Page 60 of Cruel Submission

“Don’t know.” She looks back down at Aleks. “He stopped crying when I picked him up.”

I study them both. Aleks’s face is peaceful, no sign of the fussiness Fanny has complained about in the past. Whatever Debra did—just holding him, maybe—it worked.

“You’re good with him,” I say.

No response.

I wait. See if she’ll say more.

She doesn’t.

But she’s sitting on the couch. Looking at the baby like he exists. Speaking in complete sentences.

When I found her, she was catatonic in Gavriil’s living room, and now she’s here. Functioning. Barely, but functioning.

“I’ll find someone to cover for Fanny,” I tell her. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

The words are stronger this time. Not loud, but definite. Like she’s claiming something.

Choice. Agency. Something that’s hers.

Dr. Harrison would probably call this progress, too.

“He needs feeding. Nappy changes,” I say.

“I can do that.” Her voice is firmer than I’ve ever heard it. “I know where everything is.”

“Alright.” I take one step back. “I’ll check in later.”

She doesn’t acknowledge me. Just keeps looking at Aleks, that strange almost-focus holding steady.

I leave through the main door and lock it behind me.

My phone buzzes as I reach the corridor. Yanis.

We need to talk.

I delete the message.

Lately, all he wants to talk about is Debra and what a dick I am.

Not now. Not when I’m barely holding this together.

I need to move. Check the perimeter myself, verify Stefan’s work, make sure we’re actually prepared for whatever Gavriil throws at us.

But my feet carry me toward the main staircase instead. Toward the west wing. Toward her.

The hallway is dark. Most of the lights dimmed for evening.

I’m not paying attention. So when I round the corner, I don’t see her until we collide. Body against body. The impact knocks her backward, and I react—hands closing around her waist, pulling her against me before she can fall.

Mirabel.

Her palms flatten against my chest. She’s warm. Solid. Real in a way nothing else has felt for days.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ve been distracted.”