Then he leaves, closing the door with quiet finality. The lock slides into place.
His words hang in the air, as sharp and strange as the first day I arrived.
***
I hardly sleep that night. I replay every word from our conversation, staring at the ceiling, the memory of his voice circling through my mind.
I hate how those words dig beneath my skin, how a part of me clings to the idea that he might mean it.
Sometime before dawn, I drift into uneasy sleep. My dream is a blur of city lights and cold rain. I’m running—no, I’m being chased. Shadows flicker at the edge of my vision, faces I almost recognize.
There’s the alley, sharp with the smell of oil and fear, and I see Lukyan in the distance, his silhouette cut from darkness. Gunfire cracks through the dream. I feel the weight of his coat thrown around my shoulders, the fabric heavy with his scent—smoke and something warm, unfamiliar.
He pulls me close, his arm a barrier against the world, but when I look up, his face shifts between comfort and threat. One moment he’s saving me, the next he’s the one dragging me away.
“Clara,” he says, his voice both gentle and commanding.
I wake with his name on my lips, whispered into the dark. Sweat clings to my neck. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes until the room comes into focus. The door is still closed, the curtains still drawn, but sunlight filters in from around the edges, pale and uncertain.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My hands tremble, still caught between the terror of being chased and the strange security I felt in his arms. I press my palms to my face, willing the memory away. It lingers anyway.
By the time I shower and dress, the tray of breakfast has already appeared. I ignore it at first, scanning the room for anything out of place. My gaze snags on the nightstand.
A small silver key sits there, catching the early light. I stare at it, heart pounding. No note. No explanation. I pick it up carefully, turning it over in my hand. It’s old, but well kept, cool and solid against my skin.
“Alright,” I murmur. “Let’s see what secrets you’re supposed to unlock.”
I cross the room and try the key in the door. It doesn’t fit. Not even close. For a moment, disappointment sweeps through me, but I force myself to think. If not the door, then what?
I scan the rest of the room and spot the desk against the wall. It’s a beautiful piece: old, heavy, the kind that looks like it was built to outlast generations. I kneel and try the key in the drawer. This time, it slides in smoothly. The lock clicks open with a soft snap.
Inside, resting alone on a strip of velvet, is a phone. Not a sleek new model, but an old flip phone, screen flickering weakly. My breath catches as I reach for it, half expecting it to vanish like a trick of the light.
I press the power button. The screen glows dimly, then stabilizes. One bar of battery. The only thing on the home screen is a call icon.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. I run my thumb over the keypad, the weight of decision settling heavy on my chest. I should call my mother. I should call Eden. I should call the police, scream for help, tell them where I am.
Instead, I sit back on my heels and stare at the phone. My mind races through a dozen possibilities.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I punch in Eden’s number. The phone rings twice before she answers.
“Hello?” Her voice is tentative, wary of unknown numbers.
“Eden, it’s me.”
There’s a long pause. “Clara? Oh my God, Clara, where are you? Are you alright? Are you—?”
“I’m okay. I can’t say where I am. I just—listen, I’m safe for now. Don’t do anything stupid, okay? Don’t come looking for me. Just tell my parents I’m alright. Tell them not to worry.”
There’s rustling on the other end, a shaky exhale. “Are you sure you’re safe? Did someone take you? Clara, please—”
“I’m safe,” I repeat, the words tasting strange. “Just… don’t get involved. I’ll call again if I can.”
The line crackles, Eden’s breath unsteady. “Is someone hurting you?”
A lump forms in my throat. “No. Not yet. Just… trust me. I can’t explain.”
She sniffs, then tries to pull herself together. “Your article… people are saying things online. Are you in trouble because of that?”
