Dust to Dust

-Tatiana-

The acrid smell of gunpowder reached me a second late. Aunt Sofia let out an earth-shattering scream that tore through the dining room. “Mikhail,” she whispered into her palms. “Mikhail, you stupid, stupid man. I told you. I told you.” 

I sat frozen in my chair, too shocked to move, my fingers still clenched around the stem of my water glass as if it could anchor me to the world I knew.

Father was the first to stand. He did so calmly, his face betraying absolutely no emotion. His voice stayed completely even, as though he were negotiating a trade deal instead of staring down death. “You shouldn’t be here.”

The stranger’s mouth curved, he slowly scanned the table, his dark eyes moving with unquestionable focus. They lingered on Mother for a long beat, then shifted to Aunt Sofia, and finally to me.

“Good evening,” he said. His voice tinged with wealth. “I apologize for the interruption. I’ll try to make this brief.”

The glass was sweating. I watched a single droplet race down the crystal and wondered, absurdly, if the water inside knew what had happened. If it felt the vibration of death through the table.

“Sofia,” Father said, not looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the stranger. “Sofia, be quiet.”

Aunt Sofia’s scream choked off into a wet, hiccuping sob. She pressed both hands over her mouth, her gaze fixed on Uncle Mikhail’s body. “He’s not moving,” she whispered into her palms. “Viktor, he’s not moving.”

“I know.”

Her voice pitched higher, hysterical. “He’s your brother—”

“And he’s dead,” Father cut in. “You will be too if you don’t control yourself.” 

Father took a careful step forward, his polished shoes silent on the thick carpet. “How did you get inside?”

Nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Father’s jaw tightened. “Guards!”

His commanding voice echoed through the massive dining room, the kind of tone that usually brought men running. I waited—prayed—for the heavy oak doors to burst open, for the security team to flood in with their boots and their weapons and their promises of safety.

Nobody came.

Father’s calm facade cracked. A tiny flicker of panic flashed behind his eyes before he buried it. He called out again, louder this time. “Lukas!”

The room felt suffocatingly quiet. Even the grandfather clock in the corner seemed louder than usual, mocking us with its steady rhythm.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Anton!” Father shouted once more, desperation bleeding into his usually controlled tone. “Where the hell are you?”

Still, nothing. Only the faint metallic scent of blood beginning to mix with the gunpowder.

The stranger finally spoke. His voice was rough, low, and grating—like gravel under heavy boots or an engine that hadn’t been started in years. “Viktor.” He smiled, slow and devilish, the expression sending ice down my spine. “They can’t hear you.”

Father’s face drained of color. “...Kain, you are alive”

Kain tilted his head slightly, almost amused. “Did you think I was dead. I’m touched.”

Kain. The name meant absolutely nothing to me even when it sounded like something from a nightmare. But Mother inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wineglass until her knuckles turned bone-white. The elegant smile she’d worn all evening had vanished completely.

“Yeva,” he said softly. Mother stiffened. “You look well,” Kain continued, his gaze tracing her face. “The years have been kinder to you, way more than you deserve.”

“Please,” Mother said, her voice barely audible. “Leave now.”

“And miss this lovely dinner,” he replied, and his eyes slid back to me. “And company?.”

My breath broke mid-breath. Something in the way he looked at me had a way of holding me captive every time.

Father took another slow, deliberate step forward and positioned himself between the intruder and the rest of us. “You should’ve stayed gone.”

“I tried.” Kain remained frighteningly still, the gun steady in his hand. “You made sure I couldn’t.”

Father’s expression hardened into the mask he wore during difficult negotiations. “You’ve made a terrible mistake coming here. You’re trespassing on diplomatic property. Whatever you think I owe you, there are ways to settle it. You know how these things work.” Father’s palms opened slightly in that placating gesture he used on volatile opponents, the kind meant to calm a wild, cornered animal. Except tonight, we were the ones trapped.

“I’m not here to negotiate, Viktor. I’m here to balance the scales.”

“Scales don’t balance with blood,” Father said gravely . “They just get heavier.” 

Kain’s lips curved again, cold and humorless. “Let me worry about that.” 

The barrel of his gun tracked Father’s chest with eerie calm as Father edged closer. “You don’t have to do this, Kain.”

“Oh, but I do.” Kain’s eyes gleamed with darkness. Kain lifted his hand. Father moved at the exact same moment, reaching inside his tailored jacket.

“Don’t—!” Mother shouted, her voice raw with terror.

Bang!

A second shot split the room apart.