“Mhm,” she says softly. “Dobrze… okay. I understand.”
When the call ends, she just sits there. I want to ask, but the answer’s already written on her face, nothing good. I reach for her hand, but she beats me to it, turning toward me instead. Her fingers trace my jaw, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. Her touch is cool from the mug, faintly smelling of tea and rain.
“Kasia—”
She shakes her head. “Don’t.” Her thumb grazes my lip. “Just hold me.”
So I do. She leans in first, kisses me slow, searching. A confirmation that we’re still here, still real. Her breath shudders as she exhales against my mouth. I slide my arms around her, pull her close until she’s folded into me, her head against my shoulder, her hand resting over my heart.
We stay like that while the rain keeps falling, her body softening into mine, her breathing syncing with the rhythm of it. Tonight, holding her is the only thing that matters, and I hold her until finally, she sleeps.
The rain’s eased by the time I open my eyes, but the sky’s still heavy with it. Kasia’s still in my arms, and for a moment I let myself believe we’ve outrun it all, the blood, the noise, the chaos.
“You’re awake,” I whisper.
She nods, doesn’t lift her head. “Didn’t sleep much.”
“Yeah.” I tighten my arm around her. “Me neither.”
For a while, neither of us moves. The clock ticks faintly from the kitchen. Somewhere outside, a car door slams, a bird scolds. The kind of normal sounds that feel foreign now.
Then she says, “My parents called again. Late. You slept through it.”
I feel her tense in my arms before she even finishes. “They’re scared, Rafe.”
I pull back enough to look at her. “I get it. That’s understandable, but they arrested her, right?”
“Yes, but they’re worried about all of it,” she says. “Of who you are, what happened, what could still happen.”
Her wary hazel eyes meet mine, tired, red-rimmed, devastatingly clear. “They think I’m next,” she says. “That this woman won’t be the last. That the world you live in is too big and dangerous to ever really be part of. Your security team can’t even protectyouall of the time,letters get by. People get past barricades… they can't protectall of usall of the time, they said.”
My mouth goes dry. “Kasia—”
She cups my face in both hands, her thumbs warm against my cheeks. “I can’t do this to them.”
Her eyes stay on mine, and I know what’s coming before she says it.
“Dominik’s in a hospital bed because of me. I can’t—” Her voice cracks, then steadies. “I can’t risk that happening again. To anyone I love. To you, either. It could have been you protecting me instead of Dominik. Or Tata. Or Piotr.”
I shake my head, my throat too tight to speak. “You’re not the reason—”
“I am,” she says softly. “Because I said yes. Because I stayed. Because I keep wanting something the universe keeps trying to tell me I can’t have. That you aren’t part of my world.”
She swallows hard, fingers sliding from my jaw to my neck. “I want youmore than anything, and that’s exactly why I can’t.”
There’s no anger in her voice, just heartbreak, pure and unvarnished. I can feel her trying to stay strong even as her breath shakes against my skin. I cover her hands with mine, desperate to keep them there a little longer.
“We can figure this out. We’ll make it safe. I can make it safe, I promise. Please, Kasia—don’t do this.I love you.”
But she’s already shaking her head. “I love you too… I’m sorry. Any version of this where I stay with you, my parents want no part of it. They’re worried for the grandchildren, too. What if it's a gun next time?I can’t lose my family.This is my fault.”
She leans in and kisses me, soft, then desperate and I cling to her like my life depends on it, because it does. Because every part of me is breaking, and she’s the only thing holding me together.
When she pulls away, the warmth leaves with her. The weight of her hand, the tremor in her voice, the echo of that last kiss, it all lingers in the air long after she stands. She doesn’t go far. Just to the kitchen. I hear the kettle click on, the soft shuffle of her bare feet on tile. Every sound she makes feels final.
I sit there, staring at the space she left on the couch, and it hits like a delayed impact, the kind that doesn’t knock the wind out of you right away. It waits until you’ve drawn the next breath, then steals it clean from your lungs.
She can’t do this to them.
