Chapter 27 I've had roommates for all of two seconds and still, the apartment now feels desolate and empty when I walk into it. The sight of Luka's Nikes goes a long way in helping my sour mood, though. Even seeing Kovan's empty mug in the kitchen sink leaves a pleasant little tickle running down my spine. How is it that they've managed to encroach into my life without me resenting the intrusion? It defies all logic. Especially considering I'm a hermit who's longed for solitude my entire life. Maybe it's the nature of my job. Maybe it's just my nature. Dad used to call me his little recluse. You're the only kid I know who'd rather play with skeletons than real life children. He wasn't kidding, either. There's a skeleton in the medical library at St. Raphael's whom I considered my friend. I even named him. Tony. Because it rhymed with "Bony" and I thought that was funny. Now, if you asked anyone about the skeleton in the stacks, they all refer to Tony by name. Not many people know how he got it. I pour myself coffee with inexplicably shaking hands and sit down at the kitchen table, stewing in the silence, lost in thoughts that don't really start or end anywhere in particular. But sitting feels like slow torture, so I force myself back to my feet. Go somewhere. Do something. Clean, if nothing else. I go hunting for something to organize. I have no idea when Kovan and Luka will be home tonight. But I assume they will be, considering their stuff is littered all over my apartment. Kovan's shirt is still where he left it, tossed casually over the back of the armchair he didn't sleep in. Setting down my mug on the windowsill, I pick it up and inhale guiltily. An embarrassing "Oh, God" floats past my lips before I can reel it back in. I throw the shirt right back where it belongs. He hadn't so much as touched me. And yet I was so aware of him the entire night. The strength radiating from his body. The heat that seeped into my skin until I was forced to throw off my covers or else start sweating like a pig. Like spring sun, that heat opened up little parts of me. Parts that haven't seen daylight in a long, long time. The sexual part of myself I've neglected. The emotional part of myself I've stifled. The romantic part of myself that I've denied. The sound of the key in the lock sends terror racing through me. My heart does a stupid little flutter. Grabbing my mug of coffee, I walk coolly back into the living room and pretend as though I haven't spent the last half-hour waiting impatiently for them to return. "Hey," I call out, "how did everything⁠-" The words die in my throat when I see Luka's face. His usual brightness has been snuffed out like a candle. His shoulders curl inward as if he's trying to disappear into himself and almost succeeding. "Can I go play in the other room?" His voice is small, defeated. He won't even look at me. "Of course, if that's what you want." I kneel down to his level. "But I thought we were going to watch that movie tonight?" He shuffles his feet, shoulders heavy. "I don't want to anymore." "Okay. Sure. Whatever you want. What about dinner? I could try to make⁠-" "I'm not hungry." Each word is another door slamming shut between us. I swallow every other suggestion I had, every stupid attempt to fix whatever his mother broke today. "Alright then. Don't let me keep you." He grabs his backpack and disappears into the second bedroom, and just like that, the apartment feels colder. I turn to Kovan, who has moved to the kitchen. His back is to me but I know he can see me out of the corner of his eyes. I wait for an explanation but none seems forthcoming. "You wanna tell me what happened?" I ask at last, frustrated and concerned. "The same shit that always happens when he sees that woman." When he turns to face me, his eyes are winter-dark and furious. I step back instinctively. "She's a plague. Everything she touches dies." "What did she say to him?" "It doesn't matter." He brushes past me, and I catch the sweaty scent of his rage, sharp and metallic. "Especially not to you." His words hurt. This isn't the man who made me breakfast this morning. This isn't the man who shared his secrets in the dark last night. I knew he was dangerous, sure. But since we were going to be on the same side, I figured it didn't matter. I realize now how stupid and naïve and short sighted I was being. Because the truth is, we're not a team. I'm merely a puppet whose strings are being pulled by a master. "I know you're upset, but⁠-" "'Upset'?" He whirls on me, and for a second, I see something feral flash across his face. "I'm not upset, Dr. Fairfax. I'm ready to burn the fucking world down." "Y'know, funny enough, I can see that." "Then maybe you should shut your mouth before I say something we'll both regret." He stalks into my bedroom, and I stand there staring after him like an idiot. Like someone who thought she mattered to him. I take a long time to finish my coffee while standing at the sink, watching rain streak down the window. By the time I dare to venture into the bedroom, Kovan is already in bed, phone in hand, studiously ignoring me and the rest of the world. He doesn't apologize. He doesn't explain. He doesn't even acknowledge I exist. I get ready for bed in silence. The whole time, I'm waiting for him to say something. Anything, goddammit. But he just keeps staring at that screen, his jaw locked tight enough to crack teeth. I give up. I climb into bed and align myself against the far edge of the mattress, as far from him as I can get without falling off. He turns off the light without asking. Neither of us says goodnight. His fingers fly across his phone in the dark, the blue glow casting harsh shadows on his face. I want to rip that phone out of his hands. I want to demand he talk to me like I'm a person instead of a prop in his little performance. I want to ask him about last night, about the quiet intimacy we shared, about whether any of it was real. But I don't. Because this is my reality check. This is who Kovan Krayev really is when the charm drops away. Cold. Distant. Utterly indifferent to anything that doesn't serve his purposes. I'm not his partner. I'm not his friend. I'm a convenience. A means to an end. I don't matter to Kovan Krayev and I never will. And the sooner I remember that, the better off I'll be. Even if forgetting feels impossible when he's lying twelve inches away from me. Close enough to touch, but farther away than ever.