Through the window, I watch afternoon storm clouds gather over the hills. The sky darkens to the color of old bruises. In her room upstairs, Ariel is probably watching the same view, trapped by her own condition just as surely as I’m trapped by mine.
The irony would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much.
Kosti busies himself at the stove, stirring the risotto I abandoned. The strong line of his shoulders betrays tension I can’t quite decode. “Sometimes,” he says without turning, “the bravest thing a warrior can do is wait.”
“Bravery and desperation look the same in the dark.”
He chuckles. “I’ve found them to be two sides of the same coin.” He adds a splash of wine to the pan. The smell of garlic and butter intensifies. “You think I spent my morning picking daisies?”
“You still haven’t sa
