Page 17 of Kazimir

He laughed, a sound so sudden and genuine that Yuri cracked a smile from across the room.

I sat back, full for the first time in months. I felt warm, and for a second, I forgot that I was in the weirdest situation I’d been in since I could remember. And that was saying something.

Kazimir stood, signaling that the interrogation—or whatever this was—was over. “Yuri will drive you home. You will not be followed.”

I looked at him, and for the first time, I wanted to ask him if I could stay.

Instead, I just said, “Thank you. For the food. And the weirdest night of my life.”

He nodded, then left, his presence lingering like a scent.

Yuri offered his arm. I didn’t take it, but I walked beside him, feeling steadier than I had in ages. I glanced back once, hoping for another glimpse of Kazimir.

But he was already gone, vanished like a dream at sunrise.

The drive back to my apartment was silent, but not in a hostile way. Yuri piloted the car—black, of course, and so smooth it felt like floating on air. City lights rolled by, neon and off-yellow against the tinted windows. I kept waiting for him to turn on the radio or fill the quiet, but he didn’t seem the type to make small talk for its own sake.

He parked a block from my building; he clearly didn’t want to advertise a car like this in my neighborhood. I respected the move.

“I can walk from here,” I said, hand on the door.

Yuri looked at me, those dark eyes catching the streetlamp glow. “I am to escort you to your door.”

“Really?” I tried not to laugh, but the idea of this massive, silent man trailing me up two flights of stairs was so absurd it was almost comforting. “Okay.”

The block was half-lit and smelled like wet cardboard, but tonight it felt almost safe. Nobody lurked on the stoop or hovered under the busted streetlight. Even my usual paranoia was dialed down to a low buzz. Yuri walked at my shoulder, scanning every window and shadow. We didn’t talk.

The inside of my building was all chipped tile and secondhand cigarette smoke. On the second floor, my apartment door—a sheet of old plywood with three deadbolts—waited like a question mark. I fumbled with the keys.

Yuri peered at the door, then the bolts. “Not secure.”

“It’s fine,” I said, letting myself in. I tried to close the door behind me, but he stopped it with one finger. His face was as neutral as always, but I could tell he was debating something.

“Do not open for anyone but me or Kazimir,” he said.

I nodded, then, on a weird impulse, stuck my hand out. “Thanks.”

He shook it, his grip so gentle it was almost funny, then left, footsteps whisper-quiet on the cracked tile.

Inside, my apartment was exactly as I’d left it: a single room, futon folded into couch mode, tiny kitchenette stacked with plates. My possessions fit into a backpack. I’d made a game of keeping everything spotless, like I could fool myself into thinking the place was temporary.

I locked all three deadbolts, turned on my lamp, and collapsed onto the futon.

The hunger was gone, replaced by a new kind of ache. Not fear, not even curiosity. Longing, maybe. I wanted—needed—to understand what had happened at Obsidian, and why Kazimir’s voice and hands still haunted my skin.

I peeled off my hoodie and checked my arms for bruises, then turned around and checked my back in the cracked mirror over the sink. The scars between my shoulder blades were still there, angry and red against pale skin. I ran my finger down one, shivered, then let the hoodie fall to the floor.

I remembered how Kazimir had looked at me—not just at my face, but like he could see through bone and memory and into whatever secret was curled at the center of me. I’d never met anyone who made me want to be seen.

I grabbed my notebook, the one the hospital shrink had suggested I keep, and wrote a single line: What am I?

Then I lay down, closed my eyes, and replayed every detail—the velvet foyer, Amara’s disgust, Yuri’s silence, the steak, and most of all Kazimir’s cold, beautiful eyes—until I drifted into sleep.

Even in my dreams, I couldn’t stop running toward him.

Chapter 6

Kazimir