Somewhere in another country...
Eliot sat on a broken plastic chair under the flickering light of a hostel hallway, his phone clutched tightly in both hands. The glow of the screen reflected off his tired face as he reread Roset's last message.
I've spoken to the government. We'll need a photo of your ID and your last known address. They'll try to get you on a temporary residency visa. I'll do everything I can from here. Just… keep me updated. Please.
It still didn't feel real.
For years, her name had lived in the quietest corner of his grief. Spoken only in memory, in prayers he wasn't sure he believed anymore.
Now she was alive.
A sister.
A mother.
He'd stared at the photo she'd sent of her and the baby, for almost an hour. The little girl had Roset's eyes. He couldn't stop seeing them.
The hostel room behind him was cramped and stuffy, filled with the faint scent of shared air and too many bodies passing through. He had a duffel bag and a cracked laptop to his name, and a folder of old documents, some of which he wasn't even sure were valid anymore.
Kat had taken the rest when she left.
He didn't blame her.
They'd tried to hold on to each other after the bombs, but the grief over losing their children had fractured something too deep to repair.
Eliot pulled out the worn envelope from his bag and sorted through the contents. His passport was bent, but intact. ID and health cards. He took photos of each and sent them to Roset with a short message.
Here's what I've got. I'm staying in... for now, but I can move if needed. Tell me what comes next.
He looked out the narrow window beside him.
It was raining again. It had been raining most days. The world always seemed to rain more after loss, he thought bitterly.
A soft buzz came from his phone. Roset's reply.
Got it. They'll need a little time to process, but they said if you can make it to a larger city with an embassy, they'll help from there. I'll cover the cost, just say yes.
He stared at the message.
For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel entirely alone.
Yes. Just tell me where to go.
He leaned his head back against the wall, letting the phone rest on his chest. Somewhere, for the first time in years, the smallest warmth began to return to his limbs.
A future. A family. A place.
And Roset.
Alive.