SIX #3
“Niko told me that you said no to the flat. It’s family housing attached to base,” I say. “Not on the main barracks.”
She stares at me through damp lashes. “Why are you bringing this up?”
“Because I want you there.”
Her brow furrows. “Arseny—”
“You would have people nearby. Niko can get to you faster. If something goes wrong, you are not stuck out here on your own, counting minutes and staring at the front door. There are other families, medics, transport, and people coming and going. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than this.”
She shakes her head immediately, which I expected. “No. I can’t just move.”
“Yes, you can.”
“We’ve got all our stuff here.”
“Most of your stuff is baby blankets and unpaid stress.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She pushes her chair back a little and wipes her face. “I can’t have everyone looking at me.”
“Nobody has time to look at you. They’re all busy ruining their own lives.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“It is a little.”
She exhales hard through her nose, halfway between anger and reluctant amusement. Then she goes quiet again and looks over at Vladimir in his cot. “I don’t want Niko to think I can’t cope.”
I lean back. “I suspect Niko already knows you can’t cope.” The words are blunt, but I keep my voice level. “That doesn’t mean he thinks less of you. It means he has eyes.”
“He’ll worry if I move there.”
“He’s already worried.”
She rubs her thumb against the ceramic mug, thinking. I can almost see the argument taking place in her head, every practical objection lined up against the simple fact that she is tired enough to know I am right. “I don’t want people taking Vladimir away from me,” she says at last.
“They won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if anyone tries, they deal with me first.”
One brow lifts faintly. Then, unexpectedly, she laughs. “If I say yes,” she says slowly, “I’m not going today.”
“I didn’t say today.”
“You’ll tell Niko.”
“I will.”
“I need to pack properly.”
“Fine.”
“And I want it to be because I agreed, not because I was told.”
“I’m asking, Cassie. Not ordering. But I am asking seriously.”
She looks toward the window, then the cot, then back at me. When she speaks, her voice is thin with exhaustion but steady. “Okay.”
Relief moves through me so fast it almost makes me stupid.
I sit back before it shows too plainly and nod once.
“Good.” She lets out a shaky breath, as if saying it aloud has taken more out of her than the crying did.
“I’ll arrange it,” I say. “You can stay here until it’s ready.
I’ll sort the housing office, make sure Niko knows what’s happening, and we’ll get you moved without a circus. ”
Her eyes close briefly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Government housing has a smell.” She huffs a laugh again. “Have you eaten?” I ask, looking toward the kitchen.
“I had toast this morning.”
“It’s nearly four.”
“I forgot.”
“Yes,” I say, standing up, “that was the part worrying me.”
I poke around in her kitchen and find enough to make something that qualifies as food if nobody asks difficult questions.
I cook while she feeds Vladimir when he wakes up, and for ten minutes, the flat feels almost normal.
Baby whining, pan hissing, Cassie muttering soft nonsense under her breath as she shifts him against her shoulder.
I watch her without making a show of it.
The love is there in every movement, which makes the rest of it sadder and easier to understand at the same time.
When I put a plate in front of her, she actually eats, which I count as another small victory. Vladimir ends up in my arms after that because she needs both hands, and I’m apparently available.
He stares at me with the grave suspicion babies reserve for men who are not their fathers, then grabs one of my fingers with terrifying strength.
“You’re ugly,” I tell him quietly. “That’s all right. Your father is worse.” Cassie snorts into her tea, which makes me feel better. Much better.
By the time I leave, the light outside has gone that flat blue-white colour that means evening is coming early again. Cassie walks me to the door with Vladimir against her shoulder, his face mashed into her jumper.
“You’ll talk to Niko first?” she asks.
I pull my jacket on. “I’ll handle him.”
She nods, then hesitates. “Don’t make it sound worse than it is.” She gives me a tired, helpless little shrug. “I know how that sounds.”
“I will tell him the truth,” I say. “No more, no less.”
That seems to satisfy her.
I open the door, then stop and glance back. “Lock this after me.”
“Arseny—”
“I’m serious. And if you have a bad night, or you start panicking, or you hear something that isn’t there and it scares you, you ring base and you ask for Niko or me. I don’t care what time it is.”
She looks as if she wants to argue, then thinks better of it. “Okay.”
I nod once and head down the corridor. When I get back into the car, I sit for a moment with the engine off. Now I know two things with perfect clarity. Cassie can’t stay in that flat much longer. And my brother is in worse trouble than he has let anybody see.