“Kas,” I whisper, stepping in. The scent of soap mixed with the warmth of her skin almost knocks me back, how much I’ve missed it.Missed her.She barely looks at me. Doesn’t reach out.
“Dominik got through surgery,” she says evenly. “He’s stable. They said to let him rest, so I came home. I’m resting.”
Her voice is too calm, the kind that belongs to someone whose body hasn’t caught up to the trauma yet.
“You’re notresting,” I say. “You’re pacing holes in the floor.”
She shrugs and starts to move again. I reach for her, hands firm on her arms, grounding her.
“Stop.”
She freezes. Her eyes meet mine, and what I see there is worse than tears, nothing. Just shock and exhaustion, fragile and broken.
I tilt my head, follow her gaze until she has to look at me, until her eyes finally hold. “I’m here now. You can stop.”
For a second, her lip trembles, but she swallows it back. “If I stop, I’ll feel it.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “So feel it. Let me help.”
The first crack breaks through, a sigh tangled in a sob. Her shoulders drop, breath uneven. I pull her in carefully, afraid she might shatter if I move too fast. Her arms stay at her sides, but her forehead finds my chest, and I hold her like the world depends on it.
She’s trembling, but it’s not the kind that brings tears, it’s the kind that happens when your system is still fighting to stay upright.
I brush a hand through her hair, slow, trying to calm the quake under her skin. “It’s alright,” I whisper. “You’re safe.”
She laughs, a small, broken sound. “Safe,” she repeats, almost to herself. “Tell that to the man that just got out of surgery.”
My chest tightens. “Kas—”
“She went there, Rafe. To my parent’s house. My family was there. A child,a baby.” Her voice is detached, like a report she doesn’t want to give. “She said your songs werefor her.That I ruined them. That she used to see veils before I showed up.”
I close my eyes. It’s worse hearing it in her voice.
“She must have been watching us,” she says. “For a while. To find me at the clinic, to know where I live, it wasn’t random. She was there for me, because of you.”
The words land like a blade turned inward. I want to say it isn’t my fault, but the truth feels heavier. It’s my world that touched hers. My shadow reached across the country and found her doorstep.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. The phrase feels too small. “If I could take any of it back, I would.”
She lifts her head, eyes red but dry. “You didn’t do this, Rafe. She did. But it’s still your world. I stepped into it, and now—” She swallows hard. “Now Dominik might not wake up. Now my family is terrified, because of choices I made.”
Her voice cracks on his name, and that’s when it happens, the wall inside her breaks. Her knees buckle, and I catch her, both arms around her as the sobs come, silent at first, then shaking through her whole body.
“I tried to stop the bleeding,” she gasps. “I couldn’t. He looked at me like he knew, like he was already—”
“Hey.” I grip her tighter. “No. Don’t do that. He’s alive because of you. You kept him there until help came. Trust me, I saw his face when I showed up at Zosia’s party. He fought to stay with you,I know it.” That earns me a small, broken laugh.
We stand there until her breathing steadies, until the shudders fade into exhaustion. When she finally pulls back, her cheeks are blotched,eyes glassy but focused again. I guide her to the couch, make tea, the way to solve everything when you’re raised in a Korean and British household.
I hand her the mug, sit beside her. We don’t speak. The rain does the talking for us, steady against the windows.
“I keep replaying it,” she says. “The sound it made when the knife hit him. The way he looked at me. You know the worst part? I kept thinking, if it were you lying there, I don’t think I’d have known what to do, other than cry. I didn’t do much better for him, either.”
Something breaks loose in my chest, but before I can speak, her phone lights up on the table. Mama. She hesitates, then answers.
“Tak, Mamo. Rafe is here, he’s looking after me. They sent me home until Dominik's awake.”
Her mother’s voice is muffled, urgent, Polish flowing fast and low. I can’t make out the words, but I know that tone, the one that makes a daughter revert to being a child again.
