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But there was one image that wouldn’t leave. Stas’s arms around me, lifting me, holding me against his chest like I weighed nothing. My heart gave a painful kick against my ribs.

I turned the water off and stood there dripping, too rattled to dry myself properly. I wrapped a towel around my waist and stepped out of the bathroom, my pulse thrumming high and uneven.

I drew to a stop just inside the room.

Stas sat in a chair by the window, shoulders broad, posture rigid, eyes fixed on me. Morning light softened the sharp angles of his face, but not the tension in it. On the table, a cup of coffee, a bottle of water, and aspirin were arranged neatly. The sight of that little spread twisted my insides.

I swallowed hard past the tightness in my throat.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly. His voice was too gentle and didn’t match his expression. “You should drink some water to hydrate. And if you want something to eat after⁠—”

“What are you doing here?”

Stas stood slowly, his movements deliberate. “You really think you can hide from me?” His voice dropped lower. “After you agreed you were mine?”

I opened my mouth to tell him I didn’t remember shit, but then he stepped closer, and the lie vanished. He lifted his hand. I tensed without meaning to.

He brushed his fingers over a bruise blooming across my ribs. A soft touch. Too soft. That tenderness from him felt worse than violence because it made me feel seen, exposed, unarmored.

“I’m going to kill him for touching you,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

I stepped back, towel hitching. “Don’t. Not for me. I’m the one who’s the violent, unpredictable monster, remember?”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. “When it comes to the people I care about, I can be worse.”

The words hit me like a blow. He truly cared about me? Why wasn’t he running away after all Zasha had said?

“Don’t waste your care on me,” I forced out, the words scraping up my throat. “Ask Zasha. He’ll tell you the same thing. I fuck people and leave them. That’s what I do, so save yourself the trouble.”

I took a step back and then another. Stas didn’t chase me, but the space between us vibrated like he was seconds from doing it.

“You’re not wrong,” he said. “You do walk away.”

He closed the distance by slow degrees, not touching yet but so close enough his body heat bled into mine.

“But not from me.”

My laugh came out rough, brittle, too loud in the quiet room. “I thought I just did.”

“That wasn’t you running away, or you would have left Kansas City. You stayed because you wanted me to come after you, didn’t you?”

He reached out again, this time for my wrist. His hold on me was too light for it to be a sign of control or restraint. His touch felt like a gentle reminder that he was there to steady me if I needed it.

“Don’t shut me out, Yu.”

My chest tightened. I hated how my body reacted to the sound of him shortening my name. Yu. Only my mother had ever called me that.

I hated how my hand didn’t pull away from his.

“You should listen to Zasha,” I whispered. “I’m no good for you. For anyone.”

He moved in until my back brushed the wall and his breath warmed my cheek.

“This time is different,” he murmured. “Because it’s me. And you know it.” He tilted my chin up with two fingers, lifting my gaze to his. “You can run from anyone else but not from me.”

Something inside me cracked—quiet, like a hairline fracture—but it did. An ache filled me, and for the first time in days, maybe weeks, honestly longer…I didn’t feel completely lost.

Just terrified.