Valeria steps out of the car slowly, looking around like she’s trying to confirm it’s real.
Then she exhales.
A long, steady breath I don’t think she’s taken properly in days.
Her shoulders relax completely.
And I see it clearly.
This is what she needed.
I feel proud of myself. I’m not one to make spontaneous decisions, but I’m proud of this.
A quiet kind of pride settles in my chest. I’m not someone who makes spontaneous decisions like this. Everything I do is calculated, measured, controlled. But bringing her here—this feels right.
I take our luggage and head toward the front door.
Valeria follows behind me slowly, taking everything in.
“Is this your property?” she asks.
“It belongs to the Rusnak family,” I reply. “Anyone can use it.”
She hums softly, like she’s storing that information away without much resistance.
I enter the security code, and the door unlocks with a quietclick.
We step inside.
Valeria gasps.
The interior opens into a vast, sunlit space designed to make it feel as if the ocean never really ends. The entire back wall is glass—floor-to-ceiling windows that erase the boundary between inside and outside. The sea is right there, impossibly close, stretching endlessly in deep blues and shifting silver where the sunlight hits the water.
The living area is open-plan but warm, unlike most modern homes. Cream-toned furniture sits low and inviting,layered with soft textures—linen, cotton, woven fabrics that look untouched but lived-in. A massive sectional faces the ocean instead of a television, as if the house was designed to remind anyone inside that nothing here matters more than what’s beyond the glass.
Above us, a high ceiling with exposed wooden beams adds warmth, breaking the clean lines just enough to make it feel human. Subtle recessed lighting is built into the architecture, but right now it’s unnecessary—the natural light floods everything, reflecting off pale stone floors that stay cool and quiet underfoot.
To the side, a minimalist kitchen blends seamlessly into the space—dark marble counters, hidden appliances, everything sharp but understated.
Further in, a staircase of floating wood steps leads to an upper level. It’s the sound that stands out most.
The ocean.
Constant. Unbothered. Alive.
The sound of waves replacing gunfire and alarms feels almost unreal. The air is thick with salt and wind, clean in a way the city never is, and the long stretch of private shoreline outside makes it feel like the rest of the world has been deliberately erased. Like nothing beyond this house exists.
For a moment, even I feel it.
The distance.
The pause in everything.
Valeria yawns beside me as I guide her upstairs toward the bedroom.
By the time I set the luggage down, she’s already slowing, her exhaustion catching up with her now that she’s finally somewhere safe enough to feel it.
She looks at me, still half-awake.
