me.”
Her face hardens. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
I huff out a laugh, barely a sound. “Flattery’s not my thing. I’m just telling you how it is.”
She takes a step back, eyes sharp. “You really think you can just decide what I do?”
“I already have.”
I let the words hang there. She folds her arms, shifting her weight like she means to block my way. The blouse slips lower on one side, smooth skin catching the light, and for a second, I see her the way she looked earlier, half dressed and defiant. Shenotices my eyes on her and pulls the fabric up, closing it over her shoulder.
“You done inspecting my life?” she says sharply.
“For now.” I pull out my phone, type a quick message to Lev with her address, name and a note about keeping an eye on her place. She’s too busy glaring to ask.
When I slip the phone back in my pocket, I look at her one last time. “You’ll stay here tonight. Don’t leave, don’t call anyone, don’t try to run.”
Her mouth twitches. “As if I have anywhere to go.”
I study her for a second. “Good.”
She looks away, drawing the words out. “You really think I’m stupid enough to run when my brother’s the one who’ll pay for it?”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” I say.
Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t argue. The fight’s gone, replaced by something like acceptance, maybe.
I move toward her again, giving her more than enough time to step back if she really wanted to. She doesn’t. She just stands there, breathing shallow, her fingers tightening around thefabric of her blouse. The air shifts, thickening with the sound of her heartbeat and mine, something tense and unspoken pressing between us. I keep going until there’s almost no space left, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin through the thin layer of cloth, close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo, soft and clean against the edge of everything that isn’t.
I hold her there with my eyes until the air between us thins. “We leave soon. Be ready.”
She starts to answer, then stops—an exhale instead of argument. Her hands ball at her sides. “I’m not?—”
“Don’t make this harder.” I keep my voice low, practical. “You said yes.”
Her face shifts—anger trying to flare, but smaller things win because she swallows once and nods. She’s already decided even if she hasn’t said the words.
I step back, letting her have the space to do what she must. “Pack light.”
She meets my eyes for one quick second, not defiant anymore, only steady. “I will.”
I walk to the door and pull it open. The hallway outside is dim and still, filled with the low hum of old pipes and the faint sound of a television somewhere down the hall. I glance back once more. She’s standing exactly where I left her, barefoot onthe worn floor, watching me with wide eyes that look too soft for everything I’ve just dragged her into.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” I say.
