He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
“No,” he said, low and steady, a weight pressing into my chest with each syllable. Not a hint of mercy. Not a trace of hesitation.
The word was absolute.
Then, almost thoughtfully, he added, “Actually... you will meet your end right here.”
“Then shoot me,” I shouted back, rain stinging my eyes, blood burning my lips. My voice cracked—but it didn’t break. “J-just d-do it. E-end it.” I swallowed hard, breath shaking. “I... I kn-know y-you have a g-gun. In y-your pocket.”
For a long moment, he only watched me struggle to speak.
His mouth curved into a slow, chilling smile.
“No.” He shook his head once. “That would be mercy.”
He gestured to the graves, to the rain, to the night itself.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he said calmly. Too calmly. “I’m going to watch you suffer.”
The wind howled around us.
“I’ll stand here and watch this storm break you. Watch your body shake until it can’t anymore.” His gaze dropped, slow, deliberate, taking in every tremor. “You’ll beg for warmth. You won’t find any.”
He gestured lazily toward the open ground. The graves.
“You’ll either freeze where you stand,” he continued, voice almost bored, “or you’ll crawl into one of those holes yourself and let the earth do what I won’t.”
A pause. Then, softer—deadlier:
“Either way, Tonight is when the consequences begin.”
The rain slammed down in sheets.
It soaked through my borrowed black top in seconds, plastered fabric to skin, stole heat from my bones.
Water streamed down my face, mixed with tears, blood, dirt—washed nothing clean.
Ruslan stood unmoving, rain sliding off him like it couldn’t touch him.
I wrapped my arms around myself, knees shaking, refusing to collapse. Refusing to beg.
“Will my de-death finally he-heal you?” I screamed through the downpour, throat tearing open again. Blood flecked my lips. “Will it bring your sis-sis-sister back? Your wife? Your child?”
Thunder answered again—closer this time.
Ruslan said nothing.
The rain intensified.
What had been heavy drops became sheets—thick, relentless curtains driven sideways by violent wind.
It struck my skin like needles.
The shivering started subtly, then took over completely—violent tremors rattling my teeth, locking my jaw. My fingers went numb. My lungs tightened, familiar and terrifying.
Cold had always done this to me. Hives. Wheezing. Asthma clawing at my chest like an animal desperate to escape.
Tonight it felt deliberate. As if the night itself had chosen me.
