The taxi was already idling at the curb. My father pulled open the rear door for me, and I slid inside without a word. Kostya took the passenger seat beside the driver. As we rolled through the quiet streets, I pressed my forehead lightly against the cool glass, letting my gaze drift over the familiar landscape of my hometown.
I may have been born in Kserton, but Rostov had always been my true home. I knew its districts, its narrow streets, its hidden corners—each one layered with memories. They rose now in flashes, vivid and bittersweet, almost all of them tied to my grandmother. Perhaps it's natural to think so much of the dead in the days just after burying them.
With her, my childhood had gone too. I'd known what death was, in the abstract, but until now I had never stood so close to it. The thought chilled me: I could have been lying in a coffin myself if that unhinged waitress and her thug had been a little quicker… If Viola and Max hadn't come when they did… A second later, and there might have been two fresh graves in the family.
In this strange new world—brimming with secrets, shadows, and creatures out of half-forgotten legends—I felt small. Breakable. In the past nine days, I had witnessed the raw pain of loss, the kind that swallows people whole. It made my heart ache in ways I couldn't put into words. If I could, I would have shattered myself into a thousand pieces to patch the wound in my mother's soul, the one that had opened the moment Grandma slipped away.
And then there was Nik. I remembered the red flare in his eyes. One mistake—one careless word—and I could put us all in danger. No human defense could shield us from that. Twice already Stanislav and his family had stepped in, but who's to say they would always arrive in time?
No matter what I felt for Nik, the truth was simple: he was dangerous. And no matter how much it hurt, I had to choose. For myself. For my family. For the future.
No more vampires.
No more fantastical entanglements.
Enough.
I pulled my phone from my pocket, opened the messenger app, and found his name instantly. Eighteen unread messages waited there. My thumb hovered, tempted to read them—but I knew that even a single line could unravel my resolve. I took a slow breath, steeling myself, and began to type:
A:Hi, Nik. I'm sorry, but we shouldn't be together.