…This part of the house was Bahar’s favorite. It was always quiet here. The fish swam lazily in the aquarium, catching glints of light, while patches of sunlight spilled across the sofa cushions. Nevra sat down on the little couch and placed her cup of tea on the table. She hated remembering the times when she had tormented Bahar, when she had been in league with Timur… and now Timur was gone. He would never walk into this house, which had never truly been his… just as she had never managed to become a mother to him. She hadn’t given birth to him, and Uraz Sr. wasn’t his father, yet for some reason she was still part of this family, without a single drop of shared blood.

Nevra took a sip of tea and picked up her phone. After reading a message, she typed a reply and set the phone aside.

— Grandma called and said Reha’s stable, they’re waiting for the test results, — Umay said, yawning as she walked into the kitchen. — Mom just stopped by to see them. Siren and Uraz are there too. Looks like they managed to do it. I’m not sure, but now they’re waiting for something.

— We’ll have breakfast and go straight to the hospital, — Nevra clasped her cup with both hands and leaned back into the sofa.

— I slept so badly, — Umay admitted, sitting down beside her and resting her head on Nevra’s shoulder.

Nevra awkwardly put an arm around her and stroked her hair.

— Yusuf still hasn’t come back, — Parla said, shuffling into the kitchen in her pajamas. — It’s just us at home, and the nanny with Mert and Leyla, — she looked at Umay thoughtfully. — Where could he be?

— He stayed at the hospital. Mom asked him to, — Umay reminded her, closing her eyes.

Parla looked at them, then came over and sat down on Nevra’s other side. Nevra set down her cup and put her arm around her second granddaughter. She was learning how to show care and affection, but it still came out clumsy, awkward — and the girls never pointed it out. They saw how her phone kept lighting up with new messages, how she would glance through them quickly, sometimes smiling.

— Has Cem written again? — Parla suddenly asked softly.

Nevra tensed. She was wedged between her two granddaughters, but both seemed to have lost all their usual fire, leaning quietly against her. Umay shook her head. Nevra looked at one, then at the other. Both were still. Umay sighed with her eyes closed, while Parla stared at a fixed point.

— You can ask me, — Nevra said at last, giving Parla’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. — You don’t have to be grown up all the time.

Parla traced the edge of the table with her finger.

— I barely knew my father, — she whispered. — Now I regret all the time we lost, when we could have been together, but I was so angry at him, — she fell silent, gazing out the window at something unseen, then went on. — He hugged differently. Not like Mom.

— Differently, — Umay agreed.

Nevra pulled them both closer. Sitting here, on Bahar’s little couch, between the girls, still felt strange to her.

— You have something to remember, — Parla murmured.

Nevra sighed. Everything she remembered brought her pain. She could have given Timur so much love, but had been a prisoner of her own convictions.

— I never had a grandfather, — Parla went on. — I didn’t even know Mom’s father — I met him just before he died. But I do have a grandmother, — she looked at Nevra. — I wonder, who was Dad’s father, Grandma? He’d be our grandfather too.

Nevra froze. It took her a moment to meet her eyes.

— Leyla never said, — she sighed. — Never, even when she was pregnant, we didn’t know anything. She only said he had a family.

Umay opened her eyes and turned toward her.

— A family, — Parla whispered, — that means we could have aunts or uncles, sisters, brothers.

Umay stiffened. Nevra frowned.

— Leyla said he would never show up, — she didn’t like where this conversation was going.

Her phone lit up again, and she flipped it screen-down.

— And if he did? — Umay asked warily. — So Dad didn’t even know who his real father was?

— I never asked Leyla again, — Nevra admitted honestly. — Back then, I thought the past was better left alone.

— We don’t even know who Dad looked like. I wish we could see a photo, — Parla was still gazing out the window. — He could be living somewhere right now.

— I don’t think I’d want to know, — Umay said suddenly. — We don’t even know what kind of man he is. He might not be happy to see us. If Grandma Leyla stayed silent, she must have had her reasons.

— Girls, — Nevra pulled them close again. She suddenly realized how good it felt to sit with them like this, even if it was new for her. — Sometimes children don’t know their fathers. It happens, — she paused, — and sometimes fathers don’t know they have children, — her voice softened, — or they suspect, but can’t bring themselves to admit it. — Sometimes you spend a whole life like that, — she looked at the girls, — living next to people you don’t know… or are afraid to know.

Nevra’s phone chimed again with a new message, and she smiled faintly. The girls exchanged glances.

— Do you have someone? — Parla asked carefully.

— At my age… — Nevra grew flustered, lowering her hands and taking her cup.

— Why not? — Umay said seriously. — Grandma, love doesn’t have an age. We just convince ourselves it does.

— It’s just messages, — Nevra put the cup on the table and fanned herself with her hands. — We just went to a restaurant.

— And now you’re chatting in messenger, — Parla nudged her shoulder lightly.

— Well, yes, — Nevra smiled, relaxing a little.

— That’s great, Grandma, that you’ve found someone too, — Umay whispered, turning away to hide the tears in her eyes. — Look, — she brushed one away, — Grandma Gulçicek married Doctor Reha, why shouldn’t you do the same? — She rested her head on Nevra’s shoulder, watching the fish in the aquarium. — Even if we don’t know his name, you’ll introduce us, right? — She snuggled closer.

— I’m all for growing the family, Grandma, — Parla agreed. — We really need some good news.

Nevra, no longer self-conscious, picked up her phone and answered all the messages that had come in… and for the first time, she wanted to write first.

***

…Cem was the first to break the silence.

— Why aren’t you asking me anything? — he said, stopping by the window, his gaze fixed on the Bosphorus.

Yusuf was making himself tea. He still felt uneasy in someone else’s kitchen, but he noticed everything was tastefully arranged. The view of the strait, of the bridge, especially captivated him. Picking up some toast and his cup of tea, he headed for the balcony.

— What am I supposed to ask? — he shrugged.

— What happens next? — Cem bit his lip uncertainly, like a little boy.

— You think anyone knows that? — Yusuf opened the balcony door and stepped outside.

Cem followed, stopping in the doorway. Yusuf walked to the very edge and took a sip of tea.

— Of course they accepted you right away, — Cem threw at his back, too sharply. — They welcomed you into their home. Bahar treats you warmly.

— And you’re still waiting for someone’s approval? — Yusuf turned to look at him. — Then why do you keep pulling away from everyone?

— I’m not eight years old, — Cem flared up.

— But you act like you are, — Yusuf noted, leaning on the railing and watching the little yachts leaving the pier.

Cem fell silent. Fear flickered in his eyes. He truly didn’t understand what he’d been doing when he sent that video. And now he didn’t know what would come of it. He feared there would be consequences — just as Bahar had warned. He glanced at his watch; Evren still hadn’t come back, called, or written. Either he didn’t know yet, or… had he really just erased him from his life so easily?

Yusuf set his cup down on the small table.

— I dropped out of school because my mother was sick, and I had to work, — he began calmly. — When she died, I had to handle all the paperwork. I bought food, I made my own choices. I didn’t have time to be angry at the world, — he turned to look at him again. — I just lived. Do you get that? I needed to live.

— You mean you had no choice but to be strong? — Cem lifted his chin defiantly.

Yusuf studied him closely.

— Why are you always on the attack? — he asked, but Cem said nothing, so Yusuf went on. — I had no choice — I had to live. What was I supposed to do, start stealing? — The color drained from Cem’s face. — But you do have a choice. And what do you do? You post a video behind their backs and wait for approval?

Cem bit his lip, his gaze darting around, then he crouched down and leaned against the wall.

— They could put me in prison, couldn’t they? — he asked barely above a whisper.

Yusuf had to turn toward him.

— They could. And you know that, — he replied evenly, then added, — but they could also give you a chance.

Cem gripped his head in his hands.

— And if I screw it all up again? — he asked quietly.

— Then you’ll have to start over from the beginning. Just don’t expect someone to come and save you. You’re not a child anymore, Cem, — Yusuf said, then fell silent.

From the street came the sounds of the city — yacht horns, snatches of conversation from the waterfront. On the balcony, silence settled.

— And you’re sure, — Cem spoke first again, — that they need you?

— And are you sure they don’t need you? — For the first time, there was a sharp edge to Yusuf’s voice. — Admit it — you hate yourself. Admit it — you’re waiting for someone to come and save you. But here’s the thing: there may be someone willing to save you, but what are you willing to do yourself? What will you give back to the hand reaching out to you?

Cem covered his face with his hands, lowered his head, and began to cry. Yusuf slowly turned away, letting his gaze sweep over the smooth waters of the strait. The waves shimmered in his eyes; a smile touched his lips, as if a dream had come true — if only in part. He had always dreamed of living by the water, waking up to the cries of seagulls. He longed to ride one of those yachts, feel the sea spray on his skin, the wind in his face, and the vast open space before him… Yusuf tried to ignore the sobs behind him. He breathed deeply, as if this truly were his home, as if he could step out onto this balcony every morning to greet the sunrise or watch the sunset. He stood there, just breathing, while he still had the chance…

***

…For the first time in the past twenty-four hours, they had a moment to breathe in the doctors’ lounge and just drink some coffee. Tablets lay scattered on the table, masks and gloves were off. Some sat, some leaned against the wall. Everyone was tired, yet still a little tense.

Bahar took off her cap and exhaled. Her eyes wandered to the door… but there was no sign of Evren. She knew he wouldn’t come. Uraz was pacing the room, tight with energy. Siren leaned wearily against a cabinet, waiting for her mug to fill with coffee.

— Yes, the operation was brilliant, — Uraz gave his verdict, — but honestly, we don’t know a thing about Professor Evren.

Bahar froze before she could sink into the couch. She turned to her son with a silent question — what more did he want to know?

— We know he grew up in an orphanage, then was adopted, — Uraz went on pacing without pause.

Bahar shook her head and sat down.

— We know he’s saved many lives, — Uraz persisted, ignoring the elbow Siren jabbed into his side.

— He performed a transplant under supervision, — Doruk joined in. — Admit it, — he glanced around the room, — the professor was tense. There was a lot of risk.

— His hand never shook, — Bahar spoke up. — He was under observation! He didn’t back down!

— What do you even see in him, Mom? — Uraz burst out.

Bahar slowly rose from the couch. All the color drained from her face.

— We don’t know where he was ten years ago, who he operated on, we know nothing! How many died on his table? — Uraz stepped right up to her. — And you’re defending him again? He’s just a doctor, — he reminded her. — A doctor.

— And who are you to judge? — she asked evenly, meeting her son’s eyes. — Do you remember where you were and what you were doing when I was saving your children with Professor Evren?

Siren covered her mouth with her hand.

— We were all under pressure, — Bahar went on, — even while they doubted us! We don’t have to defend anyone, but we do have to be a team, — she crushed the cap in her hands and headed for the door, — we have to be a team to save lives, and today we proved that, even under fire!

She almost left but turned back, looking at them all.

— Were you in that operating room to judge? — she spread her arms. — You have no right to discuss this! He’s a surgeon here, just like the rest of us! No — — she almost smirked — he’s the lead surgeon! And you were supposed to be learning from him, weren’t you? — she reminded Uraz.

Uraz flushed crimson. Siren tried to calm him, but he ignored her.

— And I will, — he thumped his chest with his fist. — You yourself said he’s the lead surgeon — he’s obliged to teach, we’re a teaching hospital.

— Then remember this: if we let him doubt himself, he’ll leave — not because he’s guilty, but because he’ll be alone. And right now, none of us is alone — we are a team!

— You really are on his side? — Uraz ground out through clenched teeth.

— I’m on the side of fairness, — Bahar countered calmly. — Without him, without me — it’s just a team in name, with everyone merely standing side by side, not together.

She turned and left the lounge. Her untouched coffee was cooling on the table.

— So she’s not in love anymore, — Doruk murmured after a moment, as if to himself. — Bahar chose a position.

Silence settled over the room. One by one, they began to realize that being a surgeon wasn’t about status — it was a choice. The choice to stand by someone in the hardest moment.

And yet, in the air lingered an unspoken question: if she’s not with him… then who is she with?

***

…Rengin stepped into her office with him. She tried to keep her composure, though inside she felt an icy chill just from looking at Adem Yurdakul. He stayed silent, letting her close the door. Tucked under his arm, Adem carried a thin folder along with a tablet. His gaze drifted calmly over her office.

— Coffee? — Rengin offered.

Adem moved toward the window, where the city stretched out in a perfect view.

— You were lucky the surgery went relatively well, — he said without turning to her. — If even one parameter had gone outside the limits, the board would have recommended suspending Evren Yalkın, — he turned slowly, meeting her gaze, — and not only that.

Rengin didn’t raise an eyebrow, though something inside her loosened, as if a tightening hand at her throat had let go.

— I took that into account, — she replied evenly, her voice steady.

Adem narrowed his eyes for just a moment, but she caught it — she saw his reaction.

— You’ve taken on too much, — he continued. — In my report, I noted: you are emotionally involved with the team. That makes you vulnerable.

Rengin crossed her arms.

— Maybe that makes me a real leader.

He looked at her in silence, then stepped closer to her desk.

— The board is seriously considering reassignments, — he said, placing the folder on the desk. — If you don’t stabilize the team, you’ll lose the right to perform transplants.

For a moment, Rengin closed her eyes — lose the right meant they were granting permission. She almost smiled.

— I’ll hold them together, — she said quietly, betraying no emotion. — Because this isn’t just a team. These are people who are more than family.

Adem pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly removed his glasses. He wiped the lenses without looking at her.

— The board grants permission to open the department, — he finally announced, confirming what she had already guessed, — but you remain under supervision. If your team fails, — he tucked the handkerchief away and put his glasses back on, — it all falls on you. The results are there, but the emotional climate is unstable.

Rengin tilted her head, turned slowly, walked to her desk, then faced him again. He was waiting for her reply.

— You forget they’re human beings, not machines, — she said, sitting on the edge of the desk and bracing her hands against it.

— Are you sure they won’t drag each other down? — he asked, holding his tablet. — Especially now, with the license at stake?

— It’s because we’re all under threat that we hold on. We survive, — she nodded. — Fear is temporary. Professionalism is the system.

His lips twitched as if he wanted to make a cutting remark, but he kept it in.

— The board wants stability, not genius teetering on the edge of a breakdown, — his breathing quickened, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

— Genius and stability aren’t mutually exclusive, — she noted. — What else do you want to say?

Adem’s hand slipped into his pocket, but he didn’t take out the handkerchief.

— The board will keep monitoring you. You’re under personal responsibility. Any failure, and you’ll be the first removed. I’ve recorded it — the tension is at its limit.

Rengin nodded in agreement.

— We’re in survival mode, — she reminded him. — We’ve lost people close to us, members of our team, — her throat tightened, — some have lost part of their family.

Adem lifted his head slightly, measuring her with an indifferent look.

— Aren’t you afraid the next surgery will be emotionally impossible? — he asked.

Rengin exhaled.

— Aren’t you afraid that if I leave — it all falls apart?

— Fear belongs to those who are attached, — for the first time, he replied quickly, forgetting his usual pause. — I’ve just been observing, — he reminded her, then, after a deliberate pause that forced her to meet his gaze, — but personally, I’d regret it if you lost.

She saw respect in his eyes.

— We won’t lose, — she stood from the desk. — Because we don’t have the right to make a mistake.

Adem almost smiled for the first time. He inclined his head slightly, his gaze cutting straight through her. Then he turned and walked out quickly. The soft click of the closing door struck her like a blow.

Rengin sank onto the desk… her legs wouldn’t hold her. Her heart pounded in her chest, lips parted as she breathed through her mouth.

Thoughts swarmed in her head — they really had become like family to her. And maybe… that was her weakness? Or her strength? She couldn’t answer even for herself, but she knew one thing — they had a chance. They had survived… but now came the hardest part of all — learning how to live on.

***

…And then… they just had to move forward, but she couldn’t take a single step.

Rengin braced her hands against the desk, certain that if she lifted her head now, everything would collapse. She didn’t hear the knock on the door right away. Only when it opened did she flinch. Who else? Could it be him again… what more did he want? A shiver of nerves ran through her body, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk.

— Sorry, — Serhat quietly closed the door behind him. — I saw him leave, — he murmured, walking toward her.

— So he left, — she said in a muted voice, head bowed.

He stood there, not daring to come closer. For several seconds they just breathed. He could see she was holding on by her last thread — and he no longer knew why he’d come: to ask? to stay?

— I wanted… — he cleared his throat — wanted to ask.

Rengin slowly raised her head. She looked at him, unafraid of being weak. She wasn’t afraid of him — or of being real with him. He had seen her strength; now he saw her vulnerability.

He stepped closer, standing there, looking at her, unable to voice the question that had been gnawing at him. Yesterday he’d said no, and today he longed to hear the precious yes. For a few seconds, the only sound in the office was their breathing, until he finally asked:

— Does Esra… — he glanced over his shoulder, as if checking no one was listening — have a chance?

Rengin exhaled. Serhat was afraid too, and yet here he was, in her office, letting her see his fear, letting her feel it on her skin.

— Yes, — she whispered. — If there’s a donor, she’ll get a heart. If… — she trailed off with a sigh.

— Thank you for not lying, — Serhat murmured.

Rengin sighed again. She tried to stand but lost her balance. Serhat stepped forward and caught her by the elbow.

— Are we okay? — he asked, his eyes searching hers, feeling her breath.

— And who are we, Serhat? — she whispered. — Doctors? Parents? Leaders? Or just people tired of saving everyone but ourselves?

They stood very close, too close, yet neither made a move to step back.

— If you fall now, — his voice was rough, — everything will fall apart.

Rengin slowly laid her hand on his shoulder. Gently, as if seeking support. Serhat shuddered. His fingers lifted toward her cheek, barely brushing it… and she let him. She didn’t pull away.

He drew her into an embrace, pulling her closer still… he was so tired of being alone… and he could feel her loneliness in every fiber of his being.

Without realizing, they kissed — slowly, without urgency. She allowed it… she answered it, pressing closer to him. And then… she kissed him herself.

***

…His lips still remembered her kiss. Serhat slipped his coat back over his shoulders. Rengin straightened her clothes. They didn’t look at each other — only the trembling in their bodies betrayed them. The air in the office felt stifling, as if they needed to open a window.

— If you say never, — he murmured, staring at the floor, — I won’t ask why. — For a moment, he brushed her wrist, feeling the quick, hard beat of her pulse.

Rengin gently freed her hand and set it in her lap, then pressed her palm against her stomach.

— I’m not going to say anything, — she said, turning her back to him. — I don’t know, — she shrugged. — I don’t know what that was.

Serhat nodded, not realizing she couldn’t see it. He walked to the door and turned, as if about to speak — but said nothing. Quietly, he opened the door and stepped out.

Rengin heard it close behind him. Only then did she cover her face with her hands and lean forward, breathing deeply. She didn’t want to name what had happened, still feeling the tremor in her body, still sensing his touch on her skin… She stayed there for a long time, feeling each cell in her body come alive again.

She sat in silence, just breathing…

***

…Left in the quiet of her office, she simply breathed, scrolling through the latest test results of her patients on the monitor. A tentative, almost polite knock came at the door. Bahar turned, peering over the top of her glasses.

— Yes? — her brow furrowed slightly.

The door opened, and Adem Yurdakul stepped inside. He stopped at the threshold, holding a thin folder and a tablet in his hands.

— If you’ve come to judge, — she removed her glasses and set them on the desk, — I understand you, but I won’t allow it. A surgeon is not a god. He cannot guarantee the outcome, — she looked him straight in the eyes, — but he can take a heart in his hands and make it beat again. He can do what is within his power, — she didn’t blink. — And today, he did that.

— I won’t take more than a minute, — he replied evenly, stepping closer until he stood across from her. — I won’t keep you, — his gaze stayed fixed on her.

Bahar made no move to rise. The desk between them felt like a boundary — two sides, one mission, countless conflicts. He embodied the system; she refused to let her doctors be humiliated.

— I just… — he cleared his throat — just wanted to tell you in person.

Bahar’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

— Five years ago, I lost my wife, — not a muscle in her face twitched, — Professor Evren Yalkın was on that surgery. And I… — he broke off.

Bahar watched him silently — no pity, no fear, only focus.

— I couldn’t forgive, — he finally admitted, — neither him nor myself.

— I’m not your judge, — Bahar whispered.

Adem seemed not to hear her — he needed to say what he had carried for so long.

— If he had made a mistake today, it would have made it easier for me, — he almost smiled. — Pitiful, isn’t it? — he searched her eyes for sympathy.

— No. Not pitiful, — she said very quietly.

— He’s a good doctor, — he admitted for the first time. — I just didn’t want him to be a good doctor, — Adem said aloud.

Bahar exhaled, fingers tightening together. Adem turned toward the door. With his hand on the handle, without facing her, he said:

— Yes, he’s not guilty, but he carries another’s death inside him as if it were his own. — He breathed out. — I think he’s long needed someone who wouldn’t be afraid to look in the same direction with him, — he turned his head, meeting her gaze, — and not turn away.

Adem Yurdakul left as quietly as he had entered. Bahar remained alone in her office, still feeling the weight of his words. Slowly, she rose, took her coat from the hook, and draped it over her shoulders.

She just wanted to breathe — and found herself before the terrace door. Ever since they’d spoken there, she always paused for a moment before stepping out, before taking that first step. Hard… easy… simple.

Bahar pushed the door open. The city breathed before her… and he was there, standing at the railing without his coat — not a doctor now, but just a man. She walked slowly toward him.

Evren held a paper cup, though he seemed to have forgotten to drink from it. He stared at a single point, but she knew he already felt her presence. He knew who was coming toward him. Bahar stopped behind him.

How much this terrace had seen. How much had been spoken here, and even more left unsaid — given over to the wind. They stood in silence, side by side, though she was behind him.

— He came to see me, talked to me, — she broke the silence first.

Evren nodded but didn’t turn.

— He said you’re not guilty, — she stepped forward and took the cup from his hand.

It was full, but the coffee had long gone cold.

— That’s not true, — he sighed. — I didn’t make a mistake, but I didn’t save her either.

Evren lowered his head.

— None of us is flawless, Evren, — she said quietly, setting the cup on the parapet.

She stood close enough for their shoulders to nearly touch — almost like before… only “before” wasn’t possible anymore. Evren turned, their eyes meeting.

— I thought you wouldn’t come, — he whispered. — That you’d walk away.

— I already walked away. Because back then, we weren’t ready, — she held his gaze.

A shadow passed over Evren’s face. She stayed silent; so did he. They had said much, but not the most important thing. And that — that was the real truth.

— Both of us, — he whispered, — both of us weren’t ready, — finally admitting it.

A faint smile touched Bahar’s lips.

— Now I see you — alive, real, imperfect, not a victor… just you, Evren, — she breathed. — Why didn’t I ask? Because I chose your side from the start. I didn’t fight against you — I stood beside you.

Evren flinched again, then slowly reached for her, his fingers brushing hers, tentative, uncertain.

— You still want to stand beside me? — he murmured, eyes never leaving hers.

Her fingers moved in his palm, and he closed his hand lightly over them, understanding that now — as in the operating room — he couldn’t make a mistake… or maybe he could. She had made mistakes, so had he… neither of them was perfect. They just needed to learn to accept each other’s flaws.

He exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath this whole time. They stood together in silence, the city sprawling before them, alive in its own rhythm. Bahar was beside him… and for now, that beside was enough. Perhaps he wanted more — warmth, attention — but Evren knew he would have to earn her trust again, step by step… especially if she allowed it, especially if she gave him a chance.

Was she giving him one? He glanced at her — and met the deep, steady gaze of her blue eyes. How he had missed her eyes, her warmth, her scent, the simple fact of her standing next to him, touching him… Her fingers stirred again in his hand, and he squeezed them a little tighter. The world bloomed with new colors; a smile stretched across his lips, his eyes shining. Only she could breathe life back into him with nothing but her presence — could give him a thousand reasons to keep moving forward.

Only… she wasn’t smiling, and his brow furrowed.

— What’s wrong? — he asked.

— They’ll be taking Reha to surgery soon, and… — she turned toward the hospital windows but didn’t release his hand, — there’s a big problem, Evren. A very big one.

— What? — he tensed, feeling her fingers tremble in his.

— You need to talk to Rengin, — she began.

— If it’s about the department— — he started.

— No. Cem, — Bahar bit her lip, letting out a breath. — I’m afraid it’s very bad now. It’s no longer just the bracelet, Evren, — her hand lifted as if to touch his hair, but she stopped halfway and let it fall. — You should… just talk to Rengin, — she urged.

— You’re scaring me, — there was real unease in his voice.

Bahar didn’t have time to answer — the phone in her pocket buzzed, then rang. She pulled it out, saw the name, and showed it to Evren.

— Çağla, — she whispered. — I have to take this. Rengin, — she reminded him, almost tapping a finger against his chest before hurrying away, answering as she went.

— What? — her shout carried back to him; she even stopped for a second. — When? — her pace quickened. — Where are you? — and then she was running.

Evren took off after her. He didn’t know why — he just felt that they needed him. Both of them.