38. Elena
Idon’t think.
The moment the vine begins to take shape, thick, twisting, alive, I’m already moving.
My arms jerk against the guards’ grip, shoulders burning as I twist and wrench, trying to tear free. Their fingers clamp down harder, digging into my skin, but I barely feel it. All I see is that vine inching forward.
Closer. And closer. Toward the man I love.
Each second stretches, distorts, until it feels like I’m drowning in it. He stands there, unmoving, his eyes locked on mine.
Don’t.
The word isn’t spoken, but I feel it all the same.
My jaw tightens.
No.
I squeeze my eyes shut, shutting him out, shutting everything out, the shouting, the chaos, the pounding of my pulse. I reach inward, past the exhaustion clawing at my bones, past the strain already fraying the edges of my control.
I need fear.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms as I pull at the air, at the space around us.
The shift comes slowly at first. A pressure. A weight. Then…a hum. It’s low and distant. It builds until it can no longer be ignored.
The guards stiffen behind me.
“What is that?—”
The sound swells, vibrating through the air, crawling under skin, into ears, into bone.
A swarm.
Invisible at first, but close enough to feel.
I push harder.
The buzzing thickens, multiplies, surrounds. And then… they break.
A scream rips from one of them as their grip vanishes from my arms. Hands fly to faces, to hair, to air that suddenly feels alive with stinging bodies. They swat wildly, stumbling over themselves, panic overtaking discipline in an instant.
I don’t stop. I can’t.
I flood the space with more until the illusion is suffocating, until it’s everywhere, until there’s nothing else to focus on but the swarm.
One of them bolts, crashing headfirst into the infinity pool with a splash. The other runs blindly in the opposite direction, arms flailing, shouting into nothing.
The moment their hands leave me, I surge forward.
“No, you don’t!”
Oksana steps into my path.
I grab her before she can move again, my fingers locking around her elbow, yanking her toward me. Her skin is warm beneath my grip, her pulse erratic.
Her eyes are wide.
Good.
“You shouldn’ve told me your greatest fear,” I murmur, my voice low, steady in a way I don’t feel.
Confusion flickers. Then the realization strikes her. The terror in her eyes is one of the only real emotions I have seen from her.
“Snakes.”
The word lands between us, heavy, inevitable.
Her breath stutters.
I don’t look away. I reach until the vines shift around us. No...twist and then split. And then they move. Not as vines. As something alive.
They slither across the ground, bodies coiling over her shoes, up her legs, their hissing filling the space between her broken breaths.
She freezes. Completely. As if her body has forgotten how to exist.
“Please…” she whispers, her voice thin, fraying.
“You never should have threatened my husband.”
My grip tightens. The snakes climb higher, wrapping around her, constricting, until she’s bound in place, trembling so hard her teeth chatter.
“Now you understand and feel what real fear feels like.”
My arm pulls back and drives forward. The impact reverberates through my arm as my fist connects with her stomach. The air leaves her in a broken gasp as she stumbles backward, heels catching nothing before she topples over the edge… a splash swallows her completely.
I’m already turning.
Wendell’s still there.
The vine—no, the spear now—hovers inches from Alexei’s chest.
“I’ll kill him.”
The words are almost boring.
I stop.
Everything in me screams to move, to run, to tear through whatever stands between us, but my body locks in place.
I can’t reach Alexei in time. I know it. Alexei knows it.
Our eyes meet. And he nods.
Do it.
Even if it costs him everything.
My vision blurs. “No,” I breathe, shaking my head. “You touch him,” I warn, my voice breaking and sharpening all at once, “and it will be the last thing you ever do.”
The spear of the vine inches closer until it is only a heartbeat from his chest.
Wendell’s finger twitches.
A crack splits the air.
Time around us seems to fracture.
“No!”
I lunge forward, but I am too late.
Fletcher steps in front of Alexei. The sound of impact is wrong. Heavy. Final.
Fletcher folds.
My breath leaves me in a strangled gasp as I stumble to a stop behind Aexei. My hand flies to my mouth.
“No… no…”
Alexei lowers Fletcher to the ground, his movements careful, frantic all at once. Blood spreads too fast, soaking through fabric, pooling beneath him.
Fletcher’s chest stutters. His breaths are coming shallower now. Uneven. Fading.
Alexei says something, his voice breaking, but the words blur, swallowed by the roaring in my ears.
This isn’t happening. It can’t be.
“Let’s go.”
I turn toward the voice.
Wendell is already moving, clutching his arm, the same arm I injured a week before, blood seeping between his fingers. He drags Oksana from the pool; she stumbles, half-drowned in fear, sobbing, barely aware of where she is.
They’re leaving. Again. Attempting to flee from the destruction and devastation they caused. Once again trying to avoid answering for their crimes.
My gaze flicks back.
Fletcher’s eyes find mine.
My throat tightens. I hate that I can’t fix this. Fix his fate.
But I can stop them.
I take a step back. Then another. Alexei doesn’t look up. He doesn’t stop me.
I turn…
And run.
The air burns in my lungs as I push forward, my legs heavy, every step pulling against exhaustion that claws at me from the inside out. Tears blur my vision, but I don’t slow, don’t stop to wipe them away.
Branches whip past. The gate slams open ahead of them.
“There—”
They slip through.
I hit the gate seconds later, shoving it wide as I burst into the woods. The world seems to narrow around me.
It’s them and the distance between us. It’s the pounding of my heart driving every step I take.
Oksana and Wendell are slower now. The damage from us that they couldn’t fully escape, despite all their careful planning.
Oksana stumbles, still trapped in the remnants of fear, her movements jerky, uncoordinated. Wendell compensates for his wound, one hand clamped to his arm, his pace uneven.
Closer. I’m getting closer.
I push harder, digging deep, scraping against whatever is left in me.
Two steps. One?—
I leap.
My body slams into her back, and we crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs, dirt, and leaves. The impact knocks the breath from both of us as pain flares across my palms, my knees.
She yelps beneath me.
I roll off quickly, already turning, already rising. “You’re not going anywhere,” I hiss.
She swings at me blindly, her leg snapping up in a kick that forces me back. We scramble to our feet, circling, breath ragged, dirt clinging to skin and fabric.
I have the advantage. Her movements are sloppy, unfocused, and angry.
I step in. Fast.
My fist drives into her chest. She stumbles back with a wheezing cough, her face twisting, eyes narrowing with something sharp and familiar.
Hate.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t learn?” I taunt, my voice low, steady despite the way my chest heaves.
She lunges, but misses, her steps too wide. Too slow.
I don’t hesitate.
Alexei’s voice echoes in my mind, clear as ever: Let them misjudge you. It’s the only advantage you get for free.
My aunt’s already decided what I am. Someone who is smaller and slower than her. Safe.
I step into her space before she can rethink it. My fist drives forward, clean, sharp, landing square in her chest.
The impact folds her just enough. She stumbles back, breath ripping out of her in a harsh, broken cough as she fights to stay upright.
When she looks at me again, her eyes have changed. Narrowed. Darkened. That same cold, cutting hatred I’ve seen before, echoing something older, buried deeper in the bloodline.
Good. Now she sees me.
I hold her gaze, steady, unflinching. “Looks like it wasn’t just my mother,” I murmur. A faint, humorless curve touches my mouth. “My husband made sure of that.”
I lean back, feel her strike cut through empty air, then pivot and bring my fist down hard against the back of her head.
She drops. Hard. She rolls onto her side, then onto her back, dragging in air like it burns. Her hand tangles in her hair, shoving it out of her face as she forces herself up on one elbow.
I don’t move.
My gaze flicks past her, to the tree line. Wendell lingers there, half-shadowed, untouched. Watching.
A bitter edge curls up my throat. “You hated my mother and wanted her dead. You did everything to make sure that happened,” I snarl, my voice rough, uneven. “My parents’ deaths are on your hands.”
The words land heavier than the strike ever did. Oksana doesn’t answer, her breaths sharp and shallow. My chest tightens, each breath pulling too deep, too fast, like something long buried is finally clawing its way up.
For a second, I see it, flashes instead of memories. Laughter cut short. Silence where there shouldn’t have been any.
My fault. Your fault. It doesn’t matter. They’re still gone.
My eyes lift again, locking onto Wendell. “And you…” My voice drops, steadier now. Colder. “You took the only father I ever had.” The space between us shrinks as I step forward, slow, careful. “You don’t get to walk away from that.”
Inanna’s voice cuts through the noise in my head, sharp as ever. It is about the dominoes that fall because of you. Your choices. You can change the world, or you can be responsible for the beginning of its end.
My jaw tightens.
Fletcher’s face flashes, gone before I could stop it.
I never wanted this. Never wanted blood, or revenge, or to stand here weighing a life in my hands like it’s something I get to decide. But the thought won’t leave. If they walk away… who’s next?
My fingers curl at my sides, tension coiling tight. And if I don’t let them walk away…the question lingers, heavy, unavoidable. What does that make me?
For a second, all I hear is breathing. My own breathing. Then, I focus on hers. The forest around us.