Chapter 298: Ready

After a while, she opened her eyes. She looked at him. Her face was wet, and she did not seem to know it. She moved her arm a little, carefully, and the needles flashed.

"Better," she said. It was barely a whisper. He nodded.

She started to take them out, one at a time, laying each on the cloth. Her hands were steadier now. When the last was gone, she folded the cloth over them and put the case aside. She leaned her head back against the wall.

Then, all at once, her strength ran out. She tipped sideways, slowly, like a tree in a soft wind, and Viktor caught her before she touched the pillow. His arms came around her, and her cheek pressed against his chest, and she let out a long, shuddering sigh.

He held her.

The cabin was very quiet. The light through the round window had turned from gray to pale gold, and it lay in a small circle on the blanket. Somewhere above, a gull cried once, and the engine hummed beneath their feet. The ship rolled gently, and they rolled with it.

Neither of them spoke.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. She curled her fingers into the front of his shirt. They sat together on the narrow bed with the sea all around them, and each of them was praying, in their own way, to whatever might be listening.

The door opened without a knock.

It was only a soft click and a thin line of gray light across the floor. But Viktor’s eyes were open before the hinge finished turning, and Sienna’s were open a heartbeat behind his. They had not been asleep, only been resting in the space between two storms.

Marcus stood in the doorway.

He did not come in at first. He stood with one hand on the frame, and the scar on his chin stood out white against his tanned face. He had been up all night. His jacket was damp with sea spray, and his eyes were tight.

That was enough. Neither of them needed to be told. The worst is not over.

Viktor let go of her slowly. His arms had been around her for so long that they had gone stiff, and for a second he did not seem to know what to do with them. Sienna sat up against the wall. She felt like a shadow of herself, thin and gray and light, as if a strong wind could carry her off the bed.

Viktor stood and crossed the cabin in three steps. He did not speak aloud.

He leaned close to Marcus and tilted his head, and Marcus bent to meet him. Their voices dropped to a murmur, low and fast, no more than breath. Viktor’s back was to her. She saw his shoulders tighten once, and then again.

She could not hear a single word.

She did not need to.

She sat on the edge of the narrow bed with the wool blanket in her lap and watched the two men’s faces, and the whole story assembled itself in front of her like a puzzle finishing. A phone call. A ship on the horizon. She did not know the details. She did not want them.

I am being hunted.

It was a strange thing to think so calmly. It no longer felt like a shock. It felt like weather, like something that had always been coming, and had finally arrived.

And it did not matter who the hunter was. It could be her father, with his gentle voice and his white suit, sending a hundred men across the water. It could be her father’s enemies, with their purple coats and their old patient hunger. It could be both. Either way, the shape was the same.

They want what is in my blood. She pressed her hand flat against the blanket and breathed.

Viktor nodded. Marcus slipped out and the door clicked shut behind him, and the cabin was quiet again.

Viktor turned around.

For a moment he only stood there, with the gray light from the round window falling across his face. He looked at Sienna. Then he looked away, and moved briskly, as if he had a hundred things to do in a very small time.

He took his shirt from the chair and pulled it on. He buttoned it fast, wrong, then undid the buttons and did it again. He found the belt and the dark jacket Marcus had given him, and shrugged into them. He checked a small pocket and then another.

Then he bent over the canvas bag at the foot of the bed. He took out a gray pair of sweatpants and a heavy pullover with a hood. He shook them out and held them up. They were plain and soft and a little worn at the cuffs.

He looked at them. Then he looked at the oversized sweater she was wearing, the one that hung to her knees, and something in his face eased.

"This one actually fits," he said. He said it quietly, almost shyly. "Not perfectly. But better than the first."

Sienna took them from his hands.

Her fingers were clumsy. She turned the clothes over, found the neck, found the sleeves. She did not say much. She only wanted to get dressed, to be ready, to put something between herself and whatever was coming up the stairs.

But when she tried to stand, her knees did not agree.

Viktor caught her elbow. He sat her down again, gently, on the edge of the bed. He took the sweatpants from her, shook them open, and smiled.

It was a small, crooked smile. It was meant to be easy, and it almost was.

"Let me."

"Viktor, I can..."

"I know you can." He did not argue. He only waited, with his hands held out, until she gave a short breath and let him.

He helped her out of the big sweater and into the pullover. He pulled the soft cloth down over her shoulders and straightened the neck. He slid the sweatpants over her feet, one leg and then the other, and drew them up to her waist, and tied the cord with careful fingers. He did it without hurry. He did it as if it were the only task in the world.

Then he took her shoes from under the bed.

They were canvas sneakers, a size too large, with the laces pulled out. Marcus had found them in a bag in the ship’s store. Viktor knelt on the metal floor in front of her and fitted the first one over her foot.