"Your best friend." His voice is rough with emotion. "The person you trust when you can't trust anyone else."
I turn to look at him, and something in my chest tightens. "I should remember you. I can feel it. Like there's a shape in my mind where you're supposed to fit, but I can't quite see it."
"It'll come back." He stands too, moving closer. "Give it time."
"What if I don't want it to come back?" The words surprise me as much as they seem to surprise him. "What if the man I was before is someone I don't want to be?"
Danil's expression softens. "Then you figure out who you want to be now. But you can't do that without knowing who you were."
Another memory hits without warning.
We're in a bar after hours, just the two of us with a bottle of vodka. Danil laughs at something I said, calling me full of shit, claiming my stories get bigger every time.
"You're the only person who tells me when I'm being an idiot," I say, and he grins.
"Someone has to. Otherwise, your ego would be insufferable." We're both laughing, the kind of laughter that comes from years of friendship and shared history.
I blink, and I'm back in the cabin. Danil is watching me with concern in his dark eyes.
"You remembered something," he says. It's not a question.
"A bar. Late at night. We were drinking and laughing." I move back to the couch, suddenly exhausted. "You called me an idiot."
A smile crosses his face, genuine and warm. "That sounds about right. You are an idiot sometimes."
"Apparently." I sink onto the couch, and the cushions are still warm from where Maya was sitting. Her scent lingers, something floral and clean, and I find myself missing her presence even though she's just in the next room. "Tell me more. About us. About what we did together."
Danil settles back into his chair and spends the next hour telling me stories carefully worded, vague on the details that matter, but vivid in the moments that don't. He paints a picture of someone who could read people, see their weaknesses and strengths with a glance, and talk his way out of impossible situations.
He doesn't tell me about the violence. Doesn't mention the bodies or the blood or the hard choices. But I can read between the lines, see the shape of what he's not saying.
"There was a woman," I say suddenly. "In one of my memories. Dark hair, beautiful. She was important to me."
Danil's expression shutters. "There have been women. You're not exactly hard to look at, and power is attractive."
"But no one serious."
"No." He pauses. "You never let anyone get that close."
"Why not?"
"Because close means vulnerable. And vulnerable means weak." He leans forward again. "At least, that's what you used to believe."
He glances at the bedroom door where Maya is on the other side. "She saved my life."
"And you're falling for her." He says it like it's obvious. "Which, given your history, is either the best thing that could happen to you or the worst."
Danil yawns and stands, moving toward the couch. I stand to help him pull it out into a bed. We work in silence, the kind of comfortable quiet that comes from familiarity. When the bed is made and he's settling in, I pause at the hallway entrance.
"Danil?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For looking for me. For not giving up."
His expression softens. "You're my brother. I'd search the whole damn country if I had to."
I nod and head toward the bedroom. Maya's door is closed, but I can see light under the crack. She's awake.
