Page 130 of Ghost Ribbon

“Mhm,” I said carefully, nodding. “Thank you for the advice.”

“Of course!” Ilya beamed. “That’s what friends are for.”

He crammed another handful of gummies into his mouth.

“Anyway. Here. Look over this.”

He pulled out a file, then turned and threw it across the room toward Alexei, who was still standing near the kitchen counter watching. Ilya was already on his feet, gathering himself. “I’ll go annoy Rai now,” he announced.

Then he was at the door, then through it, then gone. “Has he always been this…” I started, searching for the right word. “Hyperactive?”

Alexei didn’t look up from the file he was already reading. “Yes,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked, nodding toward the file.

He turned a page. “Nothing you should worry about, just some things I have to get done for Dimitri.”

I didn’t ask questions because the things he did for Dimitri usually involved murder, and yes, I was aware Alexei was a killer. I witnessed it firsthand, and I didn’t agree with it, but I accepted it long ago.

Chapter 31 - Marco

Days passed in a blur.

Rei was back from the hospital.

That was good. That was one thing that was good. He had been discharged and everything seemed fine.

On the outside.

The world continued to turn and people continued to live in it.

But I didn’t think I was fine.

I think I was getting weaker.

The medications had been changed again. The doctors at Aldenberg’s office had adjusted my regimen for the third time in two months, cycling through different combinations in search of something my body would tolerate. Each change brought a new wave of side effects, each one leaving me a little more depleted than the one before.

Alexei was trying to act like it was fine.

He wore the mask well. He had been wearing it his entire life, after all. He cooked for me. He managed my medication schedule. He counted my pills and timed my meals and checked my pulse when he thought I was asleep. But I could see how panicked he was.

I could see it in the way he stood too close to me, like he was afraid I might slip through a crack in the floor if he gave me too much space.

He was terrified.

Usually we slept with me cuddled to his chest.

That had been our arrangement for weeks now. I would curl against his side, my head on his chest, my ear pressed to the place where his heartbeat lived, and the sound of it would lull me to sleep like nothing else could. It was steady. Strong. The heartbeat of someone whose heart worked the way hearts were supposed to work, and I would fall asleep listening to it like it was a lullaby, like the rhythm of it could teach my own broken heart how to keep time.

But last night was different, he was the one resting his head on my chest.

I lay there in the dark, my hand in his hair, his face pressed against the place where my heart beat and I felt him counting.

He was counting my heartbeats.

I could feel the tremors going through him.

I also noticed he doesn’t eat.