Nora's POV
Two hours in, the crowd thins, but Mikhail hasn't moved.
Lola covers for me when I slip to the staff room for a break.
The "staff room" is a glorified closet: sink, mirror, ancient vending machine humming in the corner.
I splash water on my face, stare at my reflection.
Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from biting them every time he looked my way.
Get it together, Nora.
He's the past.
Caleb is now.
Another knock on the door.
"Lola, I need five more—"
The door opens.
Mikhail fills the frame.
I back up a step, heart slamming.
"Get out," I say, voice steady even if my knees aren't.
He steps inside anyway, closes the door, locks it with a soft click that echoes like a gunshot.
The space shrinks.
He's too big for this room.
