I didn't go straight home.
Instead, I drove past my father's house. Slowly. Carefully. I parked across the street and watched.
He was in the garden. Same as every Saturday morning. Kneeling by my mother's rose bushes, his hands covered in soil, his face turned toward the sun.
He looked peaceful. Happy. Like he didn't have a care in the world.
He didn't know that a sniper was planning to kill him tomorrow night. He didn't know that one of his trusted detectives was a traitor. He didn't know that the son of the woman he had tried to save was now risking everything to protect him.
I wanted to get out of the car. Walk up to him. Wrap my arms around him and never let go.
But I couldn't.
Because if I told him the truth, he would want to know how I knew. And I couldn't tell him about Alexei. Not yet. Not until I understood more.
So I sat in my car and watched my father tend to my mother's roses, and I felt the weight of everything pressing down on my chest.
I stayed there for twenty minutes. Then I drove home.
---
My apartment felt smaller than usual.
The folder was still on the kitchen table. I had left it there this morning when I ran from Alexei. Now I picked it up and opened it again.
Photos of my father. Dates. Times. Locations.
I turned the pages slowly. Studying every image. Every note.
And then I found something I hadn't noticed before.
A photograph of my father and another man. They were shaking hands outside a restaurant. The other man's face was blurred, but I recognized his build. His posture.
It was Chief Inspector Raymond Cross.
The man Alexei had mentioned. The corrupt superior who had ordered the raid that killed Elena Volkov.
I stared at the photograph for a long time.
My father had worked for Cross. Taken orders from him. Trusted him.
And Cross had sold him out to the Bratva.
I thought about what Alexei had said. Your father was a pawn. Just like me. Just like everyone else in this city.
Was that true? Or was Alexei manipulating me?
I didn't know anymore.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Get some rest. Tomorrow will be dangerous. A
Alexei.
I didn't reply. I just set the phone down and stared at the photograph.
Trust was a dangerous thing.
But so was doubt.
And right now, I was drowning in both.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
I tried to sleep. I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Alexei's face. Grey eyes. Sad smile. The way he said I dream about you like it was a confession and a curse all at once.
I tried to eat. I couldn't. My stomach was too tight. Too full of fear and uncertainty.
I tried to call my father again. I couldn't. Because I didn't know what to say without telling him everything.
So I sat on my couch, wrapped in the blanket Alexei had given me, and waited for night to fall.
---
At seven o'clock, someone knocked on my door.
I reached for my gun. "Who is it?"
"Open the door, Kira."
Alexei's voice.
I hesitated. Then I unlocked the door and opened it.
He was standing in the hallway, holding a brown paper bag. His grey eyes scanned my face.
"You look terrible."
"Thanks."
He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. "Have you eaten?"
"No."
"Slept?"
"No."
He set the bag on the kitchen table and pulled out two containers. "I brought food. Eat."
I crossed my arms. "I'm not hungry."
"You need to keep your strength up. Tomorrow night, you'll be running on adrenaline. You need fuel now."
I wanted to argue. But he was right.
I sat down at the table. He opened the containers. Rice. Chicken. Vegetables. Simple food. Warm food.
"How did you know where I live?" I asked.
"I told you. I know everything about you."
"That's not an answer."
He sat down across from me. "I had Yakov find your address. He's good at that sort of thing."
"Yakov?"
"My right hand. You'll meet him eventually."
I picked up my fork. "Is that a threat or a promise?"
"Neither." He watched me take the first bite. "It's just a fact. If you're going to work with me, you'll meet the people I trust."
I chewed slowly. The food was good. Better than anything I could have made myself.
"You trust Yakov?"
"With my life."
"Anyone else?"
He was quiet for a moment. "No."
I set down my fork. "That's sad."
"It's survival." He leaned back in his chair. "In my world, trust gets you killed. Yakov is the exception."
"And me?" I asked. "Do you trust me?"
His grey eyes held mine. "I trust that you want to save your father. I trust that you're a good cop. I trust that you won't shoot me in my sleep."
"That's not the same thing."
"No. It's not." He leaned forward. "But it's a start."
I picked up my fork again. "Why did you come here tonight?"
"Because I couldn't stay away."
My heart skipped. I didn't look up. "You shouldn't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because they make me feel things I don't want to feel."
The room went quiet. I could hear him breathing. Could feel his eyes on me.
"Kira."
I looked up.
He was watching me with an expression I couldn't read. Soft and hard at the same time.
"I'm not trying to make you feel anything," he said. "I'm just telling you the truth. I couldn't stay away. So I didn't."
I set down my fork again. "What are we doing, Alexei?"
"What do you mean?"
"This." I gestured between us. "The folder. The plan. The way you look at me. What is this?"
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"No. I've never done this before."
"Done what?"
"Cared about someone who wasn't obligated to care about me back."
My breath caught.
He stood up. Walked to the window. Stared out at the dark street.
"My whole life, people have been loyal to me because they had to be. Because I was a Volkov. Because I had power. Because I could hurt them if they disobeyed." He turned to look at me. "But you. You don't have to be here. You don't have to listen to me. You don't have to care. And yet you are. You do. And I don't understand why."
"Because you saved my life," I said softly.
"That's not a reason."
"Maybe not. But it's a start."
He almost smiled. "You're throwing my words back at me."
"You noticed."
He walked back to the table. Sat down. Picked up his fork.
"Eat," he said. "Tomorrow, we save your father."
I picked up my fork.
And for a few minutes, we ate in silence.
It felt almost normal.
Almost safe.
Almost like we weren't two people from different worlds, sitting on the edge of a war.