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So I reach for a shred of wallpaper and then rip it down hard and fast.
Sonya gasps. “What are you doing?”
Truthfully, I have no idea. But I’m too curious to see if my hunch is right to back down now. I reach up and yank another strip of wallpaper.
It is oddly satisfying. The ripping sound. The way the glue fights to hold tight to the paper.
And this time, Ilya looks over at me.
I smile and pull another strip.
Sonya keeps issuing warnings from the kitchen, but I’m sure even she can’t deny that Ilya has calmed down. He’s still ripping wallpaper from the wall, but his movements are measured and controlled now. His face isn’t creased in anger or confusion.
He almost looks like he’s in a trance.
“I like the sound, too,” I say softly, stepping closer to him.
His hand hesitates for a second. I know he can hear me.
“Do you like the sound of the paper ripping?” I ask. “Is that why you do it?”
Ilya hesitates again… and then nods.
“It helps to hear a nice sound when you’re scared. Or upset. Were you upset?”
Ilya’s face twists into a grimace, and I reach up and shred another strip of the wallpaper. Instantly, he eases back down. “Loud,” he rumbles.
“Was it the loud noise?” I ask gently. “Sonya dropped a glass. She’s sorry.”
He shakes his head. Frustration creeps into his expression. “Kirill.”
“I’m a friend of Kirill’s.” I wave my fingers through the air. “Rayne. Do you remember me?”
Ilya looks straight into my eyes. The human-to-human connection nearly steals my breath away. He smiles, the scars along his left cheek and temple puckering. “Rayne has… blue eyes.”
“And you have green eyes. Like Kirill.”
Ilya touches his own face. He pauses over a scar, tracing the line with his finger. “Monsters are loud.”
“Monsters are just pretend. They aren’t real.” I’ve had this same conversation with Lily and Brady too many times to count. Anytime there is a monster or creature in a book, they ask ten times before bed if I’m absolutely, one hundred percent positive monsters aren’t real.
Ilya shakes his head. “Monsters have… a black hole… in their face. Loud.”
I don’t understand what he’s saying, but it’s the most I’ve ever heard him speak in one sitting. And I can tell that he means it. Ilya isn’t playing a game or pretending. He’s not like Lily or Brady trying to delay bedtime by making me search their closets for creatures. He’s truly scared.
“Nothing will hurt you, Ilya. You’re safe here.”
“Safe,” he says solemnly. “Kirill.”
“Kirill keeps you safe?”
“Kirill protects,” he says. “Kirill is… good.”
“Well, aren’t you quite the wingman?” I mutter.
It’s hard not to like Kirill when you see him through his brother’s eyes. Ilya obviously adores him.
The big man frowns at me, but I gesture towards the table now that things seem to have calmed down. “Do you want to do a puzzle?”
