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America,” he says. “Nobody knows. But I can’t keep it from you anymore. Your dad’s group is wanting to attack on American soil in a big way. If he does, it will start a war between Russia and America. A very long, very bloody war. We can’t let that happen. As long as you’re here, he won’t attack. We have to find a ways to bring down your dad’s group without causing a war.”
    I feel dizzy at his words, but he pulls me forward. We run down the last set of stairs and out the exit. In the parking garage, I see Tristan’s car. He opens the passenger door for me, I sit and he shuts the door. Before I can even blink, he’s in the driver’s seat and we are leaving the hospital.
    As I reach over to put my seatbelt on, Tristan slams on the brakes and I hit my head against the side of the window.
    “Augh!” I grab my head, a knot already started to form.
    “Sorry,” he says, then takes off. I’m pushed back against the seat. I quickly put on my seatbelt, not wanting to get injured anymore.
    Tristan weaves in and out of traffic, running red lights, and eventually we get on the interstate to head back to campus. He relaxes once we’re on the interstate, but he doesn’t slow down. At one point, we passed a cop. I thought for sure he would pull us over, but he didn’t. I guess you get to drive fast when you’re a spy.
    “Can you slow down?” I ask, holding onto my seat.
    “No,” he answers.
    My mind starts racing, thinking about the night Eduard died.
    I can still hear his screams, echoing in my head.
    I pull my knees up to my chest and tell myself it’ll be okay. Tristan is a good driver. We’re not going to die. I’m safe. We’re safe.
    “Are you okay?” Tristan asks.
    I focus on my breathing. “Fine.”
    He slows down. “I’m sorry, Katerina. I forgot about your brother…”
    He reaches a hand over and takes one of mine. I realize how big of a deal it is for him to touch me. It also makes me feel about one hundred times better.
    “Thank you,” I say.
    “For what?” he asks.
    “Knowing how to handle me. How to calm me down,” I answer. “For taking care of me.”
    He looks uncomfortable. “Don’t worry about it, Katerina. It’s my job.”
    I am his job.
    I pull my hand away from his and hide my face in my knees.
    Tristan is complicated and I’m not sure I will ever understand him. Yet, something about him makes me want to try.

    Not fair.

    “What happened?” Damon asks, rubbing his thumb gently over the bump on my head. His soft touch makes me shiver.
    When I don’t answer, he looks at Tristan.
    “She hit her head on the car window,” Tristan tells him.
    “How did she do that?”
    “We kind of took off in a hurry. I didn’t exactly give her time to buckle her seatbelt,” he explains. “I braked a little too hard and…”
    “Why didn’t you let her put on her seatbelt?” Damon asks, raising his voice.
    “I’m sorry,” Tristan says, sarcastically. “I was a little busy making sure a Russian terrorist wasn’t going to kill her to worry about a stupid seatbelt.”
    Damon, who looks like he’s about to blow a gasket, turns to me. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine,” I tell him, hoping that they two of them stop fighting. Then I look at what Damon is wearing. “What the heck are you wearing?”
    Damon, who looks slightly embarrassed, rubs the back of his neck. “I… ugh… it’s 80’s day. Remember?”
    I laugh. Then wince at the pain in my nose.
    Damon went all out for 80’s day. He’s wearing a pair of bright colored red jeans. They’re tight, but not skinny jean tight. Which is good, because I despise those jeans. He’s wearing a pair of green Converse, which are normal enough on their own. But he’s got on a purple shirt and a jean jacket. The jean jacket has the sleeves cut off.
    And his hair.
    He’s got it parted weird, and poofed up really tall.
    “Did people really dress like this?” I ask Tristan.
    “Why are you looking at me?” he asks. “I’m