Page 47

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. I stared at my hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Adriana.”

“Demitri—”

“No.” He leaned back against the booth, his eyes never leaving mine.“You were attacked. You were hunted. You came to me because you had nowhere else to go. None of that is your fault.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

I swallowed.

“I know I didn't cause it. That's not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

I looked down at the table.

“You've barely slept. You haven't stopped watching doors or windows since we left. You keep changing buses and checking everyone around us. You haven't eaten properly.”

“I ate.”

“Coffee isn't food.”

I twisted my fingers together.

“You're doing all of this because of me.”

“I'm doing what must be done. I’m a priest, remember? It’s what I do—fix things.”

“And what does that cost you?”

He was silent.

“That’s what I mean,” I said. “I'm so wrapped up in surviving that I haven't even stopped to think about what this is doing to you.”

“Adriana.”

“I've made your life dangerous.”

“You didn't make my life anything.”

I shook my head.

“You shouldn't have to do this.”

“Shouldn't I?” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.“Listen to me. I know exactly what I'm doing.”

“You could get hurt.”

“So could you.”