"Can you ever be entirely certain?" Anya wonders as she watches him brush his fingers against her knuckles, feeling that familiar flip flop of her stomach. Standing by what she says is easy. Nothing is entirely certain, not even the rise and setting of the sun. There are always twists, especially here in Darrow where reason is so easily subverted. It is a city that does not play by anyone's rules.

"Nothing in life is a guarantee." It is fair to point out. Every moment of her life is a gift, one that she isn't about to question. By all rights she should have died in that cellar in Ekaterinburg. His father shouldn't have saved her. He should have forever remained a boy she saw on the otherside of the wall. None of that is true. They live different lives now.

Shaking her head, she reaches up to brush away the furrow in his brow, smoothing away the wrinkles there. "But I choose this. I chose this when I came to wait for you to open your door and not go after Dmitry." Pausing, she frowns, wondering if this is something she should share at all. In the end she decides it is worth it. "I haven't seen him since the elevator."

It isn't that she cares any less about Dmitry. It is more that she doesn't know what to do with him. How to ever get him to see that she can love them both equally. That no one is a mistress. That she isn't a possession or a battle to be won. "I want us to have our chance. We should take it back."