I feel the presence of others, and look up to see at least four guards circling us. The reality of our situation hits again, and another round of dry-heaves rack my body. Andrei doesn’t leave my side, and I notice his guards are held off by a simple hand gesture.
“Hey,” Andrei murmurs, immediately alert. “Talk to me.”
“I’m okay,” I say after a minute, standing up shakily. He grabs me around the waist and holds me tight, ready to catch me if I fall again.
“It’s just fear,” he says calmly. “It’s natural. Let’s get you inside where you’re safer and more comfortable.”
I nod, embarrassed by how small and fragile I feel. That feeling only worsens when I try to walk and can’t move on my shaky legs. I’m about to start crying in front of him, when he scoops me up easily.
“You don’t have to carry me,” I protest. “I can walk. I’m fine.”
“I know you can,” he answers seriously, but I see the quirk in his lips.
I realize it’s pointless to argue. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and close my eyes, trying to block out how terrible I’m feeling. With him, I’m weightless, and I’m safe. We’re surrounded by men who would happily take a bullet for him. I don’t need to be afraid right this second.
That’s what I repeat to myself until we’re safely in the new location. I just take it second by second, reminding myself that nothing can get to me as long as he’s with me. He’s making sure of that.
“You can put me down now,” I say weakly when we finally get inside.
“Not yet,” he says simply.
The words are firm but not unkind.
“I’m not helpless,” I insist, though my limbs feel boneless and heavy.
“I know,” he says. “But I’m putting you to bed anyway.”
I frown up at him, trying to muster enough coherence to argue properly, but it’s no use. Within a few seconds, he’s gently laying me down on a new bed. I look around the room and realize that the new safehouse is somehow even smaller than the last. It’s not an apartment, just a single room, like a studio.
There is a small refrigerator, a microwave, and a hot plate. There’s one other door that I assume goes to the bathroom. Otherwise, there’s just the bed and a small loveseat in the room.
“Thank you,” I say softly as he tucks me into the bed.
His gaze lingers on me for a moment, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
“You should sleep,” he says.
“I will,” I reply, but neither of us moves right away.
I watch him straighten, watch the way he seems larger in this small space, more solid. My fear has dulled, replaced by something quieter and heavier. Trust, maybe. Or resignation. Or something dangerously close to comfort.
As he turns toward the door, I reach out without thinking, my fingers brushing his wrist. “Andrei?”
He pauses.
“I’m really scared,” I admit.
He turns back, his expression softening in a way that makes my chest ache. “I know,” he says. “But you’re not alone.”
I let my hand fall back to the bed, curling onto my side as my body finally surrenders to sleep again. The last thing I feel is the mattress shifting slightly as he sits at the edge of the bed for a moment longer, keeping watch until I drift fully under.
12
ANDREI
Ican’t sleep. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My mind is racing with thoughts of a nameless, faceless enemy who thinks he can best me. This person is so desperate to kill me that he’s tried now three times. He’s closing in, forcing me into a corner. I’m the most powerfulpakhanin this city. Yet there’s nothing I can do right now to stop this person.
So, instead, I pace.
