Page 75 of Nemesis

The problem? Every time I think about leaving Octavia behind, my stomach aches so fiercely I’m sure I’ll throw up my last meal.

“We’ve got to do something,” Sasha says in a tired voice. He’s been checking in on her, too, stopping by our room at all hours of the night. It was annoying the first two nights. Now I wonder if he thinks she’s a flight risk like her mother.

“She deserves time to process,” I defend, even if a part of me agrees with him.

“She’s had time,” he says. “And in that time, she only seems to be sinking further away. I visited last night, and she wouldn’t even answer me.” His fingers tap nervously against his thigh, completely at odds with his usual stone countenance. “You know the first thing she did after waking up in the safehouse? She threw a pillow at my face. I may not know much about my own daughter, but I know enough to understand that this silence is all wrong.”

And the first thing she did after waking in the cage was try to strangle me. He’s not wrong. She’s a fighter by nature, not a freezer. I love that about her. I miss her brand of fire like a lost limb.

“I’m sick of feeling useless while my daughter is obviously suffering down the hall.”

Imagine how useless I feel, watching her suffer from the other side of the bed. I started trying to coax her out yesterday, after spending two hours watching her stare at the bedtable with a distant look in her eyes. I tried everything I could think of. Sweets, activities, mild threats. Each suggestion only caused her to pull further away.

“Look, she had a whole life before this,” I say, swirling the coffee in my cup. “She fought the same battle every single day for years. And she didn’t lose that fight.” I step forward, pushing off the counter. “She lost the whole damn field.”

“Should I get her back into a dance class? Hire a tutor?”

“Not necessarily.”

Doing something so familiar in such an unfamiliar way might make her feel even worse. He’s right, though. She needs a real reason to get out of bed.

“You’re useless,” Sasha snaps. Jesus. By his tone and expression, you’d think I took a piss in the coffee pot. “You have one purpose here, kid. Your job is to keep her happy, and the sooner you fail at that task, the sooner I’ll be shipping your ass back to New York with a goddamned bow for Solokov to do with as he pleases.”

“I’m fucking trying,” I say, voice rising in the quiet kitchen. He may think all I care about is hiding out from my former employers, but the only thing I’ve been able to focus on in the last four days is the girl flickering out before my eyes. I don’t know how to help her.

“You have one day,” he says, tearing me from my thoughts. “One day, and if she’s still made no progress, I’m calling in professional help and kicking you out.”

My knuckles clench at the barked order. “I don’t think that will help when she’s like this.”

“I’m not too sure, either,” Siderov mutters, stepping back into the doorway. “But I can’t keep standing by and doing nothing.”

I toss the pile of items onto the bed beside Octavia’s head, startling her from the frozen state. Her lashes flash, eyes lifting to mine for the first time in far too long. Even that’s progress, I suppose.

“What’s this?”

The sound of her voice sends a zing through my head. How long has it been since she spoke more than a single syllable to me? The car ride here, maybe?

I lift each item into the air, setting them into a neat line beside her pillow. “Boxing gloves. Hand wraps. Sports bra. Sweatpants. Hair tie.”

She lifts a brow. “They’re all pink.”

“Baby pink. You once told me you’d wear anything if it was pretty and pastel.”

She laughs softly, digging her cheek further into the pillow. “You gonna hold everything I said in the cage against me?”

I don’t bother answering, lowering my weight to the edge of the bed. “Sit up, and I’ll braid your hair.”

“No thanks,” she whispers, turning away.

“I wasn’t asking.”

She doesn’t respond, giving me her back and settling further under the covers. Ignoring me. That’s it. I cradle my arms around her, lifting her up against her will. She wriggles in the hold, crying out.

“Get the fuck off me!”

“There’s my girl,” I murmur, brushing a soothing hand down her arm. “You wanna fight me? Fight me. Anything’s better than the silence.”

She lets out a shriek, squirming harder, but my arms only lock around her.