Octavia
I wake to the buzz of a phone.
I groan and reach for it blindly, desperate to silence the noise. It’s far too early. I could sleep for an entire day and still wake up exhausted.
A groan sounds behind me.
Markev has me wrapped tight, his body curved around mine, one arm heavy over my waist. I’m pressed back against him, tangled in the sheets.
The sound stops.
Then it starts again.
“Wait,” I mumble as he pulls me closer. “Let me see what it is.”
I manage to wriggle free and sit up, reaching for the phone on the nightstand.
Arlo’s name flashes across the screen.
My brows knit together, unease settles in my chest. “What the hell…”
Behind me, Markev is upright now, fully awake, watching my expression change.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I shake my head, distracted. “Arlo’s calling me.”
His jaw tightens. “Why the fuck would he call you?”
I ignore his possessiveness and answer before he can reach for the phone, the uneasy feeling refusing to let go.
“Hello?”
There’s no greeting.
“It’s Ophelia,” he says, and then he gives me a hospital name in London.
Why the fuck would he say a hospital name in the same sentence as my sister?
My heart slams so hard it leaves me lightheaded. My vision blurs.
Is she hurt?
Did her blood sugar drop?
Did she fall?
If it were something like that, she would be here. We have doctors. We have a hospital on the island. They wouldn’t take her to London unless…
Hands frame my face.
“Tell me,” Markev demands. “What happened?”
“My sister,” I manage. “I think… I think she’s in the hospital.”
The words don’t feel real.
My body goes numb.
I barely register him moving. I don’t notice him getting off the bed, crossing the room, opening drawers. The world narrows to a single, terrifying thought.
She needs to be okay.
He kneels in front of me with clothes in his hands, lifts my leg carefully, and pulls leggings over it.
I want to say I can do it myself.
In truth, I can’t.
My chest feels caved in.
He pulls a sweatshirt over my head, guiding my arms through. He helps me into my socks and shoes next.
“Let’s go,” he says.
He takes my hand, and we’re moving.
A car is already waiting.
The driver opens the door and I climb in without a word, Markev slides in beside me as the car pulls away.
I stare out the window. Then his arms come around me, grounding, pulling me back against his chest. I don’t resist.
I need it.
He doesn’t speak and I don’t want him to.
All I can think about is my sister. About how I failed her. About the distance that crept in between us, both of us hiding things, and changing.
Guilt presses hard on my ribs.
I just need her to be alive.
Breathing.
The car slows as we reach the airstrip. A private plane waits ahead.
We step inside, and a man greets us in Russian.
I understand immediately.
It’s Markev’s plane.
Normally, I would have something to say about that. I would bristle at the idea of using anything that most certainly belongs to him.
But I don’t have the energy.
All that matters is that it’s going to London.