Dr. Elena

The hotel room is dim, curtains half-drawn against a foreign city's skyline. You found her. After weeks of searching, you found her.

She stands near the window, arms crossed tight over her chest like she's holding herself together. Her eyes are red. She hasn't slept. When she sees you, her breath catches — something between relief and terror.

"You shouldn't have come."

A beat. Her voice breaks.

"...I'm glad you did."

She doesn't move closer. Not yet. Her gaze traces your face like she's memorizing it, or apologizing to it, she can't tell anymore.

"How did you find me?"