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Probably from the gift shop down the street. Plastic case, metal ring, the kind of thing you bought for five bucks and forgot in a junk drawer.

But my throat closed.

Because he knew.

He remembered.

“I lost mine in Aleppo,” I said, voice thin.

“You told me once,” he said quietly, “that you used to carry a compass because it made you feel like you could find your way home in any city. Even when you were scared.”

I swallowed hard.

“I thought,” he continued, “maybe you could use another one. Just until you find your bearings again.”

Something broke then—softly, beautifully.

I stepped toward him and he let me, letting me tuck myself into his chest like I belonged there.

His chin brushed the top of my head.

“I needed some time alone,” I murmured.

“I know,” he said.

“Then why come?”

His hand slid down my back, slow and steady.

“Because I wanted you to know you’re not alone,” he said. “Not anymore.”

The words wrapped around me like a blanket. Like home.

We stood there a long time, the sidewalk warm beneath us, the hotel lights buzzing softly overhead. Cars passed. People drifted by. None of it touched the bubble we were in.

Finally, I pulled back just enough to look at him.

“Are you staying?” I asked quietly.

He studied me in that Levi way—eyes sharp, expression soft. “Want me to?”

I nodded slowly.

His jaw flexed—not with tension, but something close to relief.

“Then I’ll stay. But first, there’s something I need to do.”

25

LEVI

The thing I needed to do was buy flowers.

Why? Because I'd never bought anyone flowers before, and I figured what better time than now.

"Meet me back in your room," I told Amelia. "I'll be right back."

She looked at me, curious but trusting, and nodded.