He releases my hand instantly, relief flooding his face, and he steps back toward the door like he’s already ready to run.
“Kira,” he says softly, “don’t tell him.”
I look at the floor. “I’m not stupid, Lucas, of course I won’t.”
He slips out of the room and down the hall before I can say anything else. I stand there alone, shaking. I’m about to give away a large part of the savings I worked years for, lie to the man who terrifies half this city and that I love, and meet my brother in secret. I don’t know which choice is worse, but I already know which one I’m going to make.
I force myself to breathe, smooth my scrubs, and check the hallway twice before unlocking the door and stepping out. The hospital looks exactly the same—quiet, fluorescent, predictable—but it feels different now that I’m carrying something I can’t let anyone see. I walk faster than I usually do, keeping my head down, keeping my hands tight around my clipboard as if that could anchor me.
The rest of the shift passes quietly, almost suspiciously so. No difficult patients, no unexpected complications, no emergencies to distract me. On the outside it looks like the easiest day I’ve had in weeks, but inside I can barely focus. I keep replaying Lucas’s face, his shaking hands, the way he kept glancing over his shoulder like the walls themselves were listening.
I tell myself I want the shift to end so I can get out of this building and breathe again, but the truth is I’m terrified of the moment it does end, because once I clock out, everything becomes real. I’ll have to follow through with the plan I agreed to, lie to Artyom in a way that feels like splitting something open inside my chest. I’ll have to help my brother disappear and pretend I don’t know what that means.
Every hour brings me closer to something I don’t want to face, and yet I can’t stop walking toward it.
By the time my shift is finally over and I make it down the corridor toward the entrance, my heartbeat hasn’t slowed once.
Artyom is waiting outside in the car, sunlight catching the edge of his jaw, his hand tapping once against the steering wheel when he sees me walk out. He unlocks the doors without looking away.
“You’re done early,” he says as I slide into the seat.
“I finished quicker than usual,” I force my voice steady.
He studies my face for one long second, the kind of stare that sees too much, but he nods and starts the engine. “Good. We have errands.”
My stomach flips. Errands usually mean security updates or meetings or something he needs me quiet for. I’m alreadynauseous from what I’m about to do, and the weight of the cash withdrawal sits in my chest even before I’ve taken a single bill.
“Could we go to the mall?” I ask, keeping my voice light. “I have something to pick up for Lilly. It’ll take a minute.”
He doesn’t question it but his jaw shifts once, barely noticeable, and he pulls onto the main road without another word. I stare out the window the whole time, trying not to think about what I’m about to do and failing at every single attempt.
When we get there, he pulls up to the entrance and puts the car in park. He stays behind the wheel, one hand resting loosely on it, the other drumming once against his thigh.
“How long?” he asks, eyes lifting to mine.
“Ten minutes,” I say quickly. “Just wait here. I’ll be right back.”
His gaze stays on me, steady and too sharp, like he’s trying to read between the lines. I force myself to keep my expression calm even though my chest feels too tight for air.
“Fine,” he says eventually, but his voice drops lower. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”
My stomach flips at the warning. Not because I’m afraid he’ll hurt me because I know he wouldn’t, but because he’ll know. He always knows when I’m hiding something.
“Ten minutes,” I repeat, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. “I’ll be quick.”
He nods once, slow, his eyes following me as I open the door and step out. I pretend I don’t feel the weight of his stare on my back as I walk toward the mall entrance, but I feel it with every step.
Inside the mall, the air is colder. Cleaner. It makes my breath shake. I walk straight to the ATMs on the second floor, my steps quick but not rushed-looking. The machine hums loudly when I insert my card, and my hands tremble as I type my PIN. The screen asks how much I want to withdraw.
I should take out just a reasonable amount, enough to help him leave.
I press the highest limit. The machine flashes, then spits out bills in a thick stack that feels heavier than my hand should be able to carry. I shove the money into my bag, my breath tight in my chest, the guilt already burning hot under my skin. If Artyom sees this?—
No. I’m not thinking about that. Not right now.
I hurry back to the car. He’s already inside, leaning back with one arm draped across the steering wheel, his eyes locking onto me the second I open the door.
“You were quick,” he says.
