REUNION
560 Words
POV: Marco
---
The city had a thousand faces. I checked every one.
Subway stations. Bus depots. Street corners where the homeless huddled against the cold. No Sasha. No Ivan. No Dmitri's men.
Just me, alone, hunting ghosts.
---
Antonio's voice crackled through my earpiece. "Anything?"
"Nothing."
"We have eyes on Ivan. He's at a warehouse in Red Hook. Dmitri's not with him."
"Then Dmitri's somewhere else. Waiting."
"Probably." A pause. "Where are you?"
"Brooklyn."
"Come in. Regroup. We'll find her together."
"I can't."
"Marco—"
"She's out there alone. Hunted. Scared. I'm not stopping until I find her."
Silence. Then: "Keep your comm on. I'll send backup."
"I don't need backup. I need her."
I cut the line.
---
She found me.
Not the other way around.
I was checking a diner near Tatiana's building when I felt her – a prickle on my neck, a shift in the air. I turned.
Sasha stood at the end of the block, hood up, hands in her pockets. Watching.
I crossed to her. Didn't speak. Just pulled her close and held on.
"You're alive," I said into her hair.
"You're not getting rid of me that easily."
I laughed – ragged, desperate, relieved. She laughed too.
"We need to move," she said. "They're still looking."
"I know a place."
"Another bunker?"
"Better. Home."
---
My apartment was compromised. Dmitri's men had been there – I could tell from the displaced pictures, the disturbed dust. But it wasn't wired. Wasn't bugged. They'd been sloppy.
Or they wanted us to come back.
Sasha stood in the living room, turning in a slow circle. "They were here."
"They were. They're not now."
"How do you know?"
"Because I would have heard them breathing."
She looked at me – that look, the one that said she was trying to decide if I was crazy.
"Stay here," I said. "I'll check the perimeter."
"No."
"Sasha—"
"I'm not letting you out of my sight."
I wanted to argue. But I was tired of arguing. Tired of running. Tired of being alone.
"Fine," I said. "Together."
She nodded. "Together."
---
We cleared the building floor by floor. Room by room. No sign of Dmitri's men. No sign of Ivan.
By the time we reached the roof, the sun was setting.
Sasha stood at the edge, looking out at the city.
"I used to dream about this," she said. "When I was a kid. Before my father turned me into a weapon. I used to dream about New York. About being free."
"Are you?"
"Free?" She turned. "No. Not yet. But I'm closer than I've ever been."
I crossed to her, stood beside her.
"What happens when this is over?" I asked.
"You keep asking that."
"Because you keep not answering."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she took my hand.
"When this is over, I want to stay. I want to see what it's like – not running, not hiding, not pretending. Just... being."
"With me?"
"With you."
I raised her hand to my lips, kissed her knuckles.
"Then we make sure it's over."
"And if it's not?"
"Then we keep fighting. Together."
She leaned into me, rested her head on my shoulder.
"Together," she whispered.
We watched the sun set over the city, two broken people who'd finally found something worth holding onto.
- Writer
