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"What?"

"You think because something matters to you, you get to put it somewhere safe and control the conditions until it survives."

The amusement vanishes. Her finger lowers. Something in her expression shifts, but she doesn't retreat. I could tell her she's wrong.

She's not.

I remember Nikos laughing at breakfast. Nikos asleep against my chest. Nikos asking me questions I answered impatiently because I believed there would always be another morning to answer them properly.

I remember a coffin too small for the amount of grief it contained.

Then my parents.

Petros.

Every person reduced to past tense because I wasn't fast enough, careful enough, ruthless enough.

Now Elena stands in front of me arguing for the right to walk outside while somebody with millions hidden across Europe knows her name.

No.

"I'm not debating this."

Her eyes narrow. "Because you're losing?"

"Because you're staying."

"Adrianos."

"You're staying where I can protect you."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then the men go with you."

"How many?"

"Enough."

"That's not a number."

"It doesn't need to be."

"It does to me."

Of course it does.

"Four."

Her eyes widen. "Four?"

"Two close. Two distant."

"That's not security. That's a parade."

"You'll survive the embarrassment."

"I have spent years being invisible. Four armed men rather undermine the aesthetic."