When I return, I take the small velvet box out of my pocket and set it on the table between us. “You’ll need this.”
She hesitates before opening it. The light catches on the ring’s diamond—bright, cold, mercilessly perfect.
“It was my mother’s,” I say, my voice lower than intended.
She looks up, but I can’t meet her eyes. The memory sits too close to the surface, fragile as glass.
“It’s beautiful,” she says softly.
“It’s been waiting long enough.”
She slips it on, and the weight of it sits heavy against the light of her hand. Milana whistles. Calina smiles. I look back toward the window, watching the endless white outside. There’s a part of me that wants to tell her what the ring really means, what it used to mean, but I don’t. I’ve already given her enough ghosts for one morning.
The sisters talk as the hours stretch on—old stories, family jokes, small glimpses of a life Kira doesn’t know yet. For once, their laughter doesn’t grate. It fills the space, makes it warmer. She listens, and slowly, her guard drops.
At one point, Calina reaches across the aisle and takes Kira’s hand. “We’re glad you’re coming,” she says. “He’s… difficult sometimes, but he’s better when there’s someone around who doesn’t just agree with him.”
Kira laughs quietly. “You mean someone stupid enough to argue?”
“Exactly.”
Their hands part, but the softness between them lingers. I look at Kira again, and for the first time, she doesn’t look away. There’s no challenge or fear in it—just awareness.
Milana drifts off first, curled up with a blanket, and Calina soon after. The plane grows quiet except for the hum of the engines and the low, rhythmic thud of my pulse.
I work through a folder, pretending to read, but my focus keeps sliding back to her reflection in the glass. She’s watching me, thoughtful, her chin resting on her hand.
“You’re staring,” I say without looking up.
Her fingers tighten on the seat. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?”
I glance at her then. Her eyes are darker in the cabin light, warm and uncertain. The air shifts. I can feel her wanting to look away but not quite managing it.
She finally shakes her head, half smiling, the motion slow. A loose strand of hair falls forward. She tucks it back behind her ear, eyes still on me. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
I study her for a moment—the faint trace of amusement in her voice, the warmth creeping back into her expression. It’s disarming in a way I don’t like. My thumb taps once against the edge of the folder before I close it.
Leaning back, I stretch out slightly, shoulders easing into the seat. “Yes,” I say simply.
She watches the movement, and for a moment neither of us looks away. The air feels heavier than before, quiet. She doesn’t argue. She just watches the ring on her finger catch the light, and something in her expression softens.
After a while, I tell her, “Try to sleep. It’s a long flight.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking,” I say, reaching into the cabinet for a blanket. I hand it to her, careful not to brush her hand this time.
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
I nod and settle back, eyes half-closed, but I can feel her gaze still tracing me, the way she studies every crack I let show.
The cabin fades into quiet. My sisters are asleep, the world outside silver and endless. Beside me, Kira shifts under the blanket, her shoulder brushing mine.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, the silence doesn’t feel empty. It feels almost human.
CHAPTER EIGHT
