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“He did take me.” I looked toward the doorway, where Rurik had stopped on his way through the hall. His expression revealed nothing. “But I’m choosing to stay for now.”

The silence on the phone was so complete that I could hear Duncan swearing from several feet away.

“Are you saying that because he is listening?” Uncle Sal asked.

“No. I’m saying it because Sylvia already used my father to get to me. She wanted me at that hospital, and if I go back now, I’m giving her exactly what she wants.” The admission tasted like surrender, but the decision was mine. That made it bearable. “Tell your men to protect Mom and Dad. I’ll come home when Sylvia isn’t waiting for me to make a mistake.”

Rurik lowered his gaze and continued down the hall. He didn’t thank me or treat my decision as proof that he had been right. His refusal to claim any kind of victory was the second thing I trusted about him.

The safe house developed a rhythm after that. Vladmir delivered groceries twice a week and left them inside the garage without coming farther. Maxim called Rurik every night at eleven, sometimes for five minutes and sometimes for an hour. Men I never saw watched the road from somewhere beyond the tree line, changing shifts before dawn so no vehicle remained long enough to establish a pattern.

The days blurred together after that.

Rurik kept the cabin sealed tight. I wasn’t allowed outside, not even onto the porch, and every door stayed locked unless he was the one opening it. He checked the property himself, disappearing beyond the windows for stretches of time before returning to the same quiet rooms.

Inside, he gave me space.

At first, I counted the days.

Then I stopped.

One week became two. Two became three.

The cabin settled around me until hiding stopped feeling temporary and started feeling like something I had learned how to live inside. By then, I knew which floorboard creaked near the hallway, which cupboard held the tea, and the sound of Rurik’s boots when he came back in from checking the perimeter.

Staying became a choice I had to make again each morning. Some days, it was easy because Cian sounded stronger or Uncle Sal reported no new attack. Other days, the walls pressed inward until I could feel every mile separating me from Boston. On those days, I walked from room to room counting doors, windows, and every object heavy enough to break the glass.

Rurik never told me to calm down. He never reminded me that I had chosen to stay or asked me to make any of this easier for him. He simply let me be angry when I needed to be angry and silent when words felt impossible.

After a month, the cabin had become too familiar.

I knew the sound of every lock, the pattern of the floorboards beneath my feet, and which windows caught the first light in the morning. I knew how long Rurik usually stayed outside when he checked the property and which cabinet he opened when he wanted coffee.

I hated how quickly hiding had become routine.

At first, fear had filled every hour. I checked my phone constantly, waited for updates on Cian, and jumped at every unfamiliar sound outside the walls. But once my father was home and recovering, that sharp edge of panic began to dull.

What replaced it was worse.

Salvatore filled every quiet place fear had left behind.

I found him in ordinary things. A jar of sauce in the pantry carried the same label he had bought in Montana. The shirt Rurik had left on my bed was the blue Salvatore used to say made my eyes look stormy. Rain struck the roof one night with the same uneven rhythm that had filled the cabin while our infant son slept between us.

Salvatore stood barefoot in the Montana kitchen with Henry strapped against his chest, one hand supporting our son’s head while the other stirred sauce on the stove. He had forgotten the words to the song playing on the radio and replaced them with nonsense until I laughed hard enough to lean against the counter.

“You’re ruining it,” I told him.

“I’m improving it.” He turned with a wooden spoon in his hand while Henry slept through every terrible note. “Your son appreciates original composition.”

“My son is unconscious.”

“Overcome by his father’s talent.” Salvatore kissed the top of Henry’s head before looking at me. That smile contained a future neither of us knew was already ending. “Dance with me, baby.”

The memory came so sharply that I dropped the glass I was holding. It shattered across the kitchen floor, and I sank beside it before I remembered the pieces could cut me.

Rurik entered with his weapon drawn. His gaze swept the room, found no threat, and settled upon me.

“I’m fine,” I said, though my breath had begun breaking apart. “Go away.”