Page 105 of Cruel Submission

“He’s gone.” I press my forehead to her temple. She’s sweating and freezing simultaneously, her body running two programs at once—one that says flee and one that says freeze. “Arkady’s men drove him off. He ran. He’s a coward and a monster, and he ran, Deb. He doesn’t get to have you. He will never have you again.”

Her hand turns in mine, gripping so hard the bones of my fingers compress against each other. Pain, but the useful kind. The kind that means she’s choosing to hold on.

Yanis shifts closer. An inch, maybe two. Enough that his shoulder touches hers. A comforting presence with no demands.

“He came for me,” Debra whispers, and the blankness starts to crack, the emotion coming through in jagged pieces. “That’s why he came. He wants me back. He’ll always—”

“Stop.” I say it firmly. Not harshly, but with enough edge that it catches. “He came because he’s desperate and losing. Desperation makes men like him stupid, and stupid gets you killed.”

I don’t know if I believe that entirely—Gavriil Laurov is many things, but consistently stupid isn’t one of them—but right now my sister needs a story she can survive, not one that’s accurate.

Something shifts in her eyes. The focus sharpens. She’s coming back, inch by inch, finding her way to this sofa, this room, my arm around her, and a man she’s learning to trust holding her hand like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done.

“I’m here,” she says. Testing the words.

“You’re here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Yanis presses his lips to the top of her head—brief, light. Unexpected from this man. The trembling doesn’t stop, but it slows, the intervals between each shudder growing longer, her breathing deepening by fractions.

I hold her. My arm aches and my lower back is protesting, and the baby is lodging a foot somewhere near my ribcage, but I don’t move. I sit, and I hold my sister, and I let the room exist around us in its awful, suspended quiet.

That’s when my phone rings.

The sound is offensive—bright, chirping, absurdly normal in a room that has lost its grip on the concept. I fumble it from the pocket of my dress, see the screen, and my stomach drops.

St. Mary’s Hospital.

“Hello?”

“Ms. McLeod? This is Nurse Okoro from the oncology unit at St. Mary’s. I’m calling regarding your father, Peter McLeod.”

My breath hitches. “Is he all right?”

“More than all right, actually.” A warmth in her voice I wasn’t prepared for. “Dr. Klein asked me to contact you. We’ve received the results from your father’s latest round of tests—the blood work and the imaging from Thursday.”

I grip the phone tightly. Beside me, Debra has turned her head, watching. Yanis has gone still.

“And?”

“His tumor markers have dropped significantly. The kidney function has improved—enough that Dr. Klein used the word ‘remarkable,’ and I’ve worked with him for eleven years, so I can tell you he doesn’t use that word lightly.” A pause, and I can hear the smile in it. “The targeted therapy appears to be working, Ms. McLeod. We’re not out of the woods, and Dr. Klein will want to discuss next steps in person, but this is genuinely encouraging news.”

I close my eyes.

The room shrinks to the phone in my hand and the nurse’s voice and the hot, immediate pressure building behind my eyelids. Because I’ve sat in that hospital so many times, absorbing words like metastasized and palliative and comfortable, and now—now, in the middle of this catastrophic day, the universe decides to throw me something good.

“Thank you.” My voice splinters on the second word. “Can I come see him tomorrow?”

“Of course. He’s resting well tonight. Sleeping when I checked on him an hour ago, and his vitals are the best we’ve seen in weeks.” She pauses. “Your father’s a fighter, Ms. McLeod.”

“He is. He really is.”

I hang up. The phone sits in my lap, screen dimming.

Debra’s watching me cautiously.

“Who was that?” Her voice is rough from crying, but she’s present. Here. Not wherever Gavriil’s shadow sent her.

“The hospital.” I take her hand again, and this time I’m the one gripping too hard. “It’s Dad. His latest tests… Deb, they’re good. They’re actually good. His tumor markers are down. His kidneys are improving. The treatment is working.”