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Relief weakened my legs again. I gripped the back of a chair and looked away before Rurik could see how quickly fear had turned me fragile. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“He asked me not to. He said you needed sleep.”

“That sounds like him.” I sat and pulled the plate closer, though the thought of swallowing made my stomach tighten. “Did you speak to Mom?”

“For less than a minute. Most of what she said should not be repeated in English or Russian.”

A laugh escaped before I could stop it. The sound startled me so badly that it died almost immediately, but Rurik didn’t smile as though he had earned it. He looked back toward the covered window and allowed me to eat without being watched.

The first three days passed in increments measured by Cian’s recovery. By the second day, he was standing beside his hospital bed. On the third, he walked the corridor with a nurse at his side, stubborn enough to pretend the effort cost him less than it did. That afternoon, the doctors discharged him with strict instructions to rest.

Mom never went back after he came out of surgery. Whatever fear had driven her to the hospital had been replaced by anger, and Cian didn’t volunteer the details when I called.

I called every morning at nine. Once he was home, Rurik placed the phone on the kitchen table before I woke, then went outside to check the perimeter while I spoke to my father. He never asked what Cian told me or demanded to know whether Boston had become safe enough for my return.

Mom answered the phone—instead of Dad—on the fifth morning.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said before I could decide whether to end the call. Her voice sounded worn thin, as though she had spent the night sanding every sharp edge away so none of them could cut me. “I only need to hear you breathe.”

“I’m here.”

“I know.” A pause followed. Somewhere in the background, a cabinet closed, followed by the faint clink of something being set on a counter. “Your father is being impossible. He believes being discharged means he’s completely healed.”

“He’s always been a terrible patient.”

“Yes, he has.” Mom drew a trembling breath. “I’m not going to defend what I did, Maddie. I should have called you myself. You should have heard from me that your father had been hurt, and you should have been allowed to be there. But I was terrified.”

The words reached places my anger had been guarding. I pressed the heel of my hand against my mouth, but the hurt was still there. I understood why she kept me away. That didn’t make it easier to accept that everyone else had known he was hurt while I hadn’t.

“I’m still angry with you, Mom.”

“I know, baby.” Her reply broke on the final word. “You have every right to be.” Her voice dropped lower. “I’m sorry.”

I closed my eyes. Hearing her say it didn’t erase what had happened, but the anger loosened around the edges. I knew what fear could make a mother do. I had given up my son because I believed losing him was better than risking his life. I couldn’t condemn Mom for trying to protect me when I had made the same kind of impossible choice.

“I need some time.”

“Take it.” She drew another shaky breath. “Call your father tomorrow. I’ll make sure he answers even if you aren’t ready to speak to me.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t ask me to forgive her. She didn’t have to. I understood more than I wanted to.

When the call ended, I remained at the table until the screen went dark beneath my hand.

Rurik returned ten minutes later with damp soil on his boots and a small tear along the sleeve of his shirt. He took one look at my face, went to the stove, and heated water without asking what had happened. A cup of tea appeared near my elbow a few minutes later.

I stared at it longer than I should have.

Tea was what I reached for when I wanted comfort, and I hated that he knew. It was another reminder that his attention had been on me long before I ever noticed him. That he’d spent years collecting small pieces of me I’d never offered.

I wrapped both hands around the cup, resenting the familiarity of it even as the warmth settled into my palms.

Uncle Sal called that evening. He demanded the address before offering a greeting, then spent several minutes explaining what he would do to Rurik when he found us. Duncan could be heard behind him contributing suggestions, each more violent than the one before.

“Stop looking,” I said when neither man paused long enough to breathe. “You’re putting people on the roads, and whoever attacked us will notice.”

“Maddie, he took you against your will,” Uncle Sal replied. “I’m not leaving you with a man who believes kidnapping becomes acceptable when he calls it security.”