“We’re going to take turns bringing you food and stuff, so don’t worry. Someone will be here tomorrow with —”
“Grace, I’m fine.” Alexei’s voice is steady, but my hands shake.
“If there is anything in particular you’d like, just let me know. You’ve got Rosie’s phone and all of our numbers, but we probably shouldn’t use them except for emergencies because —”
“Grace,” Alexei says again, pulling me closer. I am trying to be strong, for him and for me. But the trying is too much sometimes — too hard — and I feel myself fall against him.
I’m not fighting anymore.
“When I saw that car explode …”
Alexei smooths my hair. He rests his cheek against the top of my head and holds me tighter.
“I know,” he says.
“I smelled smoke,” I somehow mutter. “I hate the smell of smoke. My mom … There was a fire. And ever since then …”
I’m shaking now, even as Alexei holds me tighter. The wound in my side hurts and I wince but I don’t want to pull away.
“It’s okay,” he says even though he’s the one who almost died, even though I should be comforting him.
“I’m sorry,” I say, because it’s what I always say. To Jamie and my grandpa and the world. I’m always sorry. Because the world broke a long time ago, and it was my fault. This is my fault, too. I just know it. And I have no idea how to fix it. “I’m sorry, Alexei.”
But, somehow, he laughs.
“I have never been drugged before. It was a new experience for me. And considering it saved my life …”
“Not for that.” I pull away and wipe my nose on my sleeve. “For my country. For how quick we were to hate you. I’m so sorry we’re so out for vengeance.”
Alexei is silent for too long. Even in his arms, I can feel his stare. “Are you not out for vengeance, Gracie?”
I push away from him and put my hand on my side, hurting. “Not from you.”
I don’t talk about the Scarred Man or the Society, the prime minister or whatever villain is still out there, unknown and unnamed.
Vengeance is like gravity for me. Always present, pulling me in a direction that I can no longer feel. It is simply the fact of my life, of who I am. Someday, though, I’m going to break free. And when that happens, I may very well just float away.
Alexei leans down and turns on one of Noah’s father’s lanterns. Its yellow glow fills the cave. Shadows dance across the walls. Overhead, a small sliver of rapidly darkening sky is the only thing that reminds me that there is a world out there, beyond the safety of this stone cocoon.
“It’s getting late,” he says. “You should go home. It would not do for your grandfather and Jamie to worry.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I mean, should someone tell your dad that you’re okay?” The dad who wanted to throw Alexei to the wolves just this morning.
“Everyone at the embassy will know I wasn’t in the car. They will feel nothing but relief.”
He’s right, of course, but still I do not move.
“They’re going to think …” But I trail off. The truth is I have no idea what anyone is going to think.
“Grace?”
“Yes?” I sway closer.
“I’m going to be okay,” he tells me, and I try to believe it.
“Of course you will,” I say.
“And, Grace …” Alexei brushes a piece of hair out of my face, tucks it behind my ear. “You’ll be okay, too.”
But as I slip through the narrow opening in the cave and out into the coming night, I can’t help but believe that Alexei is no longer perfect — that, for once, Alexei is most certainly wrong.
A man and woman are waiting in the upstairs sitting room when Ms. Chancellor summons me the next morning. Most of the time, we call it the family room, but these people are not family.
“Grace, these police officers would like to ask you some questions,” Ms. Chancellor says as soon as I walk in the room.
Prime Minister Petrovic already asked me some questions, I think but don’t say. Things have changed, after all. Outside, the street still smells like smoke, and even though the crowds have grown, they’re oddly silent. Reverent. But sides are forming. I can tell.
Embassy Row is filled with fire trucks and police cars that stand with swirling lights, and every news channel in the world is broadcasting live, all of them busy speculating on what happened.
None of them know the truth.
Some people think Russia blew up its own car to curry sympathy or let Alexei get away. Others believe it was an act of retaliation by the US — an answering strike that might lead to an all-out war. Some blame terrorists or extremists who want to see the US and Russia come to blows. And some are conspiracy theorists who rant and ramble and just sound crazy.
I’m one of the latter.
I don’t bother saying hello. I just eye the two cops and ask, “Do you know who blew up the car?” What I don’t add is that I’m almost afraid of the answer.
This isn’t about a dead cadet anymore.