Liya
I place one foot in front of the other. My hands are deep in my pockets while my shoulders hunch forward, leading the way from one side of the foyer to the other. Back and forth, bouncing like a ping-pong ball—much like Pavel—and carrying the weight of the world on my back.
It grows heavier with each step, forcing me to bow to the ground. If I take on any more, then I’ll surely fold.
I frown with determination.
Not yet. I can’t give up yet.
Five steps lead to the den. Three steps lead to the staircase. Another three steps take me to a sunroom. Shadows crawl in the corners, sending me spinning right back around to repeat my pacing.
Five. Three. Three.
And then I stop to peer at the door.
Nothing. No sentient sounds. Even the birds aren’t singing out there.
The air clicks on. As I pace back toward the den, I listen to the distinct sound of wind lashing the side of the house.
No other sounds exist save for that wind. It rattles the windows and whistles over the roof, creating a strangely alluring white noise that makes me want to curl up in front of a fire. A good book, a hot cup of lavender tea, and my favorite cardigan are all I need.
I hug my shoulders.
I don’t even have my cardigan. By Pavel’s report, half the penthouse went up in flames. Some of our things were lost.
They can be replaced, sure.
I shudder.
But Viktoria can’t.
A car door slaps shut. Loud footsteps clap across the porch. The key slides into the door, turns, and makes the lock click loudly. I’m barely breathing by the time the door opens.
“Liya?”
It’s Willow.
She’s standing right there.
She’sokay.
I whimper and leap toward her to take her into my arms. She stumbles as I drag her into the foyer. I’m clinging to her so tightly that she wheezes and pats my shoulders. While I relinquish pressure, I don’t let her go.
Ican’tlet her go.
I’ve already made that mistake once.
“This would have never happened if I didn’t…” My voice cracks. “Oh, Willow, I’m sosorry. Please forgive me! I can’t believe I ever thought this stupid idea was…was…”
I wince when a sob breaks from me. I bury my face in her shoulder and shudder violently, inhaling the scent of where she’s been—her coconut conditioner, and then lilac, vanilla, and something grimy that lingers underneath. An earthy musk. Smoke. A bit of Pavel’s cologne.
My eyes snap open. I peer over my best friend’s shoulder and eye the man standing in the doorway. Pavel looks grim but relieved. He shuts the door and bolts it, then walks to the security pad to punch the code into the system. It beeps twice and then goes silent.
He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t look at Willow. He just stares at his shoes.
I frown and step back, holding Willow’s shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed, and the hazel of her eyes has dimmed significantly. Her blonde hair, usually styled in wavy tresses, is frizzy, damaged, dry, and mussed.
“I called,” she croaks. “I tried to call while we were on the way and—”