WHEN PRETTY THINGS START TO ROT

ALANA

There’s a moment when a flower begins to rot.

It still looks beautiful bright petals, soft fragrance. But if you look close, the edges are curled, browning.

It’s still alive. Just barely.

I think that’s what I am now.

Still beautiful. Still smiling. But inside, I’m starting to decay.

I should’ve stayed away from him. But I didn’t.

I should’ve told Roman everything from the start.

But I couldn’t.

Now I’m standing in a marble hallway, heart pounding, fingers clenched, waiting for the devil who raised me to call me in.

Two guards stand at the double doors. Their suits are black, ties tighter than nooses, hands folded like they’re not hiding semi-automatics beneath their jackets.

The one on the left opens the door without a word.

Roman’s office is colder today. Brighter. Sunlight pours in through the windows, but it doesn’t feel warm. It feels clinical. Like a spotlight in an interrogation room.

My father is already seated. Leaning back. Calm. Too calm.

There’s a file on the desk in front of him.

My name on the label. And another underneath it.

Zachary Pierce / Zakhar Veronin

The blood drains from my face.

“Come in,” he says, voice too soft to be comforting.

I do.

He gestures to the seat across from him. I sit.

“Tell me,” he says, “what you’ve learned.”

I knew this was coming. But it still feels like swallowing glass.

“I think he doesn’t know who he is,” I start carefully. “He’s confused. Scared.”

Roman’s jaw twitches.

“But dangerous?”

I want to say no. But I don’t answer.

Because Zach is dangerous. Just not in the way Roman means.

He’s dangerous to me. To the walls I’ve built. To the mask I wear. To the rules I’ve lived by since I was old enough to bleed.

Roman studies me.

“You’ve been compromised.”

I flinch.

“I haven’t.”

“You’re sleeping with him.”

My throat closes.

He doesn’t wait for a response. “You disobeyed a direct order. You’re emotionally involved. And now, you’re in a position to be used.”

“I’m not weak,” I say through gritted teeth.

“No. You’re worse. You’re sentimental.”

He opens the file. Pulls out a single sheet. Slides it across the desk.

It’s a surveillance photo. Grainy. Nighttime.

Me and Zach on his porch. His arms around me. My face tilted up to his.

Intimate. Obvious.

My stomach knots.

“Why are you showing me this?” I ask.

Roman leans forward, steeples his fingers.

“Because I need to know who you are loyal to.”

I meet his gaze. And I lie.

“You.”

He nods slowly, like he believes me. But I can tell he doesn’t.

And then he says the one thing I hoped he wouldn’t.

“There’s a job tonight.”

I go still. “What kind of job?”

“A message delivery.”

“Where?”

“The South District.”

Everything in me tightens.

“You want me to go?”

“You’ve spent enough time down there. People know your face. He’ll trust you.”

The silence stretches until I can’t breathe.

Then Roman finally says it.

“I want you to bring him in.”

The world tilts.

“No,” I whisper.

His eyes flash.

“Excuse me?”

I sit up straighter, spine like ice.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Roman slams his hand on the desk.

“He exists. That’s the crime. He’s a Veronin. Blood means everything. And if he figures out who he is before we control him, we’ll be cleaning up bodies for months.”

My hands are shaking now.

“Then don’t let him find out. Just leave it alone.”

Roman laughs. Cold. Cruel.

“Oh, my sweet girl. You think this ends because you ask it to?”

He stands slowly and walks around the desk. I flinch when he reaches for me but he only places a small envelope in my lap.

“Inside is a syringe.”

I blink. “What?”

“A sedative. Not fatal. Just strong enough to drop him for a few hours.”

I stare at the envelope like it’s poisoned.

“I want him brought in tonight. No mess. No screams. Just you and him and a clean delivery. Understand?”

I look up at him, horrified.

“You want me to drug him?”

“Yes.”

“Why me?”

He leans in. Smiles.

“Because you’re the only one he trusts.”

I don’t remember getting up. I don’t remember walking out. Just the feel of the envelope in my hands, hot like it’s burning through my skin.

I drive home in silence.

I park in the driveway and sit there, engine still running.

And I realize something terrifying.

I can’t do it. But if I don’t… Someone else will.

And they won’t be gentle.

They won’t use a sedative.

They’ll use a bullet.

I go inside, drop the envelope on my desk, and rip it open.

Sure enough, there it is. A small syringe. Clean. Sealed. Professional.

I’ve used worse. But never on someone I cared about.

I sink to the floor, gripping it like it’s a blade, and stare at the ceiling.

I think about Zach’s laugh. His hands. His stupid cocky smirk that fades when he’s worried about me.

The way he says my name like it means something.

He trusted me. He still trusts me. And tonight, I’m supposed to betray him.

I look at the clock.

9:14 PM.

I still have time. But not much. And if I’m going to save him… I’ll have to make a choice that may very well get me killed.

I text him.

Me: Meet me at the old train yard. I need to see you. Don’t ask questions.

He replies three dots. Then:

Zach: On my way.

I grab the syringe. Wrap it in a scarf and stuff it in my purse. But not because I’m going to use it.

Because if someone searches me, I need it to look like I was following orders.

This is a lie layered on top of another lie.

A lie to save a life.

And if I fail, We both die.

The train yard is dark, wind-swept, and abandoned. The scent of rust and oil hangs in the air. I used to play here as a kid before I realized what shadows really meant.

Zach’s already there.

He’s leaning against a freight car, hoodie pulled up, hands tucked into his pockets. He looks tired. On edge.

But when he sees me, he smiles.

That smile is going to ruin me.

“Hey,” he says, stepping forward.

I hug him like it’s the last time I’ll get to.

He notices.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I need to tell you something.”

He waits.

I step back. Breathe deep. And say the words that will make everything unravel.

“My father knows everything. He knows you’re a Veronin. He’s planning to take you.”

Zach’s face goes still.

I continue, voice low, fast.

“He gave me something. Told me to use it. But I’m not going to.”

He stares at me for a long time. Not with anger. With heartbreak.

“You were really going to do it?”

“No. I wasn’t. I swear.” I reach into my bag and hand him the syringe. “I brought it so I could warn you.”

He takes it slowly. Looks at it. Then looks at me.

“Alana…”

“I love you,” I say, voice cracking. “But they will kill you if they think I hesitated.”

“Then run away with me.”

I blink.

 “What?”

“Tonight. We disappear. We figure the rest out later.”

I want to say yes.

But instead, I whisper,

“We won’t make it out alive.”

He steps closer.

“Then let’s die running. Or fighting”

And for the first time in my life, I think I might actually be willing to risk it all.