The sun is fully rising by the time we get back to the SUV. I drive the car as close to the entrance door as possible so that Mila only needs to put on sunglasses and tuck her head under her hoodie to avoid the sun's damaging rays.
In the safety of the dark vehicle, she takes a deep breath and leans her head back on the seat. Tears line her eyes, and her entire body begins to tremble. Mila shakes her head, and I get the distinct impression that she is trying to dislodge whatever emotion she's having about her mother and the state of her cell.
Seeing strong, energetic Mila so affected by this is hard. I feel bad for involving her in this mission. If I had known from the get-go that she was Sveta Markov's daughter, I like to think I wouldn’t have approached her for her help.
But that's a lie.
I would have, for the good of the case. The only reason why I'm reacting so strongly to Mila's distress is because I want to protect her from the turmoil she is living.
"Mila, it's okay." I pitch my voice low.
"No." Her voice is so small, so hurt that I just let my instincts take over.
I tug her toward me, over the center console, settling her on my lap. I wrap her up in my arms and squeeze her small, curvy form to mine.
"It makes sense to feel a whole mess of things right now," I whisper against the crown of her head. "It's all right to be torn between caring for a woman who raised you, who is sick, and the woman who did horrible things."
Mila stays very quiet, her hands pressed up against my chest. She inhales deeply, eyes closed, and a shiver runs across her body.
"After all this time, I still try to make sense of the things that she has done, you know? Some days, I hate her. Flat-out hate her for ruining our lives, for hurting people. And other days, I think that she wanted to do good but let her hubris get the better of her. On those days, it's not her that I hate." Her body begins to shake in earnest, as she has stopped breathing. A few tears escape her, making the blue of her eyes go gray. "It's me. For even thinking of sympathizing with her, even just a fraction. If she had just gone through the proper channels. Getting grants and permissions, using blood donors..."
"Mila, look at me." I hate to interrupt her, especially since it seems like she is in desperate need of talking to someone about all of this. But her breath is impossibly erratic, and I'm scared she'll have a panic attack. Her eyes settle on mine. "None of this is your fault. That includes her escape. Even if she had been evaluated by a psychiatrist, if she wanted out, she was getting out. Sveta is a very smart woman. None of this is on you," I repeat, trying to make her understand.
I let my hands roam up and down her back in a soothing motion. "There’s no way for me to even begin to comprehend the kind of guilt you feel, but I think I can understand on some level. Mind if I tell you a story?" She nods against my chest. "When I was young, maybe ten, my father was posted in a fly-in-only town. It was a scary place to be.” The winters were insanely long, and there was only one small grocery store. It was a dark place where assistance and resources were limited. I didn’t feel the effects of that, but I saw it in those around me, and it made me ache that I couldn’t do something to help those who needed it. “There were barely any other kids, and we were cattle among wolf shifters. Tensions ran high. But there was this one family that lived on the edge of town. They had a boy about my age and my little sister, and I played with him.”
Even now, I regret not noticing the signs more clearly. I was so naïve, and I let my need for a friend cloud my understanding of what my friend was going through.
“He was quiet and kind, but I knew something wasn't right. It turns out he was being neglected at home. I found out years later, but I always felt like I could have done more for him. Because I had known something was off. I regret not stepping in to help him more. But the fact of the matter is, I was a kid. I didn't understand just what was off about his home life. I didn't have the words of the life experience. It's the same thing for you. You were sixteen when all this happened. You were old enough to understand, but you were too young to have the words and the maturity to fully process what it all meant. You also had to cope with the fact that, for a full decade and a half, your mother was good to you. You couldn't have spoken up, Mila. You didn't know what was going on. And now, as an adult, you can't step in and be the one taking the hits for the things she does. That would be like blaming a victim for getting killed. You can't live with the pressure of this. It will destroy you. I made the assumption that you should be on this mission with me before I knew you were her daughter. Now, I know that you're the expert on Sveta, but if this is too hard for you to witness, that's okay. You can still be helpful at a distance. If you want, I'll bring you back to FUCNA. There's absolutely no shame in that. No one will judge you."
"But I will. I was completely powerless the last time. This time, I have the power and the knowledge to make a difference. I get what you're trying to say, but I have to fix it, T. I have to. I don't know how to exist, how to keep going if I don't. I'm not saying it'll be easy or that I won't need another amazing hug again, but I want to do this. I need to do this."
I study her beautiful face, searching for something, anything that would change her mind.
There's nothing.
Mila is determined to see this through, and nothing I could say is going to change that. If this were any other agent, I would pull them. She's too close to it, but I understand her need for closure.
"Okay, so then let's get her back," I say, running my fingers through her long red strands. “Let's put her back where she belongs. But you need to know that, once this is all said and done, there is no way that I'm letting you carry this on your own. If you need a hug, to vent, something to punch, just ask. We're in this together."
Mila is a strong, capable, intelligent woman. She wouldn't be a FUC agent and a FUCNA instructor if she weren't. Maybe that's why she calls to something deep inside me.
I know that being this attracted to her, too invested in her well-being, is the last thing I should be doing, but I can't help myself.