"We wouldn't have made it without Toro, Fonz, and Taj, sir," Inez states.
"I am aware."
"What about Rafael, sir?" Inez asks. "Do you have any leads on his whereabouts?”
"He is nearly as elusive as I am," Jakob says. "But my sources are making headway. Stay ready, but take time to recover."
Inez looks at me as if she's trying to decide something, or figure something out. "Sir, I—"
"Inez," Jakob interrupts.
"But sir, I—"
"Sophia." It is spoken softly, gently, but somehow still manages to crackle with authority. "Things are changing. For all of us. You have spent the last several years merely existing. As have the men. As have I. Now is your turn to reach for more."
"I do not know how, Jakob," she whispers.
"I know. Believe me, dear friend, I know." He clears his throat. "Try. The man beside you knows all there is to know. Don't be afraid."
"I'll try," Inez says.
"That's all anyone can do," Jakob answers. "Ah, one of my sources is calling. I'll be in touch."
The line goes dead and Inez pulls it away, stares at it as if it holds some answers to life's questions.
She looks shaken.
"What?" I ask. "What is that look for?"
"Jakob, he…" she shakes her head. "He is behaving strangely. Revealing himself to you. The things he just said? It's all very strange."
"He cares about you," I answer.
"He called me dear friend," she whispers. "Twice. And Sophia—he called me Sophia. He has never done that before."
"Walls are tumbling down everywhere, it seems," I say.
"I was comfortable with my life," she whispers. "My job. The Arrows. The Club."
"A comfortable existence is not the same thing as a fulfilling life." I shut the doors, lock them. Toss the keycard on the narrow table near the doors, take her hand and lead her further into the room. "He wants more for you than that. So do I."
"Andyouare that more, I suppose?" She asks, her tone wry, looking at me with an arched eyebrow.
"Yes. I believe I am." I look down at her—her face is gray with dust from the explosion, dotted with gritty smears of pink and red. He hair has come almost entirely out of the customarybraided bun, now hanging loose and tangled and filthy around her shoulders. "But if you were to decide you didn't want me in your life, I would honor and respect that. It would break my heart all over again, I admit, but I would do it."
Her eyes close, and her lips press together. “Lorenzo…I—I feel…" she shakes her head. "I don't know."
"Tell me how you feel, please. Whatever it is."
"Weak," she breathes. "Afraid. Emotional."
"Afraid of what?" I step closer to her, so less than a foot separates us.
She shakes her head again. "I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
She puts her hands up, palms out, so I can't draw any closer. "You."
