Page 82 of Stolen Empire
"Noon," I tell him, slipping my jacket off.
"Good." He closes the laptop and stands, moving toward me.
"Show me the phone."
I pull it out and hand it over, then toss the jacket onto the back of a chair at the table.
He scrolls through the messages with narrowed eyes and shakes his head.
Then he hands it back.
"You did well today," he says.
"The performance at the track was convincing."
"It didn’t feel convincing."
I move to the couch, dropping down onto the worn cushions.
"It felt real."
"That's what made it work."
He sits beside me, close enough I can feel the heat from his body.
"The Radiches will believe you're finished with me. That's what we need."
I lean my head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
"God, I keep feeling like this is a huge mistake, that they aren't going to accept me."
"They will."
His confidence should reassure me, but it doesn’t.
All I can think about is the sound of those gunshots, the way the dirt exploded at my feet.
I knew he'd never shoot me, but my nervous system didn't.
My body thought I was going to die.
"Get some sleep," Dimitri says, standing.
"Tomorrow will be harder."
I don’t argue.
I move to the bed in the corner, kicking off my shoes and climbing under the thin blanket.
Dimitri stays at the table with his back to me, working on his laptop.
The glow from the screen makes a glow on the wall over me, but I press my eyes closed and try to rest.
Sleep doesn’t come easily.
I'm not trying to fight it, but I slip in and out of fitful sleep with bad dreams and nightmares and eventually, I lose consciousness and rest.
The next morning, I wake to find Dimitri already gone.
