He walks me to my car. The gravel crunches under our feet, and the wind whips my hair across my face, and I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead. If I look at him, I'll see the cages. If I look at the warehouse, I'll see the women. If I look anywhere but forward, I'll fall apart.
"You should go home," he says. "Sleep. You have the diner tomorrow night."
"I have a name for you."
"What's that?"
"Monster." I stop at my car door and turn to face him. "That's what you are. That's what you've built. A monument to suffering. And I just agreed to be part of it."
He doesn't flinch. He doesn't defend himself. He just stands there, grey eyes steady, and takes the word like it's nothing new.
"Maybe," he says. "But I'm also the only thing standing between you and the people who would use you the same way I use those women. The world is not kind, Monika. It takes and takes and takes. I am not kind either. But I am honest about what I am."
"Honest." I laugh—a bitter, broken sound. "You've never told me a single true thing about yourself."
"I told you my name."
"A name is nothing."
"It's everything." He steps closer, close enough that I can smell cedar and smoke, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body in the cold night air. "I gave you my name, Monika. No one else has that. No one else ever will."
I should step back. I should get in my car and drive away and never look back. I should call the police, the FBI, the newspapers. I should do something other than stand here, frozen, watching him watch me.
But I don't.
Because I saw the cages. And I didn't run. And that makes me complicit. And complicity is a chain, heavy and cold, and I'm already wearing it.
"Take me home," I say.
He nods. "I'll have Viktor follow. To make sure you get there safely."
"I don't need a babysitter."
"No. But you need someone to watch your back. The people who did this to Dmitri—they know about you now. They know you're connected to me. That makes you a target."
I feel something cold slide down my spine. "You should have told me."
"I'm telling you now."
I get in the car. He closes the door for me, his hand lingering on the handle for just a moment longer than necessary. Through the window, I watch him walk back toward the warehouse, his figure growing smaller and smaller until he disappears into the yellow light.
I sit in the dark for a long time, my hands on the steering wheel, my breath fogging the glass.
Then I start the engine and drive.
The apartment is dark when I get home.
I don't turn on the lights. I don't take off my shoes. I walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower, as hot as it will go, and I stand under the water until my skin is red and my mind is empty.
The money. I tell myself it's for vet school. For the future. For the life I was supposed to have before the farm failed and the city swallowed me whole.
But I know I'm lying.
The money is for the guilt. The money is to make it bearable. The money is so I can look at myself in the mirror and pretend I have a choice.
I don't have a choice. I haven't had a choice since the night a bleeding man walked into my diner and I decided to lean in instead of stepping back.
My mother was right. It's a gift and a curse.
