Chapter Twenty-Five
Sabrina
Somehow, I ended up sitting on the stairs with my ear practically against the banister, waiting to hear something. What that something is, I honestly don't know.
I was dragged here by a giggling Dario, who grabbed my hand with far too much determination for a four-year-old and insisted I sit down immediately because, apparently, this was “important.”
I should have known that word coming from him meant trouble.
Now he's sitting one step below me, practically vibrating with excitement while I stay behind him, one arm loosely wrapped around his middle to stop him from launching himself down the staircase.
His giggles keep slipping out every few seconds as he bounces in his dinosaur pyjamas, while I sit behind him in an oversized black hoodie and shorts, wondering what exactly I agreed to by following him out here.
“Dario,” I whisper, grabbing the back of his shirt before he can lean too far through the banister. “You're going to fall.”
“No I'm not,” he whispers back confidently.
I tighten my arm around him anyway.
The house is quieter than usual tonight, but not silent. Voices drift up from downstairs, mixed with footsteps near the front entrance.
Dario gasps dramatically.
“It should happen soon.”
His voice is barely above a whisper, but the excitement in it is impossible to miss.
I blink at him. “What's happening, Dario?”
Instead of answering, he grins.
Then a scream echoes through the house, followed immediately by Rafael swearing loudly downstairs.
Dario loses it.
His laughter bursts out so violently that he nearly falls sideways off the stairs, and suddenly everything clicks into place.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, staring at him. “What did you do?”
He looks entirely too proud of himself.
“He said no to the sword,” Dario says, as though that explains everything. “So I put thumbtacks in his shoes.”
Another curse echoes from downstairs.
Dario grabs my wrist.
“RUN.”
Before I can even process it, we're sprinting upstairs, Dario laughing so hard he can barely breathe. Our footsteps thunder down the hallway as we disappear towards my room like actual criminals fleeing a crime scene.
I shut the bedroom door behind us just as another voice downstairs starts yelling.
Dario launches himself onto the bed, and I barely get under the blankets before he grabs them and yanks them over both of us, burying himself against my side while trying – and failing – to stop laughing.
“You are insane,” I whisper, breathless from laughing now, too.
“No,” he whispers back proudly. “I'm getting revenge.”
“DARIO.”
The blanket does absolutely nothing to muffle our laughter. Dario shakes against my side, trying – and failing – to keep quiet, which only makes me laugh harder.
Rafael's voice echoes through the house again.
“BIANCA, OUR SON IS A MENACE.”
Dario looks up at me from under the blanket with the widest grin I've ever seen.
“See?” he whispers proudly. “He called me his son.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing louder.
“That,” I whisper back, “is the part you took from this?”
He nods confidently.
Heavy footsteps start coming upstairs, and Dario's eyes widen instantly.
“Oh no.”
The bedroom door swings open so suddenly it slams against the wall.
Rafael stands there barefoot, looking genuinely offended by life itself. One shoe is still on while the other hangs from his hand, several thumbtacks sticking out of the sole. Behind him, Bianca is failing badly at trying not to laugh.
“You,” Rafael says, pointing directly at the lump under the blankets that is very obviously Dario, “are a criminal.”
Dario immediately hides his face against my shoulder.
“I'm sleeping.”
Rafael stares at him.
Then at me.
“You're encouraging him.”
“I actually told him swords were a bad idea,” I reply honestly.
“That was before or after he turned my shoe into a weapon?”
“Technically,” I say carefully, “you said no sword and no gun. You didn't say anything about thumbtacks.”
Bianca snorts loudly behind him.
Rafael looks betrayed.
“You too?”
She lifts her hands innocently. “I didn't say anything.”
Dario peeks his head out from the blanket.
“Did it work?”
Rafael blinks slowly. “Did what work?”
“My revenge.”
I lose the battle against laughing completely after that.
Rafael watches me for a second before shaking his head like he's deeply disappointed in both of us.
“You know,” he says, “normal four-year-olds watch cartoons.”
Dario gasps dramatically. “I do watch cartoons.”
“That somehow makes this worse.”
Bianca finally walks further into the room, still smiling despite herself.
“Okay, tiny mafia boss,” she says, reaching towards Dario. “Time for bed.”
“No,” Dario says immediately, tightening his grip around my waist. “I live here now.”
“You already live here.”
“Exactly.”
Rafael exhales slowly, like he's trying to find patience somewhere inside himself and failing miserably.
Then his eyes narrow slightly.
“Wait.”
Beside me, Dario goes still.
Rafael lifts the damaged shoe slightly. “How did you even reach the shelf in my closet?”
Silence.
Very suspicious silence.
Then Dario points directly at me.
The little traitor.
Rafael slowly turns towards me.
I blink once. “In my defence, he said he wanted them to pin a sign up.”
Rafael stares at me in disbelief.
“And you believed that?”
“He looked sincere.”
“I was sincere,” Dario says helpfully.
Rafael points at him. “You put thumbtacks in my shoes.”
“That doesn't mean I lied about the sign.”
Rafael narrows his eyes. “What sign?”
Dario brightens instantly.
“The one that said ‘Dario was here.’”
I turn away, biting back another laugh. Bianca completely loses it beside the door, while Rafael looks personally betrayed by everyone in the room.
“You signed the crime scene?” he asks slowly.
Dario nods proudly.
“So you knew it was me.”
For a second, Rafael just stands there staring at him like he genuinely doesn't know whether to laugh or arrest him.
Then he rubs a hand down his face.
“I'm surrounded by criminals,” he mutters.
Dario grins proudly.
And somehow, the fact that Rafael is clearly trying not to smile makes everything even funnier.
***
The hallway is quieter than usual between lessons.
Most people are either still in classrooms or outside before the next bell rings, leaving the corridors strangely empty compared to the normal chaos this school thrives on.
The silence should feel peaceful, but here it never really does.
It just feels temporary, like the calm before something eventually goes wrong.
I'm halfway down the east wing when raised voices catch my attention.
I turn the corner and immediately spot Valeria pinned against the wall by Elias. One of his arms is braced beside her head, blocking her in while she stares back at him completely unimpressed. If anything, she looks bored.
Elias, on the other hand, looks irritated.
“You will go out with me eventually,” he says, leaning slightly closer like persistence somehow counts as charm.
Valeria arches a brow slowly. “Wow. You almost sounded confident that time.”
His jaw tightens instantly. “I'm serious.”
“And I'm embarrassed for you.”
I have to fight the urge to laugh.
Valeria notices me first. Her eyes flick towards me briefly before returning to Elias like she already knows I'm about to involve myself.
Elias keeps going. “You think you're funny?”
“No,” Valeria replies calmly. “I think you're obsessed.”
Elias steps closer immediately, anger flashing across his face fast enough to sharpen the entire atmosphere.
Valeria doesn't even flinch. Instead, she smiles slightly before punching him directly in the face.
Elias stumbles back half a step before surging forward again, clearly done pretending this is a conversation.
That's when I step in.
“Bad idea.”
The second Elias sees me, everything changes. The anger drains from his face, replaced by fear.
“S-Sabrina,” he says, stumbling slightly over my name.
I stop directly between him and Valeria, folding my arms casually even though there's absolutely nothing relaxed about me right now.
“You should stay away from her,” I say evenly.
Elias swallows hard. “It wasn't – I wasn't doing anything.”
Valeria snorts behind me. “That's definitely not true.”
“You should also spend some time thinking about your recent actions,” I continue calmly. “Because they're getting progressively more disgusting.”
His face pales slightly at that.
The sparring match flashes through my head for half a second. The reason things escalated that day was because every time I looked at his face, I saw that room again.
Cold concrete. Blood. Ivan Volkov smiling as he pushed a knife towards me.
Kill him... or take the punishment.
Elias had looked at me that day with blood running down his face and genuinely believed I was going to kill him.
Instead, I saved him.
And somehow, he still grew up into this.
The memory alone is enough to make irritation crawl under my skin again.
“I already said I was joking about the kid,” Elias says quickly, his voice tighter now.
“The fact you think that makes it better is actually impressive.”
“I didn't mean–”
“I don't care what you meant,” I cut him off. “What matters is what you did.”
I take one step closer. “You should also remember something else.”
His breathing visibly changes.
“You wouldn't even be here right now if it wasn't for me.”
That does it.
All the colour drains from his face completely because he remembers – the voice behind the mask, the person who chose the punishment instead of killing him.
Kill him... or take the punishment.
His eyes widen slightly, like the memory has hit him all over again.
Valeria shifts beside me, arms crossed now, watching Elias like she's waiting for him to make another mistake.
Honestly, so am I.
But he doesn't.
For once, Elias actually seems smart enough to recognise when he's outmatched. His gaze flicks between me and Valeria one last time before he steps back, then another, like he can't get away fast enough.
The second he disappears down the hallway, Valeria lets out a low whistle beside me.
“You know,” she says lightly, “I think you traumatised him.”
I keep my eyes on the hallway for another moment, watching the space he disappeared into.
Honestly, I think I should traumatise him more.
Valeria turns towards me immediately. “No.”
I glance at her. “I didn't even say anything.”
“You didn't have to.”
A smile slowly pulls at the corner of my mouth anyway.
That definitely doesn't reassure her.
Later that evening, I find out the Greek family won't be home for a few hours, and suddenly, I have an idea.
Mario takes one look at my face over FaceTime and immediately sighs like he already regrets existing.
“Absolutely not.”
“You don't even know what I'm going to say.”
“Yes, I do,” he says flatly. “You have the same expression you had before you put glitter in Moody Margaret's hairdryer.”
“That happened one time.”
“It happened three times.”
“Details.”
Mario drags a hand down his face. “Why am I involved in this?”
“Because you love me.”
“I genuinely think this friendship has shortened my lifespan.”
And yet, somehow, an hour later I'm crouched behind a stone wall outside the Greek estate with an earpiece in while Mario hacks into their security system from his bedroom like this is a completely normal Thursday night activity.
Cold air brushes against my face as I peek around the corner towards the guards near the entrance. The estate is lit up against the dark sky, security spread around the property exactly where it should be.
Too bad security systems mean nothing when Mario's involved.
“You know,” his voice crackles quietly through the earpiece, “most people deal with anger in healthier ways.”
“Most people are boring.”
“I miss when your hobbies involved annoying people online.”
I glance towards one of the cameras mounted near the side entrance. “You done yet?”
Keys tap rapidly through the speaker for a few seconds before Mario hums softly.
“Cameras are down.”
That gets a smile out of me immediately.
Mario is terrifying with technology. Seven minutes is all he needs.
“You've got seven minutes before the backup system restarts itself,” he continues. “And if you get caught, I was never here.”
“Wow. Fake friend.”
“You're committing crimes for stress relief.”
“Self-care is important.”
Mario mutters something in Irish that sounds deeply judgemental.
I slip out from behind the wall and move quickly towards the side entrance, staying low out of instinct more than necessity. My trainers barely make a sound against the stone path.
The lock takes less than ten seconds to pick. Honestly, I'm a little offended by how easy it is.
The second I step inside, silence settles around me.
It's like nobody is here... oh wait, there isn't anyone here.
“Left hallway,” Mario says quietly through the earpiece. “Second door on the right.”
“You sound suspiciously helpful for someone pretending they don't support this.”
“I support chaos when it's funny.”
“Good to know.”
I move upstairs carefully, listening for movement out of habit even though I already know the house is empty. Old instincts die hard.
When I finally stop outside Elias's bedroom door, a slow smile spreads across my face.
“This,” I whisper, reaching for the lock picks in my pocket, “is going to be therapeutic.”
“Sabrina,” Mario says cautiously, “please remember you're only trashing his room.”
“Mario.”
“What?”
“The fact you had to clarify that is kind of offensive.”
“It's really not.”
The lock clicks open almost immediately.
I step inside and pause for a second, taking in the room. Then my eyes land on the knife strapped to my thigh, and my fingers curl around the handle.
A slow breath leaves my lungs, taking the last of my hesitation with it.
The mattress is the first thing I slash.
By the time I'm done, the room looks violent. The mattress is sliced open from top to bottom, feathers and stuffing spilling across the floor like something exploded inside it. Deep knife marks carve through the walls, the desk and the wardrobe doors.
Every expensive shirt hanging in his wardrobe has been cut straight through the middle. His mirrors are shattered, glass littering the carpet beneath my boots while black glitter catches against the shards under the low lighting.
Mario goes completely silent in my ear for a few seconds.
“...I'm starting to think this isn't about stress relief anymore.”
I drag the knife through another pillow, watching feathers burst into the air. “It's about making a point.”
“You are making several concerning points.”
I ignore him.
My attention shifts slowly towards the wall above Elias's bed.
Then a darker idea forms.
The same slow feeling settles in my chest whenever Morana leaves her mark.
“Oh,” I murmur softly. “That's evil.”
Mario immediately sounds concerned. “Why do you sound excited?”
I grab a black marker from Elias's desk and walk towards the wall.
Then, carefully and deliberately, I write across it in large, uneven letters.
MORANA WAS HERE.