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“Sit,” Kirill says.

“That sofa costs more than my car.”

“Sit.”

“You people are reckless with upholstery.”

He puts a hand lightly at my elbow and lowers me onto the sofa. My hip throbs, and I grit my teeth in response. Anya sits immediately beside me.

Not near me. Beside me. Pressed against my arm.

Galina disappears and returns with water. “Drink.”

I accept the glass. “Thank you.”

Anya watches every swallow. “You need more.”

“I've had three sips.”

“Papa says hydration is important.”

“Your papa seems to have opinions on everything.”

“Yes,” Anya says.

Kirill makes another suspicious coughing sound.

I look at him. “Seriously?”

“I said nothing,” Kirill says.

The doctor comes in carrying his bag. Apparently, he traveled separately.

He crouches in front of me again. “I want to examine the hip properly.”

“At least buy me dinner first.”

The doctor blinks.

Kirill looks away.

Anya starts laughing.

Okay. Maybe concussion humor isn't age appropriate.

“Sorry,” I say.

The doctor presses carefully around my hip. I stop laughing. Pain shoots through me.

“Ah,” I hiss.

Anya immediately grabs my hand. “Stop hurting her.”

“I have to examine her,” the doctor says.

“You're pressing too hard.”

“Anya,” Kirill says.