For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the weight of exhaustion and the faint hum of the house around me.
Then it hits.
He’s dead.
The words slam into my sternum like a blunt weapon. Confirmed. Spoken aloud. Delivered with quiet certainty by a man who looked me in the eye and told me to let go.
I press my palms hard against my eyes, like I can push the truth back where it came from. Like pressure might fix what’s broken. My throat tightens instantly, breath stuttering as grief surges up again—hot, sharp, merciless.
My father is dead.
No more wondering where he is.
No more chasing shadows.
No more believing I’ll hear his voice again, calm and steady, telling me he’s fine, telling me he’ll explain everything when he gets back.
There is noback.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but my father’s face appears anyway—his tired smile, the crease between his brows when he was thinking too hard, the way he used to say my name like it grounded him.
“You’ll always be safe,” he used to say. “No matter what.”
A bitter laugh tears out of me, broken and ugly.
Safe.
I feel him before I see him.
The weight of the room shifts, like something solid has settled into place. I open my eyes and find Konstantin sitting onthe edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, hands loosely clasped. He isn’t touching me. He isn’t speaking. He’s just watching—with that unnerving stillness, like a man guarding something fragile and volatile at the same time.
“I need air,” I say hoarsely.
His jaw tightens for half a second. Then he nods.
“Okay.”
No argument. No command. Just that single word, measured and careful, like he’s afraid the wrong tone might shatter me.
He helps me up without rushing, draping a coat over my shoulders even though I don’t ask for it. His fingers linger at my collarbone for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, grounding—or maybe steadying himself. I don’t comment on it.
The balcony doors slide open with a muted sound.
Cold air rushes in, sharp and clean, stinging my lungs as I step outside. I grip the railing immediately, knuckles whitening, breathing deep until the ache in my chest dulls just a little.
Security is everywhere.
Guards line the perimeter in disciplined silence, spaced with military precision. No idle movement. No chatter. At the far corner, Dimitri stands apart from the rest, rifle cradled easily in his arms, gaze sweeping the grounds below with ruthless patience. He looks less like a guard and more like a warning.
I swallow.
So, this is what safe looks like now.
Konstantin positions himself slightly behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him at my back, far enough that I still have space. His presence is a wall—solid, unyielding, impossible to ignore.
I stare out over the darkened grounds, lights cutting through mist and shadow. Somewhere beyond those walls, my father took his last breath. Somewhere beyond them, the truth isburied under layers of lies and men who think secrets belong to them.
My voice comes out small. “He used to bring me here when I couldn’t sleep. Not this balcony—anywhere there was sky. He’d say it reminded him how small problems really were.”