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Kir walks ahead of me. He looks long and lean in his black suit, like if Jack Skellington was a handsome corporate scion with a killer sense of fashion.

I don’t know why I’m noticing that now—I’m starting to worry my brain might be broken. Getting tied up and edged ‘til you cry does that to a girl, I guess. So does the wholeeverything else that’s happened to me today.

But he really is handsome. And yet so sad. I wonder if love might heal the broken things in him, and if so, who is the right person to give him that love.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I run headlong into him when he stops without warning. Again, he catches me to stop me from falling, and again, he takes his hands off me as soon as possible and sticks them back in his pockets.

Turning, Kir faces the unmarked door. He produces a key from his pocket, unlocks it, and pushes it open.

“After you,” he says.

With a nervous swallow, I step inside.

I’m confused on first sight. The apartment is clean and neat, but sparsely furnished. It’s got the basics—a couch, a coffee table, a kitchenette in the corner—but not a single thing that would identify who lives here or why Kir has brought me here.

Until the man sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands looks up at me, and I realize who it is.

“Gideon!”

He looks whole but tired. His dirty blonde hair is greasy and his jaw is shadowed with stubble. Dark circles ring his eyes like bruises.

But he’shere. He’s alive, not dead in some alley with a needle in his arm.

“Rae?”

We meet halfway across the room. He picks me up like he always does in a tight hug. My face presses into his neck as I squeeze him as hard as I can.

The last time I remember hugging like this, overcome with so much fear and desperation, he couldn’t even stand up straight. That was rock bottom: finding him in a stranger’s bathroom, half-conscious, skin the color of printer paper. When I kicked in the door, he’d been curled around the toilet like it was the only thing tethering him to this life.

Now, I pull back just enough to look at him, scanning his face for the telltale signs I remember all too well from that day. Pinned pupils? Slack jaw? Hollow, disconnected gaze?

No, no, and no. None of that. His eyes are clear. Bloodshot and exhausted, but clear.

“You’re okay,” I breathe. “Oh my God, Gideon, you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Rae, I’m fine. I’m fine, I swear. I didn’t— I didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I swear.”

“What happened?” I demand. I’m still gripping his arms like he might evaporate if I let go. “Why did you leave Westgate? They said you checked out AMA?—”

“I didn’t check out.” Gideon’s brow furrows. “These… theseguyscame.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “They said they were transferring me to a new facility. Had paperwork and everything. I figured you’d arranged it or something, I dunno, but you weren’t answering your phone and they were really insistent, so I went with them.”

I feel sick. “Gid… I didn’t arrange anything.”

“Yeah, well, I figured that out when they brought mehereinstead of another treatment center.” He flops a hand at the bland apartment around us. “They’ve been… fine, I guess? Brought me food, let me shower, had some clean clothes and stuff. But nobody would tell me anything.”

His gaze slides past me to where Kir stands in the doorway, face carefully pointed away from us, hands still in his pockets.

“They said you’d come,” Gideon continues. He looks back at me and squeezes my wrists hard. “Rae, what the hell is going on? Whoarethese people?”

Before I can answer Gideon, Kir steps forward to join us in the middle of the room.

“As you can see, Rae, he’s fine.” He sighs and rakes a hand through his dark hair. “But we needed to make sure he’d be protected from everything.” After a pause, he adds, “AndIneeded to make sure you’d hear me out before you did something stupid.”

I whirl on him, unable to believe what I’m hearing. “You kidnapped my brother to get my attention?! Have you lost your fu?—”

“I relocated him to ensure his safety during what was clearly about to become a media shitstorm.” Kir shrugs like it’s beyond obvious that he did me a favor. “You’re welcome, by the way. Can you imagine what would’ve happened if the press had found him at Westgate? ‘The Murderer’s Mistress and Her Drug Addict Brother.’They’d sell the Netflix rights before you could even fucking blink.”

Gideon stiffens beside me. “Hey?—”