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“Yeah.”

I just sit there, trying to process that. Then everything starts colliding together again.

“The man outside my dorm.” I stare down at my hands. “The one at the party. The streets back in Düren. I knew his face. I just didn’t understand why. I thought I was imagining it. I thought I was losing my mind.”

“Mouse—”

“And then there was the woman.” The words tumble out, one memory tripping over the next. “She knew about your mother. About the music sheet. About Sola. She kept talking like she already knew everything. She gave me that sheet, Ciaran. When I was twelve. She gave it to me. She said she wanted to h-hurt your mother.”

His expression hardens, his voice going quiet. “And then?”

I close my eyes. Light, my throat burns. “I ran. I couldn’t breathe.”

His face tightens, and when I finally read it, the guilt sitting there feels worse than anger ever could. “Mouse⁠—”

“I know.” I swallow. “It was stupid.”

“No. You had a panic attack.” His thumb moves across my knuckles, like he’s making sure I’m still here.

Silence lingers between us as I look down at his hand resting over mine, as if he can fade the bruising with his touch, even though the memory remains painfully sharp. “She was waiting for me.”

“Yeah. Fuck, mouse. That’s the part I fucking hate.” His voice breaks, and he wraps his long fingers over mine. They are warm, and they make me feel safe. “We should’ve seen it. The Orlovs never accepted the ban. Never accepted what happened. Dad warned everyone they were still angry.”

Cold slides through me. The realization isn’t new anymore, but somehow that doesn’t make it hurt less. A shadow at the end of a street. Footsteps behind me on the walk home. Waking up terrified because somebody had been standing outside the apartment again. For a moment, the memories blur together, and I can almost see him—a skinny little boy standing alone beneath the Düren streetlights, looking over his shoulder every few steps because he couldn’t shake the feeling that somebody was there.

Somebody always was. The truth knocks the breath from my lungs. For years, I thought the fear came first. That the nightmares created the panic. That my heart was simply broken. Now all I can think about is that frightened kid trying so hard to convince himself everything was fine.

Light, I wish I could go back and tell him he wasn’t losing his mind. Tell him he wasn’t weak. Tell him he was right. That one day, he’d find answers. That one day, somebody would believe him. That one day, somebody would come for him.

For a while, neither of us says anything. Then Ciaran’s fingers tighten around mine. “Hey, where did you just go?”

I blink. “What?”

“You disappeared for a second.”

Heat creeps unexpectedly into my face. “Oh, I was thinking about... me.”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “That’s usually how thinking works, mouse.”

Despite everything, a small laugh escapes me, and my gaze drops to our joined hands. “I mean when I was younger. That kid was so scared all the time.”

His expression softens. “I know.”

I swallow, staring down at our intertwined fingers. “I wish I could tell him he was going to be okay.”

His gaze gentles, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair behind my ear before he lets it fall again. “You really are weird.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Wasn’t a compliment, mouse.”

“Well, it sounded like one.”

His thumb brushes slowly across my knuckles, the familiar movement sending something warm through my chest despite everything. My fingers tighten around his before I can stop them.

“Yet you still came for me.”

His grip on my hand tightens. “Of course I did.”