Mag-log inThe darkness was deep and heavy, a leaden mantle that pulled me downward, into a place without pain or thoughts. I floated in it like a corpse at the bottom of the sea, arms open, eyes closed, mind empty.But something was pulling me back.A voice. Distant at first, an inaudible whisper among the dark currents. Then closer, clearer, more insistent. Like a rope tied to my chest, pulling me inch by inch, making me rise slowly toward the surface.Pain was the first thing that reached me.It wasn’t a sharp pain, the kind that makes you scream. It was a dull, deep pain that came from the bones and spread through the muscles like slow lava. Broken ribs. Torn stitches. Fever. Infection. My whole body was a battlefield, and I was the fallen soldier.Alive. I’m still alive.The thought came with surprising clarity, cutting through the dark fog like a blade.Consciousness returned in layers. First, touch. The softness of something beneath me — sheets, not the hard stretcher from the Arsenal. Th
It was almost midnight when I heard it.The rumble of an engine, distant, climbing the road. Then the sound of doors slamming. Then voices — Mateo, Edda, Zahir, and another voice. Familiar. Hoarse. Exhausted.My heart raced.I rose from the chair where I had been sitting for hours, fingers clenched on the wooden armrest.The cabin door opened.He was there.Tristan.The light from the wood stove danced across his face, revealing every detail I both feared and longed to see. He was wearing a black suit, stained with dirt and sweat. His tie was loose, the buttons of his shirt undone, the cuffs dirty.But it was his face that broke my heart.Pale. Eyes sunken, dark circles like bruises, lips cracked and dry. He was sweating — a cold, sticky sweat that didn’t come from heat but from fever. His breathing was short, labored, as if every inhalation cost a superhuman effort.“Aurora…” His voice came out as a whisper, almost inaudible.And then he staggered.Mateo caught him by the arm, preven
The black car glided along the dark roads, leaving behind the big city, the illuminated suburbs, the sleeping villages.The landscape changed gradually — the buildings gave way to fields, the fields to hills, the hills to mountains covered with black pine trees against the starry sky.August slept the entire time in my lap, his small body warm and soft, his breathing calm and steady. The sedative Edda had given him kept him unconscious of the horrors we had left behind — and of those still to come.I was grateful for that. At least one person in this story deserved peace.Mateo was driving now, in complete silence, eyes fixed on the road, hands steady on the wheel. Edda, in the passenger seat, maintained a silent vigil, her eyes scanning the rearview mirrors, the sides, and the sky. The other man, whom I learned was called Zahir, sat beside me, monitoring a tablet that showed maps, coordinates, and, I assumed, Tristan’s position.None of them spoke. None of them needed to.What was th
The morning had begun with news that made my blood boil, but which didn’t completely surprise me: Lena had disappeared.The guards I had assigned to “protect her” — and watch her — found the apartment empty at dawn. The bed was unmade, the bathroom still damp, a half-full cup of coffee on the table. She had fled. Like a rat abandoning a ship before it sank.“There is no sign of her, Mr. Delyon,” the head of security informed me, his voice tense over the phone. “Fake documents were used at a train station two hours ago. After that, the trail went cold.”“Find her,” I ordered, and hung up.Lena was an annoyance, not a threat. Without money, without influence, without my name to protect her, she wouldn’t last long in the underworld she had chosen to hide in. Sooner or later, she would be found. And when she was, I would decide what to do with her.The real satisfaction, the real triumph, would come in the late afternoon.Tristan had signed the documents. He had transferred his shares of
The dressing room door opened with a creak, and my mother’s face appeared in the gap. Pale. Watery-eyed. Trembling.My heart plummeted.He didn’t come. The wedding is over. The humiliation will be complete.“Mom?” My voice came out low, as fragile as the crystal in the jewels weighing on my neck. “What happened? He…”“He arrived.” The words came out like a sigh, as if my mother were releasing the breath she had been holding for the last few hours. “Tristan is at the altar. Waiting for you.”My legs went weak.I had to lean on the chair to keep from falling. The makeup artist, who was still adjusting a detail on my veil, held me by the arm, preventing me from collapsing onto the polished wooden floor.“He is…” I tried to repeat, but my voice failed.“He is.” My mother entered the dressing room, her eyes shining with tears that were no longer of despair, but of relief. “He’s there, Erika. I saw him myself. The black suit, the upright posture… he’s waiting.”He is there. He came. He didn
Time had lost all meaning.The nights blended into a gray haze, a thick foam that swallowed the hours and spat out only one truth: Tristan was dead. Cassius had said so. Cassius had gone to the morgue. Cassius had identified the body.I didn’t want to believe it. I refused to believe it. But the hours passed and he didn’t return. The days passed and he didn’t return. And now, night was falling over the lake house, and I was beginning to accept what my heart refused to admit.He is not coming back.The phrase echoed in my mind like a funeral bell, each toll a blow to the chest.Lying on the narrow bed in the room where Cassius had locked me, I stared at the wooden ceiling, eyes dry, body empty. The tears had dried up after countless hours of muffled crying into the pillow so August wouldn’t hear. The rage had drained away when Cassius appeared at the door and told me, with unnecessary details, how his son’s body had been found — carbonized, unrecognizable, dead.Now, only emptiness rem







