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Oscar confirms what we already know—by conducting business with Serg, at the location they’ve chosen, they’re hoping to draw Alek out of hiding. Two birds, one stone. They have an army—and that isn’t an exaggeration—of men willing to protect Astra, their new leader.
From what we can tell, Oscar is merely a lackey, tagging along for the ride. Astra is intent on revenge while Oscar just wants to wreak havoc wherever he can.
Two nights ago, Astra finally emerged from hiding. Oscar mentioned she was tending to her wounds as she was hurt quite badly in the explosion. Too bad the explosion couldn’t ravage her personality because when she waltzed into Oscar’s house, demanding bloodshed and violence, it seems she hasn’t changed.
We didn’t overhear too much as they were out of range, but we heard enough. Alek is what Astra really wants. The drugs are a bonus.
Finally coming to terms with my “feelings” for Alek has been a small weight lifted from my shoulders. He hasn’t spoken to me since Saint beat him to a bloody pulp, but that’s okay. I’ve come to realize that I can’t save everyone.
He knows the risks, but he is still intent on going. All I can do now is focus on my future.
Saint and I are sitting around the fireplace because the snow has overthrown the cold. Now, it’s not just cold, it’s fucking freezing. Saint reads the newspaper while I’m flicking through a fashion magazine from the early 90s. It seems Larisa is a hoarder.
Pavel enters, thankfully interrupting my perusal of claw clips and denim overalls. “It’s done,” he states, which has both Saint and I peering up in question.
He reaches into his jacket pocket, producing two passports. “Tomorrow, you can go home.”
Those words are so foreign because I never thought I’d hear them again. But as Pavel holds our ticket out of here, I quickly catch up to speed. “Tomorrow?” I ask in case I had a lapse in hearing.
Saint lowers the newspaper, his interest piqued.
“Yes, it’s all been taken care of.” Pavel tosses my passport into my lap as I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor. I dare not open it as I catch it. It feels like dynamite in my hands.
Saint reaches for his. “What’s the plan?”
“Well, it goes without saying that you can’t just catch a flight out of here. I’ve organized a private charter plane to fly you out of Moscow tomorrow evening to London. The flight isn’t long. Roughly three and a half hours. From Heathrow, you will catch an international flight just like your average seasoned traveler. You land in Los Angeles after eleven or so hours.”
I blink once, stunned because this is a plan, and it could work.
“Don’t ask questions when you get on that charter plane. The less you know, the better. The pilot owes me a favor but don’t mistake him for a friend. It wasn’t cheap,” Pavel reveals, but Saint shrugs untroubled as he opens the passport.
I watch closely as he stares at the document. “William Daniels,” Saint reads, arching a brow. “That’s an easy one to remember.”
And just like that, Saint goes by a new name.
My fingers tremble as I open the crisp passport. I can’t believe how real it looks. The photo which Pavel took a couple of days ago stares back at me, as does the name Emma Miller. The details claim my birthday is February first.
“When you get to America, someone will meet you at the gate, where you will bypass customs and immigration. Believe me, that wasn’t easy to arrange, but it’s done. Once you’re through, you’re on your own. If anyone asks any questions, let the person who meets you take care of it. Keep a low profile, all right? If you fuck up, I can’t help you.”
“We won’t,” Saint replies, snapping the passport shut.
“I have Zoey’s passport also.”
His comment has me lifting my gaze. So it appears she’s coming too. Saint notices I clam up, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Congratulations,Will,” Pavel says, slapping Saint on the shoulder. “You’ve just gotten your ticket out of here.”
Those words are a cause to celebrate, so why does it feel like we’re both mourning the death of a friend? When I peer back down at the passport, I realize the reason is because to leave this country, I have to leave Willow Shaw behind.
I know it’s just a name, but what it represents leaves a gaping hole in my chest. If I were to be honest, I’m leaving more than a name behind. I’m leaving behind who I am and starting a brand-new life, and that’s frightening.
“I also have driver’s licenses and social security cards. You’re pretty much all set.” This plan sounds foolproof, but I know there is no such thing.
You’d think given what we hold in our hands, Saint and I would be celebrating, but a somber mood stirs between us. Everything is so different now, and if I’m honest, going back to reality terrifies me.
The front door opens, and the howling wind blows in behind Larisa as she lugs two large suitcases. Pavel quickly helps her as she shakes the flecks of snow from her graying hair. She has really stuck her neck out for us. I wish there was a way I could thank her.
When my stomach grumbles, I realize a way that I can. “Let’s celebrate,” I announce, wanting to break this stagnant feeling lingering in the air.
