Page 11

Another page passes. Then another. Eventually, Ivy leans completely against her. Watching them together feels so natural that it's difficult to remember how recently Maggie entered our lives.

Maggie notices my attention on them but continues reading, her voice growing quieter as the rabbit finally finds his way home. By the time she reaches the last page, Ivy has fallen asleep. The room is silent except for the soft rhythm of her breathing.

She closes the book carefully. Neither of us speaks while we watch her sleeping peacefully. For the first time since the shelter, the relentless pressure crushing me eases just enough for me to breathe.

Shadows ring Maggie’s eyes, and her hair is still damp from the quick shower at her apartment, but she keeps one hand in Ivy's curls and the other near the edge of the blanket, ready to respond if Ivy stirs.

I stand from the rocking chair and make my way across the room, the silence remaining undisturbed.

“You should get some rest,” I tell her, keeping my voice low.

She looks down at Ivy, then back at me. “I can try,” she whispers.

She sounds exhausted rather than convinced. I know that look. She wants to leave because she thinks she should, not because she believes Ivy is ready for it.

“Maggie,” I murmur.

She shakes her head, as though she already knows what I'm about to say. “I know.”

Slowly, Maggie eases her arm from beneath Ivy. Her hand barely leaves my daughter before Ivy wakes with a startled breath. She doesn't glance around or orient herself. Her attention goes straight to Maggie.

“No.” Ivy's voice breaks. “Don't go.”

Maggie freezes and she looks as shaken as Ivy sounds. “Hey, sweetheart, I'm right here.”

Ivy pushes herself upright, half-tangled in the blanket, tears filling her eyes again. “Please don't leave me.”

I take one step closer, but Maggie is already moving, pulling Ivy back into her arms. My daughter clings to her while Maggie rubs small circles on her back.

“I won't go anywhere,” Maggie promises. “I'm staying right here.”

Ivy trembles against her. “All night?”

“All night,” Maggie assures her. “You don't have to worry about that.”

I remain near the foot of the bed with my hands at my sides, unable to do anything but watch. There are problems I can solve with money, power, men, information, or violence. This isn’t one of them. My daughter is frightened, and the person holding her together is a woman who should never have been pulled into this life.

Maggie's eyes lift to mine. For once, there’s no teasing in them. No humor. No attempt to lighten the moment. Only exhaustion, grief, and fear she’s trying to hide.

“Are you alright?” I ask quietly.

She lets out a breath that nearly breaks before she swallows it down. “No.”

I rub a hand across my jaw. The honesty of her answer is harder to hear than reassurance would have been. “I didn't think you were.”

“I'm worried about her,” she says.

“I am too.

“She's so little, Alexei.” The strain in her voice is impossible to miss. “She shouldn't have seen any of that.”

“No,” I agree. “She shouldn't have.”

Maggie looks toward the window where the curtains hang closed against the night. Beyond them, guards patrol the grounds and cameras watch every entrance. None of it changes what happened. None of it brings Irina back.

After a moment, Maggie looks at me again. “Why would anyone try to take her?”

“I don't have all the answers yet,” I admit. I move closer to the side of the bed, lowering myself near the edge without disturbing Ivy. “We'll talk more in the morning. For tonight, you stay with her and rest.”