The sun was high in the sky when Kira finally opened her eyes. She had not meant to sleep, had fought against it for hours, but exhaustion had won in the end. Now she lay on the old mattress, staring at the water stained ceiling, listening to the sounds of the city waking up around her. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Closer, she could hear Alexei moving around the small apartment, his footsteps soft against the floorboards.
She sat up slowly, her body aching from the night before. The couch at the safehouse had been uncomfortable, but the floor had been worse, and she had bruises on her hips and shoulders from where she had landed after diving behind cover. She touched her cheek, wincing at the tenderness there. She had not even noticed being cut, but there was a small gash near her temple, crusted with dried blood.
Alexei was standing by the window, looking out through a gap in the curtains. He had cleaned himself up at some point, washed the blood from his face and changed into a fresh shirt, but he still looked tired. The shadows under his eyes were darker than before, and his jaw was tight with tension.
"Yakov texted," he said without turning around. "He is safe. He will meet us tonight."
Kira swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, testing her balance. Her head ached, and her mouth was dry, but she was alive. That was more than she had expected a few hours ago.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"Almost noon. The gala is at seven."
"We need to get ready."
"We need to stay hidden. Dimitri's men are still searching the city, and they will not stop until they find us. If we go outside, we risk being seen."
Kira walked to the window and looked out at the street below. It was quiet, almost too quiet, the kind of silence that came before a storm. She could see a man standing on the corner across the street, his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the buildings. He was not wearing a uniform, but something about the way he held himself told her that he was not an ordinary pedestrian.
"Is that one of Dimitri's men?" she asked, nodding toward the window.
Alexei looked, his grey eyes narrowing. "Probably. He has been there for an hour."
"Then we cannot stay here."
"We cannot leave either. The moment we step outside, he will see us, and he will call for backup. We will be surrounded before we make it to the car."
Kira turned away from the window and walked to the table where her folder was still sitting. She opened it and looked at the photographs inside, her father's face staring back at her from every angle. He was alive, she told herself. He was safe. Dimitri would not hurt him until tonight, because tonight was the plan, and Dimitri was too much of a strategist to deviate from his own carefully laid schemes.
"Then we wait," she said. "We wait until dark, and then we go."
Alexei nodded, and they settled into the small apartment to wait.
---
The hours passed slowly, each one longer than the last. Kira tried to sleep, but her mind would not quiet. She thought about her father, about the gala, about the men who wanted him dead. She thought about Alexei, about the way he had held her face in his hands, about the way he had said I feel strange. She thought about the kiss that had not happened, the one that hovered between them like a question waiting to be answered.
At four o'clock, her phone buzzed. A text from her father.
See you tonight at the gala? I saved you a seat.
She stared at the screen, her throat tight. She wanted to call him, wanted to hear his voice, wanted to warn him. But she could not, because warning him would mean telling him the truth, and telling him the truth would put him in even greater danger.
She typed back: I will be there, Dad. Save me a seat by the stage.
His reply came almost immediately: Of course. I love you, Kira.
I love you too.
She set down the phone and looked at Alexei. He was watching her from across the room, his grey eyes soft.
"He does not know," she said. "He has no idea what is coming."
"That is the point. If he knew, he would act, and acting would get him killed."
"I hate this."
"I know."
She stood up and walked to the window. The man on the corner was gone, replaced by a woman in a red coat, but Kira knew that they were still being watched. Dimitri would not let them slip away, not now, not when he was so close to victory.
"Alexei," she said, not turning around.
"Yes?"
"If something happens to me tonight, promise me you will protect my father. Promise me you will not let Dimitri hurt him."
She heard him stand up, heard his footsteps cross the room toward her. He stopped close behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, close enough that she could smell the rain still clinging to his clothes.
"I will not let anything happen to you," he said quietly.
"That is not what I asked."
"I know." He paused. "But it is the only promise I am willing to make."
Kira closed her eyes and leaned back against him, just for a moment, just long enough to feel his arms wrap around her waist. She told herself that it meant nothing, that it was just comfort, just two people who were afraid and alone and trying to survive. But she knew that was a lie.
It meant everything.