“Shayna?” Jean-Luc pauses at the landing, breathless. Shadows from the skylight above cast an angry glow, draping his high cheekbones at menacing angles. “Hey. Listen, I’m sorry I walked out earlier. I freaked.” He drags a hand through his hair. It falls in thick curtains beside his ears.

So much has happened since this morning, when he ran out from Manu’s apartment building and then I followed. More than twelve hours ago. Before I started embodying Angela’s warning to me completely.

“No worries. I looked around a little more without you. Thanks for coming there.” I jam the key in the dark lock of the door again, but the metal grooves don’t align.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow? I came by three times today, but you weren’t here. Did you get a new cell?”

I’ve literally spun the key in all possible directions with no dice. Swear words torpedo from my mouth.

“Shayna? Hello?” Jean-Luc hits the wall with his palm, and a hallway lamp flickers to life. I insert the key again. The door clicks open.

“Thanks.”

“Listen, I said I was sorry about this morning. Can I go back to translating fascinating items like lunch menus for you?” The levity in his voice matches the easy smile he wears. He takes a step toward me. “How does that sound?”

I would love having a local with me, a partner on this sojourn into the bizarre and unbelievable. I thought that was Jean-Luc, but he’s gotten too close. Learned too much about me and is frankly too much of a distraction. I see it now, after spending the day apart. He would only ask questions and balk at the direction I’m taking, because how can’t he? He doesn’t know the real reason for all my traipsing around. He can’t. He has to go.

“Shayna, don’t push me away because of this morning, please.” He stops before me, within the grasp of a strong hug. The distance of the lean of a kiss. He smells like fruity shampoo, the faint scent of strawberry.

I steel myself for the millionth time this evening, it feels like. Harden myself against the creeping softness that funneled through my limbs at the sound of his voice. “I’m not pushing you away, Jean-Luc. I don’t have some desire to isolate myself, contrary to what you may think. You may feel some insurmountable guilt from your past, but not me. I just don’t need your help anymore.”

Jean-Luc lurches backward like I swiped at his chin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”