And the knife, small and sharp, taped into the seam where no one would think to look.
I checked everything twice, making sure nothing was missing, nothing out of place.
This wasn’t impulsive or reckless.
It was a final decision.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, the weight of the bag pressing into my hands as I stared at the door he’d walked through just moments ago.
The door that had slammed shut behind him with the kind of finality that left no room for soft endings.
And something inside me—something fragile I hadn’t realized I was still holding onto—snapped clean.
There was no going back to whatever last night had been.
No pretending it meant something he would honor.
He could keep his threats.
Keep Violet.
Keep the twisted satisfaction of using me as collateral for a past I had no part in—punishing me for my father’s sins.
But he would never control my future.
Not this part of me. Not the part that refused to be erased.
Then I rose slowly, my body still taut.
I picked up the bag, its weight settling heavily in my hand—along with the knowledge of what it meant.
If he caught me trying to escape...
It was one of the red lines he had drawn. One he would not forgive.
I tightened my grip and walked toward the window.
The curtains parted with a quiet sweep, and light flooded in—soft, golden, almost gentle.
The lake stretched out beyond the glass, perfectly still.
This very night, I’m leaving.
It doesn’t matter how much it hurts to walk away.
It doesn’t matter where I end up—even if it’s back on the streets, hunger clawing at my insides, running again... always looking over my shoulder, making sure Ruslan Baranov’s men don’t catch up to me.
I’ll still go.
Even if I carry him with me.
The memory of him.
The weight of what happened between us—something I can’t undo, something that will follow me long after I’m gone.
I turn away from the window, letting the last of the light fall behind me, the lake slipping out of sight.
The room grows quiet.
