Chapter Nine
Nikolai
Dawn breaks, pale light filtering through the grimy windows.
I keep my eyes on the front door. The sunrise is eerily beautiful—streaks of orange and pink cutting through the trees—but I can’t afford to appreciate it.
Aslanov could find us at any moment. One second of distraction is all it would take.
Lauren and Hannah are still asleep behind the bedroom door. I can hear Hannah’s soft breathing, the occasional rustle of covers.
Last night, Lauren stood in that doorway watching me. I saw it in her eyes—the war between what she remembers and what she’s trying to protect herself from. Familiarity flickering and dying in the same breath. She wanted to understand how this is real, how I’m here after four years of being gone.
I’ve imagined this reunion a thousand times.
Sitting in my apartment across from theirs, coffee growing cold in my hands as I watched them through the window and let myself fantasize.
I’d knock on her door. She’d open it. Recognition would flood her face, then relief, then joy.
We’d fall into each other. Hannah would call me daddy. Everything would be right again.
Blyad.
This is nothing like I pictured.
Footsteps behind me. I turn as Lauren emerges from the bedroom, moving carefully, like she’s navigating unfamiliar territory.
“Morning,” I say. My voice comes out rough.
She nods slightly, arms wrapped around herself. She’s wearing the same sweatshirt from last night, fuzzy socks on her feet. “Is there water?”
I stand, floorboards creaking under my weight. The cabin is small, barely insulated, designed for function rather than comfort. What used to be a door between the kitchen and main room has rotted away, leaving just the frame.
“Kitchen’s through here.” I gesture for her to follow.
She hesitates before moving, staying close to the wall as she walks, keeping distance between us.
The kitchen is cramped. She leans against the far counter, as far from me as the small space allows. Still, we’re only a few feet apart.
I pull a glass from the cabinet and turn on the tap. The pipes groan and shudder, water sputtering out in uneven bursts before settling into a steady stream. I fill the glass and hand it to her.
Our fingers brush.
The contact sends electricity up my arm. Four years, and that hasn’t changed.
She takes the glass, her hand trembling slightly. Whether from exhaustion or emotion, I can’t tell. She drinks slowly, her eyes finally lifting to meet mine.
Tired. Wary. But underneath it all, still searching for answers.
“You need to tell me what happened,” she says quietly. “All of it.”
I lean back against the opposite counter, grounding myself. I need to choose my words carefully. “I know this is overwhelming—”
“Overwhelming.” She repeats the word like she’s testing its weight. “That’s one way to put it.”
I press on. “I got away that night. Barely. Made it look like I was dead so Aslanov wouldn’t keep hunting. He bought it for four years.” I pause. “Until yesterday. He knows I’m alive. And he knows the fastest way to draw me out is through you and Hannah.”
Lauren sets the empty glass down, her knuckles white against the countertop. “So Hannah is in danger because of you.”
Pizdets.
The words hit exactly where they’re meant to.
I tense. “I never wanted this.”
“I know.” Her voice is quieter now, tired. “But it doesn’t change anything, does it? Danger finds you whether you want it to or not. It always has.”
My hands grip the counter’s edge. “I will protect you both. I swear it.”
She takes a shaky breath, her gaze drifting toward the bedroom door where Hannah sleeps. She understands what that promise costs. What it’s always cost.
“Can you?” Her question is barely above a whisper. “Protect us from Ronan Aslanov? He already destroyed you once.”
“I will die before I let anything happen to either of you.”
Something flickers in her expression—pain, maybe, or fear of losing me again when she’s just gotten me back. She blinks it away quickly.
“How are you even here, Niko?” She’s talking to herself more than me. Then her eyes snap back to mine. “And Hannah—she thinks you’re dead. How am I supposed to tell a four-year-old that her father...” She trails off, shaking her head. “I’m not having that conversation with her.”
The words cut deeper than I expected.
But I have to ask. “Do you think... would she accept me? Eventually?”
“She doesn’t know you, Niko.” Lauren’s voice softens slightly. “That’s the problem. You’re a stranger to her.” She pauses, exhaustion written in every line of her face. “Just keep her safe. That’s all I’m asking.”
She moves to put the glass in the sink. Our bodies are close in the cramped space—too close. I can smell her shampoo, feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
I step back before the proximity becomes something I can’t control.
Lauren meets my eyes for a brief moment, something unreadable passing between us. Then she turns and heads back to the bedroom.
I return to my chair outside their door, settling in for another watch.
She’s right, of course. What’s the point of telling Hannah who I am if I might not survive what’s coming? Better to be a stranger who kept her safe than a father who abandoned her twice.
Blyad.
The guilt is eating me from the inside out.
But at least Lauren talked to me. Didn’t shut me out completely.
It’s more than I deserve.
And maybe—if I can keep them alive—it might be enough to build on.