CAROLINE
I'm not quite sure exactly how long I sit there. The only sign of time passing is the growing feeling of staticky numbness in my butt cheeks. One goes first, then the other, until it feels like I'm sitting on a cloud. Eventually, the ugly tears slow down, then stop, leaving me feeling scraped out and empty.
Sometime after that come footsteps. Not Afon's. These are lighter, quicker. The woman in gray.
"Miss Oglethorpe?" She crouches down in front of me, but her face shows no signs of surprise. Something tells me it's not the first time she's found someone crying in Lukas Lazarev's hallway. "Mr. Lazarev would like to see you and Mr. Satyrin in the morning. Eight o'clock. He says it's important."
"Wonderful," I mutter with sarcasm. "I'm sure that's gonna go swimmingly."
"Can I get you anything? Tea? A blanket?"
"No," I sigh, well aware that I'm being a stone-cold bitch to someone who's been nothing but nice to me. "Thank you."
She nods, straightens up, and leaves me there.
I don't go back to the bedroom. I find a guest room two doors down that nobody seems to be using and lie on top of the covers in my clothes. But I don't sleep. What would be the point? There's nothing worth dreaming about anymore.
In the morning, I find that somebody has left a fresh stack of clothes outside the door I chose. I still can't decide if Lukas's omniscience is terrifying or reassuring.
I take a shower because my own B.O. is grossing me out, then get dressed in the new outfit. It's five to eight by the time I emerge, so I make my way to Lukas's study. I walk in with my chin up, because that's the only part of me that still works.
Thanks, Dad.
Afon is already there. He's standing by the window with his back to the door. When I come in, he turns. His face is the worst version of the concrete face, the one from the morning he put me on the bus. It's closed off, chained, deadbolted. RealYe shall not passtype shit.
I look away and shudder.
Lukas sits in the same chair as before, hands folded. There's no coffee tray this time, no little cookies in a tin. Just him and a single manila folder on the table. Unlike the silver cloches that have housed some of the greatest meals I've ever stuffed into my face over the last few days, I have zero desire to see what that manila thing is hiding. I get the feeling it isn't going to make me happy.
Lukas looks between the two of us. I know damn well that he suspects something has gone sour between us; he just strikes me as an observant kind of man in that regard. But whatever he may or may not see, he doesn't comment.
"There's been a complication," he says.
"Of course there is," I mumble. "Why wouldn't there be? Easy is overrated."
Lukas smiles, though it's tinged with sadness. "My sources indicate that Reznik knows your name, Miss Oglethorpe. He's done his homework. He knows who your father was, where you live, where you work." He taps the folder once. "You're not hard to find."
The cold comes surging back into my stomach. "So what does that mean?"
"It means that going home is not an option for you right now." He spreads his huge hands wide. "Therefore, for the duration of this war, until Reznik has been properly handled, you are at risk. Seeing as how you are incapable of protecting yourself—I mean no offense, by the way; that's a simple statement of fact—that means your safety has become our responsibility."
I glance at Afon, who is suddenly fascinated by the stretch of floor between his feet.
"You said we'd be under your protection," I say. "Now and forever after. That's what you said."
"And you will be." Lukas leans forward, and the room shrinks like it did before. I'm starting to think he might be a witch, the way he bends space and time to suit his liking. "But there arepeople I can put a wall around, and people I cannot, and the difference between them is simple."
He looks at Afon knowingly, and I frown. I don't like what's passing between the two of them telepathically.
"Care to explain?" I snap. "Some of us are new to all this cloak-and-dagger bullshit."
Lukas sighs and redirects his eyes back on mine. "Family," he intones. "I protect family. The Bratva protects its own. It always has. It's the one thing that's never changed in all the years I've been alive."
He says it as if that answers everything, but I don't get it. I look at Afon again for some kind of explanation. He's finally looking at me, but his jaw is so tight I think it might crack.
"Tell her," Lukas urges.
But he doesn't say anything.
