I don’t say anything for a moment. The balcony is quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the faint laughter coming from upstairs. The sound hits me again.
Mikhail follows my glance upward, then looks back at me.
“You’ve changed,” I say, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “Grown up. You’re still a pain in my ass, but you’re… a better pain.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Thanks, I guess.”
“I mean it,” I add. “You’re handling things well over there. You’re different since you moved over.”
The compliment lands harder than I expect. He swallows and looks down at the floor, toeing at a loose tile with his shoe.
“I miss being home,” he says after a moment. “I miss all of you. I miss… being wanted here.”
“You are wanted,” I tell him. “By me. By everyone here. Even by Calina, though she’d rather choke than admit it.”
He snorts under his breath, but it softens him. His shoulders loosen a little, then his expression shifts. He puts out the cigarette, grinding it under his heel, and turns to face me fully.
“Artyom,” he says, voice lower now, “she’s the one for you.”
I feel something tighten in my chest, but I hold his stare. I don’t answer yet, and he doesn’t need me to.
“And Father knows it too,” he goes on. “And he hates it. So, whatever you do, keep her safe. Don’t give him a way to get near her.”
My stomach knots because he’s right. He flicks the cigarette over the railing, brushing ash from his fingers. The wind hits us both, cold and sharp.
“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he says.
“You better,” I answer. “Or I’ll drag you back myself.”
He grins, shaking his head. “Love you too, brother.”
He pulls me into a quick hug before he steps away like he didn’t want to be caught caring too much.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Kira
Artyom walks me through the hospital entrance with his hand warm at the small of my back, the pressure steady and silent and claiming in a way that twists something deep in my stomach. He stayed close the entire morning, even closer than usual, and it’s making my thoughts scatter. His body brushes mine when we turn a corner, the rough fabric of his jacket grazing against my arm, and my pulse jumps because all I can think about is last night and the way he held me and the way he looked at me afterward like he couldn’t believe I’d said I loved him.
I’m still trying to breathe normally around him.
“Call me when you’re done with morning rounds,” he says, his voice low, keeping his tone soft because nurses are walking by. “I’ll be talking to the head of the hospital. Don’t disappear on me again.”
The last sentence hits me harder than it should. I nod. “I won’t.”
He looks at me for one more second, his eyes tracing my face like he wants to say something else but chooses not to. Then he turns toward the admin wing and disappears behind a glass door. The moment he’s out of sight, my chest loosens just enough for me to inhale properly again.
I walk toward the patient rooms with my clipboard pressed against my chest, organizing the list in my head. Vitals, meds, stitches, wound checks—normal routine, something steady and predictable, exactly what I need this morning. The halls are quiet, too early for the chaos of the afternoon rush, and I fall into the rhythm easily.
I’m checking a post-op patient’s chart when I hear it: “Kira.”
No. Impossible.I freeze, my heart slams hard against my ribs. I turn slowly, my breath trapped somewhere in my throat.
Lucas is standing in the hallway.
He looks worse than yesterday.
“What—Lucas, what—” I grab his sleeve and yank him into the nearest empty room before anyone can see, shutting the door quietly behind us and locking it. “Are you insane? How did you—how are you even here? What happened last night?”
