Page 38 of Unrequited

I want to believe he’s protecting me. That he wants me safe because he cares.

Ofcoursethat’s it. It has to be.

But I’m shaking. I don’t know what to do next.

He reaches for my hand, warm and steady, even as his voice is cold as steel. “Stay in your house tonight. Do you understand me?”

His eyes lock with mine, full of something desperate and raw. “Zoya,” he says again when I don’t answer.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. It feels like a rock. “I understand,” I whisper.

And when I stand, he does something unexpected. He grabs the back of my neck, pulls me in, and kisses me like it’s the last time. Like he doesn’t know if we’ll survive this.

“Next Thursday,” I whisper against his lips. But my voice trembles. “Right?”

“Yes,” he replies. “Next Thursday.” But he won’t meet my eyes.

When I’m home, I make a call.

I dial Aria Romanova with shaking fingers. Polina’s brother’s wife.

She’s good. I trust her. There aren’t many I do.

It’s early evening in America. I pray she answers. I’ve onlyspoken to her a few times, but after what happened with our families… we all know each other now.

“Hello?”

“Aria?” I whisper. “It’s Zoya Kopolova.” I swallow hard. “I need a favor,” I say, my voice cracking.

“Zoya? Are you okay?” she asks gently.

“I… I don’t know. I saw something I shouldn’t have. And I need details.” I take a breath. “It’s about someone Irish. A message… It mentioned my family. It said they were going to be destroyed.”

She’s silent. Then her voice turns icy.

“And why come to me, Zoya? Why can’t you tell your brothers?”

Heat flares in my chest. I’m feeling desperate.

“Because you know what they’ll do. You know if they think they’re under attack, they’ll burn the whole world down. They don’t have the resources right now.” My voice breaks. I’m telling the truth. “They’d go to war… and lose.”

I can tell she’s warring with herself before she finally blows out a breath and answers.

“Okay,” she says with a groan. “I’m on it. But I needeverythingyou know.”

“All I know is his name is Seamus. He’s Irish. And I think… I think he’s trying to protect me.”

She goes still. Her breath catches. “Seamus,” you say. “And he's Irish.”

“Yes.”

Sometimes you don't ask questions—because the truth is, you're not ready to hear the answers. Because the moment you do, everything becomes real. Tangible… and irreversible.

“And you were with him,” she says.

“Yes.” My voice shakes, just slightly. But enough. Enough to make it real.

“Okay. All right.” Her tone is softer now. “I got you. Now… what did you see?”