whisper of adrenaline, as warm as half a bottle of UV Blue and the Miami sun. “Poprobuy po-angliyski,” he said, his eyes on mine. Try English. The doctor’s brow lowered. “My English is no good.” The other man pushed off the desk and came closer, dropping to his haunches in front of me. His dress pants kissed my preppy plaid ones. His black cap toe boots contrasted my white Rothy’s. He was cool and calculated, from how he moved to how his gaze settled on mine, though something so alive played in his eyes. Eyes I could now see weren’t black, as I originally presumed, but a very, very dark blue. Darker than the heart-shaped stones in my ears. I didn’t know if it was the sudden uprising of nerves, his closeness, or a result of hitting my head, but the words slipped past my lips without thought. “You’re really uncomfortable to run into.” I said it so seriously, like it was something he should be concerned about. “My apologies.” A Russian accent and amusement touched his voice. I stared at his lips, at the thin scar on the bottom one and the two rough words pouring out of them like vodka over ice. I wondered how he got the scar. I wondered if his voice tasted like vodka too; if it would burn my throat and warm my stomach. I felt . . . weird. My thoughts seemed to have no filter, ping-ponging against my skull like a game of pinball. I opened my mouth to explain myself, but all that came out was, “You’re very Russian.” He drew a thumb across the scar on his bottom lip. “You’re very American.” The doctor shifted in his chair and spoke, but I barely heard it over this man’s presence that was so very loud. He was an eclipse, blocking the pain from my head, and, probably, the sun. Though overwhelming, it wasn’t unpleasant. It was warm. Persuasive. Worldly. A royal flush in a den of iniquity. “Do you know your name?” he translated. Slowly, I nodded. “Mila... Mila Mikhailova.” The doctor shot a censorious look at the man in front of me, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care because his gaze remained on mine, pulling curiosity to the surface. “What’s yours?” I asked on a shallow breath. He smiled. “Ronan.”