16. Alexei #2
The ventilation system looms ahead.
Bolted shut.
Cold bites deeper as I yank the multi-tool free from my pocket, fingers numb, swollen. I flip the screwdriver out and jam it into the first bolt.
It twists with a shriek of metal beneath my fingers.
One bolt gives.
A few seconds later, the second bolt is free, my arms trembling now, vision tunneling.
I focus on twisting the next screw, the grooves loosening with each rotation.
I kick hard toward the faint glow ahead, legs burning, lungs screaming. The light wavers, close enough to promise salvation, far enough to mock me. Black spots bloom across my vision.
Another grate.
I reach, but the lack of oxygen makes me miss.
The tool slips free, spinning once as it falls. The red-brown handle catches the beam, the one my father gave me, and then it vanishes.
“No—”
Bubbles steal the word.
I slam my shoulder into the grate.
Once.
Again.
The metal holds against every ounce of force I throw at it.
My strength drains fast, unstoppable. My arms go heavy, useless. My fingers slide off slick bars.
The water closes over me.
It fills everything; ears, mouth, chest, quieting the world. The pain fades first. Then the cold.
The last thing I feel is weightless.
Then… nothing.
I wake flat on my back, blinking into nothing.
For a moment, I don’t move. I can’t. My body feels impossibly distant, like it belongs to someone else, like I’m remembering myself instead of inhabiting myself.
The last thing I remember comes back in pieces; dark water closing over my head, the burn in my lungs, the way breath becomes a bargaining chip you eventually run out of.
Training screams at you to keep going. Willpower claws for one more second. But time doesn’t negotiate.
Time won.
Light spears through my eyelids, unforgiving, unrelenting. I grunt and throw my arm up, the motion sluggish and uncoordinated, as though my arm belongs to someone else cutting across the sky too late to matter. White explodes behind my eyes.
“Hello, Alexei.”
The voice is soft. Not distant, close as if they were speaking right into my ear.
Wrapped in warmth. It slips past my defenses before I realize I should have any.
The panic coiled tight in my chest loosens, unspooling without permission.
My breathing evens out. The terror of dying, of failing, of leaving her alone is quiet now, like a tide pulling back from shore.
I push myself upright, blinking hard.
She stands in front of me.
For a long moment, I can only stare.
She is draped in a flowing white gown that moves as if it’s alive, fabric whispering around her legs.
Slits run up both sides, bearing long, elegant lines of muscle and skin from ankle to hip.
Her body glows faintly, not bright enough to blind, but enough to make her look unreal, like a lantern shaped into a woman.
Her skin is translucent, warm light pulsing beneath it.
Dark brown hair cascades in loose waves around her shoulders, framing a face that feels too perfect to be accidental.
Full lips painted a deep ruby. Eyes so dark they nearly swallow the light around them, sharp against olive skin.
She steps closer and leans in, studying me as though she already knows what she’ll find.
“Who are you?” I ask.
My voice sounds rough, scraped raw.
I roll onto my side and push to my knees. My shoes squelch. Water seeps under my palms, cold and real, grounding me as I stagger to my feet. My clothes cling to me, heavy and soaked through, as if I’ve been dragged straight out of the river and dropped here without ceremony.
Behind her, the land stretches out, and my breath catches.
A hill rolls gently away, the grass impossibly green, vibrant to the point of glowing.
It hums with life. The air is crisp and clean, filling my lungs with something sweet, something that tastes like morning after a long war.
Peace radiates from the place, presses against my skin, seeps into my bones.
Is this what heaven looks like?
The thought hits harder than any blow.
Because with it comes the realization of everything I won’t see.
My chest tightens. My gaze drops. I swallow past the sudden ache rising in my throat.
I will never see my father again. Never hear his voice.
Never feel Elena’s fingers lace through mine when she thinks no one’s watching.
Hear her tell me she loves me. I never believed in fairness.
Life taught me early that it doesn’t exist. Standing here, surrounded by serenity I don’t want, the injustice burns.
I needed more time.
Months weren’t enough. Not with her. Not when we had just started talking about a future that didn’t revolve around survival. Children. Laughter. Gray hair and quiet mornings. Passing the crown on and finally choosing ourselves.
Elena deserved more than this. More than being left behind. More than losing everyone she loves.
I shut my eyes and drag in a breath.
Behind me, mountains loom—massive and ancient, layered in gray and white and warm earth tones. Sunlight spills across their peaks, bathing everything in pale blue and gold. It should soothe me. It should heal.
Instead, it feels like a goodbye.
“All is not yet lost.”
Her voice drifts through the air like a promise.
I open my eyes and face her. “Who are you?” I ask again. “Where am I?”
She studies me, head tilting slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching as if amused by something I can’t see. “I see your wife hasn’t spoken of our last visit.”
My focus sharpens instantly. “What visit?” I say, stepping closer. “I won’t ask a?—”
“My name is Inanna.” She cuts me off gently, as if interruption is a kindness.
I hold her gaze, waiting for the name to mean something. It doesn’t. Not yet.
“I am one of the last ancients,” she continues. “I am the one who gifted you and Elena your abilities.”
The words settle slowly.
Even after everything I’d experienced, I clung to logic.
Cause and effect. Physics. Training. Seeing her, an ancient, standing in front of me, cracks something open.
Every instinct told me she couldn’t be real.
And yet... nothing about the peace settling over this place felt like something my mind could have invented.
If she can do this, if she can send me back to my wife, I’ll believe anything she says.
Inanna smiles, eyes flicking to the side, then back to me.
My jaw tightens. “You can hear my thoughts.”
“No, Alexei,” she says calmly. “I cannot. I can feel them.”
Relief and suspicion collide inside me.
She steps forward. I don’t move. Her hand lifts, glowing brighter as it presses flat against my chest, right over my heart. Heat spreads through me, chasing away the grief like fog burned off by sunlight.
“I am the ancient of love, war, and beauty,” she tells me. “And despite your duty, despite what is required of you, your heart screams with love. For her.”
Her eyes lift to mine, shining.
I shake my head and step back, breaking contact. The pull she exerts isn’t physical, it’s something deeper, something dangerous. She hasn’t crossed a line, but instinct flares anyway. I’ve spent my life reading people, enemies, and intentions.
And I see it now.
Beneath her power. Beneath her beauty.
Envy.
She has never known what Elena and I have. She watches from above and feels it while others live it. The realization settles heavily between us.
“Am I dead?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer immediately. Her gaze drifts past me, toward the hills rolling endlessly to the right.
“That depends on you.”
My pulse spikes. “What does that mean?”
“After Elena was shot, I intervened to save her,” she says. “Something ancients are forbidden to do.”
“Isn’t gifting us abilities intervening as well?” I challenge.