Sophia doesn't respond.
I hear her breathing. Uneven. Shaky.
"Soph?"
A sound comes through the phone. Small. Broken.
She's crying.
"I'm sorry." Her voice cracks. "Marina, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn't—if I'd just kept you away from all of this?—"
"Stop."
"You got shot because of me. Because of my family. And now this—now he's there and you have to take care of him and it's not fair. None of it is fair."
"Sophia. Stop. You didn't shoot me." The words come out firm. Final. "Daniil shot me. And Dante—" I pause. Swallow. "Dante carried me out. Remember? He got me to the hospital. He stayed."
Silence.
I can hear her trying to control her breathing. Trying to pull herself together.
"I'm sorry," she says again. Quieter this time.
"I know."
"I love you. You know that, right? You're my best friend. You've always been my best friend. And I hate that my life keeps hurting you."
My throat tightens.
"I love you too, Soph."
"If you need anything—anything at all—you call me. Day or night. I don't care what time it is."
"I will."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
She sniffles. Takes a breath.
"Forty-eight hours," she says. "Then we'll get him out of there."
"Forty-eight hours."
"And Marina?"
"Yeah?"
A pause. When she speaks again, her voice is strange. Careful.
"Be careful with him."
I don't know what that means.
I don't ask.
"I'll call you tomorrow," I say.
