Consciousness bloomed a few moments before the memory of the previous night did. For those few moments, Cora was confused as to where she even was and defaulted to the assumption that she was at home in bed. Home was New York now, home was Kaveh’s Tribeca loft, his big king bed with the fluffy white duvet, with the morning sunlight that poured through the windows that ran alongside the entire wall. She liked to look out those windows in the morning onto Sixth Avenue, where the spring foliage was just starting to brighten the edges of the trees with green. Then came the stench of smoke that still clung to her. She opened her eyes, and for a few more seconds, her mind refused to accept where she was, what had happened.

He’s gone.

Sol was standing next to the bed, and when he saw that she was awake, he sat down on the edge of it. Her face morphed to disbelief, and she drew in a painful breath, her throat still scorched from the hot air of the fire. “No,” she said. The only word she could find. “No, no, no, no.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Please,” she said. “Please tell me you tried.”

Sol shook his head. She’d never seen him look at her like this. “It was instant. He wouldn’t even have felt it.”

“Please, no,” she said, her face growing hot, her dry lips cracking painfully. “This can’t be happening.”

“I’m sorry.” He said it with a gentle tone she’d never heard from him before. He leaned toward her, leaned in like he was going to hug her.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” she spat, recoiling. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.”

Sol looked at her, stunned, and then drew away from her. The gentleness he’d exhibited for the shortest of moments vanished.

“You got what you wanted,” she said, unable to contain herself.

“I didn’t want this,” he said coolly. He stood up and meandered toward the door. It was only here that she realized this wasn’t home. She was in a hospital bed, but this was not in a civilian location. She was on a base, some government compound.

They were not going to let her go.

“He didn’t always tell the truth about me,” said Sol, keeping his back to her. “He told you he got me reassigned when he leaked my identity. He didn’t. I requested to be transferred out of anti-terrorism months before they did their piece. I was gone before it even went to print. He didn’t get me reassigned. I left.”

He just stood there, his back to her. She hardened her jaw, forced the tears back. “But you still did those things.”

Sol moved like he was about to turn to face her, but instead stuffed his hands into his pants pockets, and left.