He shushes me again, his thumb stroking along my cheekbone in time with his breathing. "You're going to be okay. I'll take care of you."
I want to believe him.
But hope is a dangerous thing.
"Sleep, krasavitsa."
With no other option in front of me, I obey.
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"Samuil!"
Myles's voice crackles and cuts out.
I tilt my phone towards the sky like that might make a difference in the s**t reception. Unsurprisingly, it changes nothing.
"I was starting to think you'd gone full homesteader on me," he says. "Long time, no chat."
It's only been a little over twenty-four hours since I texted him an update, which is approximately twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes longer than he can handle without having a meltdown.
"I've been occupied." The word choice is de
