She doesn't say anything else. Maksim turns the corner onto the block where the school building is and pulls to the curb. Alex is out of the car before it fully stops. I get out, lean against the car, and wait.
She's back in four minutes with Evie beside her, the girl's overnight bag on her shoulder, her dark hair loose and her face scrubbed and her eyes sharp even at this hour in the way they always are. She sees me and stops walking. Then she looks at Alex.
"You called him?" she says.
"No, he was already there," Alex says, in a tone that says she is not going to be explaining this further.
Evie looks at me again, and then something in her face shifts warmly.
"Hi," she says.
"Hi," I say with what I hope is a pleasant smile. "How's Lily?"
"Fine," she says. "Her and the others played games, and gossiped about boys through the whole thing." She says it like she's still slightly offended by how unbothered Lily was. "I was the only one who heard it, or got bothered."
"You were listening for things," I say. "That's different."
She considers that. "That's a good way to put it.”
Alex watches this exchange with an expression I have learned to recognize — the particular combination of gratitude and alarmthat crosses her face when Evie accepts something, someone, before Alex has finished deciding whether it's safe to be accepted. She is always three steps behind Evie on these things. She doesn't know that yet. I open the car door for her. She gets in without arguing, which I count.
Maksim drives us back, and Alex thanks him, even calling him by name, which surprises him enough that he glances in the rearview mirror before catching himself. I file that tidbit away — she notices people, she remembers names, she treats the man driving the car with the same respect she treats everyone else.
Evie falls asleep against the window somewhere on the block between buildings, which reveals how exhausted she is. But it also reveals that she feels safe, even with me present. The car is quiet and dark, and Alex is beside me, close enough that I am aware of every breath she takes.
"Alex," I say quietly, so Evie doesn't stir.
"Don't," she says.
"I'm going to."
She looks at the back of Maksim's headrest. "Victor."
"I want more of you," I say. Simply. "I want more than an alley and a hallway and conversations that get interrupted. I want—" I stop. Consider.
She turns to watch me as I search for words. I can feel it.
"I want to know who you are," I say. "All of it. The parts you've shown me and the parts you haven't."
"That's not something I give people," she says. “It isn’t safe.”
"I know you think that," I say. "But I’m asking you to give it to me anyway."
She is quiet for a moment. “Why? What do you want from me? Not just my name, not who I am, what do you truly want Victor?”
"I want everything," I say. "The rest is just logistics. I wantyou."
She stares at me. Then she makes a sound that is almost a laugh and turns back to the window. I let her have the silence because we are pulling up to the building. Evie stirs against the glass as the car slows.
Mr. Roberts is in the lobby when we enter. This does not surprise me. Mr. Roberts is always in the lobby, which suggests either very good instincts or a comprehensive lack of anything else to do, or both. He sees Evie first, and his face lights up; he offers Alex a similar expression, and then he sees me behind her, and his face does something else entirely, which is the particular delight of a man watching something he predicted arriving right on schedule.
"There she is," he says to Evie. "All in one piece."
"I’m fine," Evie confirms, dropping her bag on the lobby floor to hug him. "I wasn't scared."
"Course not," he says, over her head, winking at Alex, who gives him a look.
"Victor." He extends his hand to me. "Glad you were around tonight."
