登入Amber’s POV I woke up in my own bed with no real memory of getting there, and for a moment I just lay still, trying to piece together the last clear thing I remembered before everything went soft and strange. The car. My head against the window. After that, nothing solid, just fragments, warmth against my cheek that might have been a hand, a voice saying my name low enough that I couldn’t be sure I hadn’t dreamed it. There was a damp cloth folded neatly on my nightstand, and a glass of water beside it, and neither of those things put themselves there. I lay there working through it slowly, the fever still sitting heavy behind my eyes, and pieced together enough of the shape of the night to understand that Nikolai must have carried me in, must have noticed I was sick, must have done something about it instead of simply leaving me in the car to sleep it off on my own. I tried to imagine him doing that, gently, carefully, the same man who told me a month ago to stay in my own business
Nikolai’s POV I was still sitting on the edge of her bed when the sun came up, and I honestly couldn’t tell you the exact moment I stopped telling myself it was just about the fever. At first it had been simple enough. Her temperature was high, high enough to worry about, and someone needed to sit with her in case it climbed further. That was the reasoning I gave myself around midnight, and it held up fine for an hour or two. But her fever broke sometime after two, her breathing evened out, and I found myself still sitting there anyway, watching the rise and fall of her shoulders, her hand curled loosely around my sleeve where it had landed sometime in her sleep without either of us deciding it should happen. I could have moved it. I could have gotten up and let her rest properly, alone, the way I’d left her every other night since this marriage started. Instead I just sat there until the room went from black to gray to something close to gold outside the window, and somewhere in th
Amber’s POV I’d been interpreting for Elena for almost two hours by the time Dominic leaned back in his chair and asked Nikolai about the rumors. My hands had settled into the easy rhythm they always found once a job actually started, and Elena had turned out to be quick, warm even, the kind of client who made the work feel less like performance and more like conversation. I’d almost managed to forget, for stretches at a time, whose table I was actually sitting at and why. I kept my hands moving, kept my eyes on Elena’s signs the way I was trained to, but some part of my attention split off the moment I heard my own situation being discussed at a table I was sitting at, invisible in the particular way people like me always seemed to be invisible in rooms like that one. Nobody at that table thought of me as anything more than a service, a pair of hands that made conversation possible for the one guest who couldn’t otherwise follow it. It was strange, hearing myself talked about while
Nikolai’s POV I was attending a business dinner with Dominic Vasquez, a man I needed to close a deal with, and his wife happened to be deaf, which meant I needed an interpreter for the evening. I went to Amber’s agency and booked her specifically, rather than letting them assign whoever happened to be available. I told myself there was a practical reason for it. I needed someone reliable, someone I trusted not to repeat anything she heard in that room, and Amber was already familiar with the kind of discretion this world required, even if she didn’t fully understand why. Going through the agency kept the booking clean, professional, nothing that would draw questions if anyone ever looked too closely at the paperwork. That was the reason I gave myself, anyway, sitting in my office typing out the request instead of simply calling her, and I didn’t examine too closely why some part of me had wanted the distance of a formal booking instead of asking my own wife directly to stand beside
Amber’s POVI stopped making breakfast.It wasn’t a decision I announced, not even to myself really, just something that happened one morning when I woke up and found I simply didn’t feel like getting out of bed before he left. I lay there listening to him move through the house, water running, the particular quiet of a man getting ready for a day he’d never once shared with me beyond what was strictly necessary, and I let him leave without seeing me at all. It felt like nothing. It felt, if I was honest, like relief. I stayed in bed another twenty minutes after I heard the front door close, staring at the ceiling, waiting to feel guilty about it the way I usually did whenever I withheld something from someone who expected it of me. The guilt never came. I found that almost more unsettling than the silence itself.I threw myself into work instead. Denise called with two more gigs that week, a school meeting with a set of parents who needed help understanding an evaluation for their de
Nikolai’s POV Yuri came to my office three days later with a folder under his arm and an expression I didn’t like the shape of at all. He’d worked for my family long enough to have seen most things this business could throw at a man, and he wasn’t someone who rattled easily. Watching him hesitate in my doorway told me more before he’d even opened his mouth than most reports told me after an hour of reading. “You said to move fast,” he said, setting the folder down on my desk without preamble. “I moved fast. I’m not entirely sure I like what I found.” I opened it without responding, scanning the first page, a timeline of the intercepted shipments cross-referenced against internal schedules, exactly what I’d asked for. Nothing in the first few pages surprised me. The pattern was clear enough once someone actually laid it out properly, three people with access to the relevant timing, two of whom I trusted completely and one of whom I’d never had particular reason to trust or distrust







