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“Let me help you.”

“I can manage.”

“You’re so numb, you can’t even feel your hands.”

“I said I can do it.” My voice rose, sharpened by panic and humiliation.

Demitri caught my wrist before I tore the button from the fabric.

“Stop.”

The command cut through the noise inside me.

I stared at his hand around mine. Dried blood darkened the edge of his cuff. A shallow cut crossed one knuckle, and another marked his jaw where a fragment of glass had struck him.

He looked steadier than I felt.

“I need it off,” I whispered.

His grip loosened.

“Let me.”

My arms fell to my sides.

Demitri stood close enough for me to smell the copper tang of blood clinging to his clothes. He began unfastening the coat one button at a time.

His movements were controlled, but his fingers were not entirely steady.

The backs of his knuckles brushed against my blouse. Each contact lasted less than a second, yet my body registered every one.

At the final button, he eased the coat from my shoulders.

The bloodstained fabric dragged over my arms.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

He looked unconvinced. He turned the coat inward until Lucia’s blood disappeared, then placed it near the door as though removing it from my sight might stop me from seeing it.

My breathing came too fast.

Demitri examined my face, throat and arms. His jaw flexed. He took my right hand. A narrow cut crossed my palm. Blood had dried along the edge, mixed with dirt and tiny fragments of glass.

I hadn’t felt it until his thumb moved beside the wound.

“You’re bleeding.”

He led me into the kitchen and switched on the light. The bulb flickered twice before holding steady, casting a weak yellow circle across chipped tiles and an old wooden counter.

I sat on the edge while he opened the medical kit.

Neither of us spoke.

The quiet did not soothe me. It sharpened every sound and every movement.

Plastic tore beneath his fingers. Water rushed into the sink. Somewhere below us, the metal shutters of the tailor’s shop rattled in the wind.