That question has teeth. It follows me as I walk to our front door, I key it open, and I step inside the house like it might swallow me whole. I feel stretched thin, held together by sheer will and caffeine and whatever dark, jagged thing is keeping me upright.
I make my way up the stairs, Ada following me without a sound.
First thing I do is strip out of my leggings, peeling them off like armor that’s outlived its use. I toss them somewhere near the laundry basket. Miss. Doesn’t matter. I grab the first shirt I find, oversized and soft, swallowing me whole. His, maybe. Orone I bought that felt like him. The fabric smells clean but old, faint detergent and something that reminds me of the past. That aching ghost of before.
In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face and brush my teeth, staring into the mirror like it might offer answers. The girl staring back at me looks wired, eyes too wide, pupils still blown out from adrenaline. She’s trying to stay human. Trying to stay sane. But her hands are still shaking.
I crawl into bed and pull the blankets over me like a shield. The warmth is instant. Too much. I push one leg out. My body is exhausted, but my mind won’t stop sprinting.
Ada’s presence is like a weight, gentle but definite, as she scoots closer. I don’t need to look at her to know what she’s doing. The bed creaks softly as she adjusts herself, settling in next to me with an intimacy that doesn’t need words.
‘‘So,’’ I begin, my voice breaking the silence, ‘‘that was… a lot, wasn’t it?’’ I don’t know what else to say. The meeting felt like we’d barely scratched the surface, but the words that had been spilled—Dominik’s revelations about the Gambino family, Aslanov, and the traitors—it was more than I expected.
‘‘It was. But we finally got some clarity, though.’’
I lie still for a moment, the weight of the conversation pressing down on me. Ada’s words are hanging in the air, but I don’t respond right away. I’m not sure how to. The silence stretches between us, filled with everything that happened today, everything we learned, and everything we still don’t know.
Finally, Ada breaks it. Her voice is softer than usual, thoughtful. ‘‘Are you ready to face him, if he’s still out there?’’ she asks, her words heavy with meaning. She pauses, almost as if considering how to phrase the rest. ‘‘Someone who’s undergone something so horrible, beyond our imagination, usually isn’t the same.’’
She’s right; what he’s been through, what he’s endured, isbeyond anything I can truly comprehend. But somehow, deep down, I know I’m ready. I would rather face him, no matter the state he’s in, than never see him again at all.
I have ached and yearned for him, I need him.
‘‘I’m ready,’’ I say quietly, my voice steady despite the racing thoughts in my mind. ‘‘I don’t care what condition he’s in… as long as he’s not pale and dead.’’
Ada nods, her gaze softening as she watches me. ‘‘You really love him, don’t you?’’
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I just smile, a sad, small curve of my lips. I look down at my hands, the familiar ache in my chest growing stronger, more insistent.
‘‘Yes,’’ I whisper, barely audible, like the word itself might break me open.
Ada squeezes my hand, her touch warm and grounding in the silence that stretches between us. She doesn’t say anything at first, just sits there, close and steady. Then, after a moment, she offers me a small smile, soft but genuine, the kind of smile that says everything without needing words.
‘‘Whatever we’ll face,’’ she says quietly, her voice steady despite everything, ‘‘know that I’ll face it with you.’’
I nod, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more she’s not saying. Her gaze drifts off, eyes distant, like she’s lost in a thought I can’t quite reach.
‘‘What’s up?’’ I ask gently, trying to pull her back to the present.
Ada looks away, biting her lip slightly as if she’s holding something back, her gaze fixed on the wall, her thoughts far from here. She hesitates, and for a moment, I think she might not say anything at all. Then, with a quiet sigh, she finally speaks.
‘‘There is something about Dominik. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before. There’s something about him that… I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.’’
I frown, trying to follow her logic, but there’s something off in the way she’s speaking. She’s not being entirely honest with me, I can tell. “What are you trying to say?”
Ada hesitates for a moment, then her lips curl into a soft, almost shy smile, but it’s fleeting, and before I can catch it, she shifts uncomfortably. “I guess... I guess I find him intriguing. There’s something about him that’s... attractive. It’s hard to describe.’’
I blink at her in surprise, my mind taking a moment to process her words. Ada, my tough, no-nonsense friend, the one who usually steers clear of any unnecessary emotional baggage, is telling me that she’sattractedto Dominik?
I can’t help but laugh lightly, though it’s more in disbelief than amusement. ‘‘Wait,youfind him attractive?’’ I tease gently.
Ada rolls her eyes, but there’s a faint blush creeping up her neck, which she tries to hide by pulling the blanket higher around her shoulders. ‘‘I know, I know,’’ she mutters, clearly embarrassed. ‘‘I shouldn’t, he is a criminal. I don’t know why. But there’s something about him… he’s so intense, and I just can’t stop noticing him. I’m not saying I like him, but—’’ she shakes her head, clearly frustrated with herself.
I’m still processing the admission. “Well, that’s a twist,” I say, trying to hold back a grin. “You’ve been scolding me about my attraction to a criminal since I can remember.”
Ada glares at me, but there’s no heat in it, just a mix of irritation and embarrassment. “It’s not like that. Aslanov is not my type, he scares me. I just… I don’t know how to explain it, okay? I think he’s fascinating in a way that doesn’t make sense.’’
I can’t help but smile softly, nudging her. “Ada, it’s okay. I’m just surprised. I thought you’d be more immune to his charm.” I pause, teasing her lightly. “Guess I was wrong.”
