When you push open the apartment door, the air feels heavier than before. Maybe it's because now I know.
Elijah is there. Sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, head bowed. He stands as soon as he hears me, eyes red, face tight. He's been crying. There's broken glass in a corner. But I don't care.
He comes closer, hesitates for half a second, then holds me tight. Really tight.
"Sorry," he whispers into my hair. "I... I lost it. I thought you'd left because of that. I'm so sorry. Did I scare you?"
I shake my head against his chest.
"It's nothing. You didn't do anything wrong."
He pulls back a little and kisses my forehead—the way he always does when words won't do. He smiles faintly, even though his eyes are still wet.
"I've got something to tell you. You're going to hate me. Officially, I was born twenty minutes before you."
I frown.
"That's not true."
"Gunther said it."
I look at him. He raises his hands like, "Don't blame me."
"It's in the files, I didn't make it up," he says with mock innocence. "So congrats—you've got a big brother."
"You were already unbearable, now you've got one more reason," I mutter. But it feels good to smile.
A silence falls. Not heavy. Just... dense. Full of things we can't say yet. Elijah sits down again. I settle beside him. Ilya stays standing nearby, arms crossed. Watching us like a tired bodyguard, ready to bite.
"It's weird," Elijah says after a while. "Knowing there's no one outside anymore. Nothing left. No waiting. No going back."
I nod silently. It leaves a hollow inside me. Like a cord has snapped. But a phantom cord. I didn't even know it was there until it broke.
"You're home here," Gunther whispers. "Whether you choose to enlist or not, you have a place in the Citadel. No one will throw you out."
I look at him. It's not just words. I see it in his eyes. In how he sits in that chair always too small for him, like he doesn't want to take up more space than us. I believe he means it.
He watches us thoughtfully, then says:
"By the way... you've been adults for a few months now, right?"
I nod slowly, curious.
"Maybe you could come with me, or with Tinka, on a patrol. Not alone. Not far. Just a little trip. To the surface. At night, so it's safer."
I hear Ilya make a small noise—half an anxious "huh?" and half a disapproving sigh.
"I know what you're going to say, Ilya. It's risky, blah blah blah. But it's thirty minutes. And they've been locked inside since..."
"Since we were fourteen," I breathe.
It hits me all at once. Four years. Without seeing the sky.
Ilya meets Gunther's eyes, then mine, then Elijah's. He scratches the back of his neck, sighs.
"We'll have to talk to Boris."
He didn't say no.
I turn to Elijah. He looks at me with the same hunger, the same fire slowly rekindling. Our cheeks are still salty, eyes red, hearts heavy. But that idea—that promise of outside—makes us stand a little straighter.
"So, it's a yes?" I ask, throat tight with hope.
"It's a yes to talk. Not to get eaten by something out there," Ilya answers with his usual sarcasm.
But he said yes.
And for the first time in hours, my heartbeat feels a little lighter.
---
B
oris said yes. 30 minutes.
Elijah is already ready, waiting for me in the hall with Gunther and Tinka.
I'm in the small gear room, the cold air sending a shiver down my spine. Ilya is there, already focused on his screens. He doesn't look at me right away, but I know he's there, attentive.
"Come here," he finally says, his voice soft, almost a whisper.
I step closer, hesitant. He kneels before me to help put the earpiece in. His fingers brush gently against my ear as he adjusts the small device. It's a simple gesture, almost nothing—but it makes my heart beat a little faster.
He studies my face, serious, his dark eyes deep in the dim light.
"It'll be okay, Mira. I'll be there."
I don't need to answer. Just feeling the warmth of his presence, the steadiness of his gaze. I look back at him—his hair tousled, the fatigue shadowing his eyes, but that calm certainty. The contrast strikes me.
He tucks a stray lock behind my ear without really realizing it, like an automatic gesture. I hold back a smile.
"You better not bolt into the snow, Miss," he teases, that sarcastic tone barely hiding his worry.
I roll my eyes, but I know that's what he wants.
He holds out his hand—firm and reassuring. I take it, fingers curling around his.
"Ready?"
I nod. He helps me pull on my jacket, straightens the collar. I feel his hand brush my arm. Just a light touch, but it electrifies me.
"I'll be talking in your earpiece the whole time. You answer, okay? No surprises."
I smile, my nerves easing a bit.
"Promise."
He steps back, gives me one last look.
"You'll see. This is real life, out there."
The steel door groans softly, slides open, letting in a blast of icy air. I take a deep breath, reflexive—and the air... it smells different. Damp. Mineral. Cold. Alive.
Elijah steps forward cautiously. Tinka's eyes watch him closely. Gunther gives me a small, almost solemn nod, like saying, go on.
So I move forward.
It's night. The ground crunches underfoot—rocky, frozen, uneven beneath my boots. I'd forgotten how unstable walking outside could be. But mostly... there's the sky.
I stop dead.
"...Ilya," I whisper.
"I know," he murmurs in my ear. "I chose tonight for this. Look."
The sky is streaked with green and blue, as if someone had spilled liquid light between the stars. A real northern lights. It ripples above us, vast, silent, unreal.
Elijah freezes beside me, to my left.
"It's..."
He doesn't finish. No need. I feel our breaths slow. Almost reverent. Tinka turns her face upward; Gunther crosses his arms, but I see his smile.
"I'll give you two minutes of silence, okay?" Ilya says.
I laugh. Or cry. Maybe a bit of both.
We walk on a little. It's a field of frozen stones, with some ruins far off, very far. Skeletons of things. But even that is beautiful. Everything is blue, white, green, shifting. The light glints off the ice. We hear only our steps, soft breaths. The faint wind.
"Feels like a dream," I murmur.
"Not a nightmare, for once," my brother says, smiling.
I turn slightly, look at Gunther. He's stayed back a little, rifle slung on his back. Watching us—not like a leader, but like an adult making sure some kids who've never seen the world don't fall into a hole.
Tinka offers us a pack of gum.
"Helps you breathe better outside," she explains.
Elijah takes one. So do I. The mint hits sharp—almost aggressive. But I love it.
Ilya's voice returns in my ear.
"You're at thirteen minutes. Enjoy it while it lasts."
"You sure you don't want to come?" I ask.
"I'm warm in comms. My job is to watch over you."
"Hope we're not stressing you out too much," I say.
He doesn't answer at once. Then:
"I trust you."
I stop walking.
My eyes sting a little. I stare at the blurred, frozen horizon. I feel... light. Tired. Alive.
"Can we stay a bit longer?" I ask softly.
Ilya answers,
"Twelve minutes left. Settle in."
So we sit down—just the three of us. Gunther keeps watch a few meters off. Tinka pulls out a survival blanket we unfold to sit on. The ground is frozen, but we don't care.
We don't speak much. Or at all. We just watch the sky. Listen to the wind, the silence, the real world. Elijah slips his arm around my shoulders. I let myself relax.
After a while, Ilya breathes out:
"Five minutes."
I close my eyes for a second. I want it to last longer. But this is enough. For a first time, it's enough.
When we stand, my legs are numb, but my heart is warm. We walk slowly back to the door. I turn one last time, gaze at the living light above. I think—Mom would have loved this.
"You still here?" I whisper.
"Always," Ilya replies.
We go back in.
And I smile.