All the Names She Wore
Her gaze slides past me toward the window as if she’s searching for something outside.
“Leah,” I say again, louder. “What’s wrong?”
She blinks, once, slowly, like waking.
“What—” she starts, then shakes her head. “What city are we in?”
My blood turns cold.
“Rome,” I say instantly. “Leah, we’re in Rome.”
Leah’s eyebrows knit. “No. I—” She swallows hard. “I mean… I know that. I know that.”
But the way she says it is wrong. Like she’s repeating a fact she read somewhere, not something she’s living inside. She stands too fast. The room tilts for her—visibly. Her knees buckle slightly. I move without thinking, catching her by the elbow.