Chapter 79: The Hunter’s Instinct

The morning at the cabin started with a deceptive kind of peace. I've spent several days here now, tucked away in the woods where the only sound is the wind through the pines. It feels like a dream, but the kind of dream where you eventually realize the walls are too thick and the doors don't have handles on your side.

I sat at the small kitchen table, staring at a cup of coffee that had gone cold. Dmitri was outside on the porch, his back to me, looking out at the foggy treeline. Ivan was somewhere upstairs; I could hear the faint creak of floorboards above my head.

"You're staring again, Leo."

I jumped slightly. I hadn't heard Ivan come down the stairs. He walked into the kitchen, his hair messy from sleep, looking more human than I’d seen him in weeks. He sat across from me and reached out, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked. His voice was soft, devoid of that sharp edge he usually used in the city.

"I was thinking about how quiet it is," I said, looking at our joined hands. "It’s so quiet that I can hear my own heart. It feels... lonely. Even with both of you here."

Ivan’s eyes darkened, but he didn't look angry. "It’s not loneliness. It’s just the absence of noise. You’ve spent your whole life surrounded by the static of other people's needs. Here, there’s only us. Is that so bad?"

"It’s not bad," I whispered. "It’s just heavy. Like I'm waiting for something to happen."

The screen door creaked open. Dmitri stepped inside, the smell of the cold morning clinging to his jacket. He looked at us—at our hands—and a small, knowing smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"The fog is lifting," Dmitri said. "It’s time, Leo. Come outside."

"Time for what?" I asked, pulling my hand back from Ivan.

"A lesson," Dmitri replied.

I followed them out onto the porch. The air was biting, making me shiver in my thin sweater. On the heavy wooden table sat a black plastic case. It looked out of place against the rustic setting of the cabin—too modern, too clinical.

Dmitri flipped the latches. The sound was like a bone snapping. Inside lay a handgun. It was sleek, dark, and looked terrifyingly efficient.

"No," I said, stepping back until my heels hit the cabin wall. "Absolutely not."

Dmitri didn't look up. He began checking the weapon, his movements fast and practiced. "The world doesn't care what you want, Leo. It only cares what you can protect. We've brought you into our circle. That makes you a target."

"I have you two to protect me," I argued, my voice rising. "Isn't that the whole point? You took me away from my life to 'keep me safe.' Now you're putting a gun in my hand?"

Ivan leaned against the railing, watching me with a tilted head. "We can’t be in your pockets twenty-four hours a day, Leo. What happens if someone sees a way to hurt us through you when we're in a meeting? What if we're five minutes away and you only have two?"

"I don't want to be the kind of person who knows how to use that," I said, pointing at the table. My chest felt tight. "I’m a painter. I create things. I don't... I don't destroy them."

Dmitri finally looked at me. He walked over, his presence tall and overwhelming, and put his hands on my shoulders. His touch was warm, but his gaze was like ice.

"Leo, look at me," he commanded. I forced myself to meet his eyes. "Do you think I like this? Do you think I want to imagine you in a situation where you'd need this? It keeps me awake at night. The thought of someone laying a hand on you makes me want to burn everything down."

"Then don't make me do this," I pleaded.

"I’m making you do this because I love you," he said, and the word 'love' sounded so sincere it made my head spin. "And because I know what people like my father are capable of. If you can’t defend yourself, you’re just a victim waiting to happen. I won’t let you be a victim."

He led me to the table. I felt like I was walking toward a ledge.

"Pick it up," he said.

I shook my head, my hands tucked behind my back.

"Leo," Ivan said from the railing. "Just touch it. Feel the weight. Knowledge isn't a crime."

I reached out, my fingers trembling so hard I almost dropped it the moment I touched the grip. It was heavier than I thought. It felt like holding a concentrated piece of death.

Dmitri stepped behind me. He wrapped his arms around mine, guiding my hands. His chest was a solid wall against my back, his breath hot against my ear. It was an intimate position—one we had shared in bed many times—but now it felt different. It felt like he was molding me into something else.

"Don't fight it," he whispered. "Relax your shoulders. If you're stiff, you'll miss. If you miss, you're dead. See that tree with the white mark?"

He pointed toward a birch tree about twenty yards away. A small X had been carved into the bark.

"I can't do this, Dmitri. Please," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes.

"Yes, you can," he said firmly. "Look at the sight. Line it up. Imagine it’s not a tree. Imagine it’s a man who is trying to take you away from this cabin. A man who wants to put you in a cage and hurt you just to get to us."

His words painted a horrific picture. I saw a faceless shadow reaching for me, tearing me away from the only safety I had left. My fear of the gun began to be replaced by a different kind of fear—the fear of losing the twins.

"That's it," Dmitri murmured as he felt my grip tighten. "That's the instinct. You aren't protecting a piece of metal, Leo. You’re protecting us. You’re protecting our life together."

Ivan walked up and stood beside us, his hand resting on my hip. "Do it for us, Leo. Show us you want to stay."

It was a trap. A beautiful, emotional trap. They were tying my ability to kill to my love for them.

I took a breath, the cold air stinging my lungs. I lined up the sights. My finger found the trigger. It was smooth and cold.

"Now," Dmitri whispered.

I squeezed.

The explosion was deafening. The recoil slammed into my palms, sending a shockwave up my arms and into my shoulders. The smell of burnt powder filled my nose. I gasped, my heart racing so fast I thought I might collapse.

A small chunk of bark flew off the tree, inches away from the X.

"Again," Dmitri said, his voice full of pride.

I fired again. And again. Each shot felt less like a choice and more like a surrender. By the time the magazine was empty, my hands weren't shaking anymore. They were numb.

Dmitri took the weapon from my hands and set it on the table. He turned me around and pulled me into a hard hug. I buried my face in his chest, trembling.

"Good boy," he whispered into my hair. "You did so well."

Ivan joined the hug, his arms wrapping around both of us. We stood there on the porch, a silent trio in the woods. I realized then that I wasn't just their lover or their guest. I was being forged. They were sharpening me like a blade, making sure that when the world eventually came for us, I wouldn't just be the prize—I would be the danger.

I looked at my hands. They still smelled like smoke. I realized I would never be able to paint with these hands again without remembering the weight of that gun.

"I'm one of you now, aren't I?" I asked, my voice muffled against Dmitri's shirt.

"You always were," Ivan answered, kissing my temple. "You just didn't have the tools to prove it until today."

I closed my eyes. The silence of the woods returned, but it didn't feel peacef

ul anymore. It felt like the silence before a war.