Pale morning light filtered through the thin curtains of Elena’s studio. The broken door had been pushed mostly closed during the night, though it no longer latched. Alexander was still in the chair, jacket folded over the arm, sleeves rolled up. He looked like he had slept in short, uneasy stretches, if at all.
Elena sat up slowly on the bed. The open suitcase remained on the floor where she had left it, untouched.
“You stayed,” she said.
“I told you I would.” His voice was rough from the long night. “How do you feel?”
“Tired. Confused. Less like I’m about to disappear than I did at midnight.” She pulled her knees up under the blanket. “You meant everything you said last night. About your mother. About why you built yourself that way.”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” He leaned for
