Matvei is still at first. He stands there, breathing through his nose, looking at me like he is afraid that, if he moves too fast, I will dissolve. His hair has fallen over at the front and is hanging over one eye. I can’t tell if I’m imagining things or if his hand really is shaking.
Then he goes down on his knees in front of me.
Not the way he did in Greyshot Arch, with my coat over his head and the dog walkers passing six feet away. And not the way he did on my living room rug, undressing me an inch at a time.
He kneels like he would in a church pew.
He puts his hands on his thighs, palms up. “Dikarka,” he rasps. “I am so sorry. I should never have left you in here. I told myself the cell was the only place he couldn’t reach you, so I left you behind while I went to find a way to ge
