Obsidian: The Sentinel Code Book One, page 37
“We take nothing for granted,” I said, letting the phrase be both reassurance and protocol. “Security measures are under review, and the safety of the public and the palace remains paramount.”
“Is there a message to the city?”
“Yes,” I said, and let the smile warm one notch so it read genuine for the cameras. “To everyone frightened tonight: we will not be cowed. We will not let terror define us. Please follow official channels for updates and remain calm. We will share more information as soon as we can.”
Viktor ignored them all. He just stood there, hand still on my back, staring at me like I'd lost my mind.
Maybe I had.
“We're leaving,” I announced to no one in particular. Then to Viktor: “Get me out of here.”
He didn't argue. Just guided me toward the waiting cars, cutting through the crowd with the same ruthless efficiency he used for everything else.
20
MIDNIGHT GARDENS
VIKTOR
My jacket hung heavy with water and failure. I let it fall. Stood there in shirt and holster while rain soaked through to skin, each drop a small punishment I'd earned a thousand times over.
The cold helped. Made the edges sharp again. Made the world feel real instead of like some nightmare where I kept saving people only to watch them bleed anyway.
My knuckles were split open. Raw. Aching in that way that reminded you that pain was proof of being alive, even when you weren't sure you wanted to be.
“You disappeared.”
His voice cut through the rain. Through the white noise in my head. Through every wall I'd tried to build in the last three hours.
I didn't turn. Couldn't. If I looked at him, if I saw concern in those green eyes, I'd shatter.
“Needed air.”
“Bullshit.” Footsteps through wet grass. No guards. No Apollo. Just Sebastian alone in the dark because he was reckless and stubborn and didn't understand that people who got close to me ended up destroyed. “You needed to run.”
My hands curled. Nails biting into palms. “Am not running.”
“You're standing in a garden at three in the morning, soaked through, looking like you're about to either kill someone or vanish into smoke.” He stopped beside me. Close enough that I could feel his warmth cutting through the rain. Close enough to touch but not touching. Giving me space to bolt. “That's running, Viktor.”
I looked at him then. Couldn't help it.
He'd thrown on dark clothes. Jeans. Black shirt that made his eyes look darker, face sharper. Hair plastered to his skull from rain. Beautiful in that way that hurt. Like staring into the sun and knowing you'd go blind but doing it anyway because the alternative was darkness forever.
“You should be in bed,” I said. Voice rough. Foreign.
“So should you.”
“I do not sleep.”
“I know. You prowl the halls like a ghost and pretend it's patrol.” His mouth curved. Sad. Understanding. “I've been watching you, Viktor. You think I haven't noticed?”
Of course he'd noticed. Sebastian noticed everything. Saw through every wall, every lie, every defense I threw up to keep him at a distance that might keep him breathing.
“You should stop watching.” The words tasted like ash. “Nothing good there to see.”
“I'll be the judge of that.”
I looked back at the gardens. At white roses blooming in darkness, petals glowing under moonlight breaking through clouds. My mother had loved white roses. Said they meant remembrance. That the dead preferred them because they caught the light, made themselves visible in the dark when everything else disappeared.
I'd planted white roses on Anya's grave with hands that shook so hard I could barely grip the shovel.
“I thought you were hurt,” Sebastian said quietly. “When I couldn't find you. After everything. I thought—” He cut himself off. Swallowed. “I thought you'd left.”
Something in my chest twisted. Sharp. Vicious.
“Would be easier if I had.”
“Don't.” His voice went hard. “Don't do that. Don't make this into something noble. Don't act like disappearing on me would be some kind of mercy.”
“Is not mercy. Is truth.”
“Your truth. Not mine.”
I turned on him then. Let him see whatever was written on my face. The exhaustion. The fear. The desperate need to protect him from myself. “You want truth, Sebastian? Fine. Here is truth: I am not good man. I have killed without hesitation. Lied without remorse. Betrayed people who trusted me. Done things that would make you sick if you knew the details.”
“I've seen you fight. I know what you're capable of.”
“You have seen surface.” My voice dropped. Went cold in that way it did when I was trying not to feel. “You have not seen what I have done. What I am still capable of doing.”
“Then show me.”
The challenge hung there. Quiet. Devastating.
“You do not want to see.”
“Try me.”
Rain fell harder. Thunder rolled somewhere over the city, low and warning. Storm coming. Always another storm coming to wash away the blood and leave the guilt intact.
“I did everything right tonight,” I heard myself say. Voice raw. Unfamiliar. “Everything. I checked the routes. Cleared the exits. Mapped the sight lines. Did my job exactly as I was trained.”
“You saved us.”
My laugh came out broken. Bitter. “I keep saving people who do not stay saved.”
“That's not—”
“Fair?” I rounded on him. Everything I'd been holding back for hours, for days, for years suddenly clawed its way up my throat. “You want to talk about fair? Nothing about this is fair. Nothing about watching you throw yourself into danger night after night while I follow behind trying to catch you before you fall. Nothing about knowing that caring about you makes me weaker. Makes me hesitate. Makes me—”
The words choked off. Blocked by something in my throat that felt like broken glass swallowed whole.
Sebastian stepped closer. Eyes locked on mine. Refusing to flinch. “Makes you what?”
“Makes me human.” The admission tasted like defeat. Like every failure I'd ever swallowed coming back up at once. “And humans fail.”
“Everyone fails, Viktor. That's not—”
“I had a sister.”
The words ripped out. Tore themselves free from the place I'd locked them. The place I'd sealed with violence and discipline and the kind of control that only worked if you never, ever let yourself feel.
Sebastian went still. “What?”
“Sister. Anya.” Her name felt like shrapnel in my mouth. Like speaking it out loud made her real again, made her death real again, made everything I'd failed to do real in a way that sitting with it silently never quite managed. “She was fifteen when they took her.”
The silence stretched. Just rain and my pulse hammering and the weight of a secret I'd carried alone for so long I'd forgotten what it felt like to share the burden.
“Viktor—”
“Do not.” I held up a hand. Couldn't look at him. Couldn't see whatever was about to cross his face. “Do not say you are sorry. Do not look at me with pity. Just. Let me say this before I lose my nerve and bury it again.”
He nodded. Pressed his lips together. Waited.
I looked at the roses. At their pale blooms glowing like bones in moonlight. Easier than looking at him. Easier than seeing understanding or horror or any of the things I deserved to see reflected back.
“I was military. Special forces. Best in my unit.” The words came mechanical. Rehearsed. Like I was reading from a report instead of bleeding out my worst memory into the rain. “They wanted me to interrogate a prisoner. Political dissident. Had information about arms smuggling, they said. I refused.”
“Why?”
“Because he was innocent. Because the orders were to make him confess to crimes he did not commit. To break him for propaganda. To turn him into a symbol.” My hands fisted. Knuckles screaming. “I told my commanding officer no. Said I would not torture an innocent man for politics.”
Sebastian didn't move. Barely breathed.
“They did not like that. Did not appreciate me questioning orders. Questioning authority. Questioning the machine.” I swallowed. Tasted copper. “So they found leverage.”
“Anya.”
“Da.” The word cracked. Splintered. “They took her from school. Held her for three days. Sent me videos every six hours showing what they would do to her if I did not cooperate. If I did not become the weapon they needed me to be.”
“What did they do?”
“Everything.” My voice went flat. Dead. The only way to say it without screaming. “They broke her. Slowly. Methodically. Professional torture disguised as interrogation. Asking her where I was. What I knew. Pretending she had information when all she had was my name and the memory of me promising I would always keep her safe.”
Rain ran down my face. Into my eyes. Blurring the world into watercolor smears that looked like the videos they'd sent. Her face. Her blood. Her screams.
“I tried to find her.” The words came faster now. Desperate. Like if I said them fast enough they wouldn't hurt as much. “Tore through every contact. Every source. Called in every favor I had built over years of service. But they moved her. Kept moving her. Always one step ahead because they knew me. Knew how I thought. Knew exactly how to hurt me in ways that would last.”
“Viktor—”
“By the time I found where they were keeping her, it was too late.” The words tasted like ash. Like failure. Like every moment I'd been too slow, too weak, too fucking human to save the one person who mattered. “She was already gone. Not dead. Worse than dead.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“No god in this. Just men with power and a girl who paid for her brother's pride.” I closed my eyes. Saw her face behind my eyelids. Always her face. Always that last moment when she'd looked at me and I'd seen that she was already gone. “They had destroyed her. Broken everything inside that made her Anya. Left her alive because that hurt me more than killing her would have. Because they wanted me to see what happened when people refused to be weapons.”
Sebastian made a sound. Raw. Hurt.
“She overdosed six months later.” The words came quiet now. Final. “Pills. Vodka. Bathroom floor in a hostel where no one knew her name. Where no one found her for three days because she was just another dead girl and the world is full of dead girls no one bothers to save.”
“I'm sorry—”
“I told you not to say that!” The roar came from somewhere animal. Feral. From the place where I kept everything I couldn't afford to feel. “Your sorry changes nothing! Brings nobody back! Does not fix the fact that I chose morality over her life! That I stood on principle while they destroyed her! That every day I am alive is a day she is not because I was too fucking proud to break one man who probably deserved it anyway!”
My voice broke.
Just shattered like glass. Like every wall I'd ever built collapsing at once under weight they were never meant to hold forever.
Sebastian moved. Closed the distance in two steps. His hands found my arms, gripping hard enough to hurt, grounding me in reality when all I wanted was to disappear into the past and fix everything I'd broken.
“Look at me.” Not a request. A command. “Viktor. Look at me.”
I couldn't. If I looked at him, if I saw pity or disgust or anything resembling what I deserved, I'd fall apart completely.
“Please.”
The word undid me.
I looked.
Found him staring back with eyes that held no pity. No disgust. Just raw understanding that hurt worse than any condemnation could have. Like he'd looked at the worst parts of me and decided they were worth holding anyway.
“It wasn't your fault,” he said.
“I was supposed to protect her.”
“You were a kid yourself. What were you, nineteen? Twenty?”
“Eighteen.” The number felt obscene. Like admitting how young I'd been made it worse somehow. Made the failure more complete. “Eighteen years old and so fucking sure I knew what was right. So convinced I could stand on principle and the world would bend around it.”
“You tried to do the right thing. That's not—”
“Is exactly failure!” The words exploded out of me. “I chose morality over her safety! Chose to feel noble instead of keeping her alive! If I had just done what they asked. If I had just broken one man who probably deserved it anyway, she would still be here! She would be alive and whole and—”
“And you would be dead inside.” Sebastian's grip tightened. “You would've broken yourself to save her, and she would've spent the rest of her life knowing her brother became a monster to protect her. You think that would've been better?”
“She would be alive!”
“And you would be what? Their weapon? Their tool? The thing you spent years making sure you never became?” His voice went rough. Raw. “You made the only choice you could make, Viktor. The right choice. And they punished you for it because that's what powerful men do when people refuse to break.”
“I should have found her faster. Should have—”
“You did everything you could.” His voice cracked. “Everything humanly possible. And it still wasn't enough because sometimes the world is just cruel and there's nothing you can do to stop it.”
The words hit like bullets. Each one finding its target. Each one opening wounds I'd spent years teaching myself not to feel.
“I have heard that before,” I whispered. “Does not make it easier.”
“I know.” He lifted one hand from my arm. Touched my face. Careful. Gentle. Like I was something fragile instead of something sharp and dangerous. “But maybe it's not supposed to be easy. Maybe grief doesn't get lighter. We just get stronger at carrying it.”
“I am tired of carrying it.”
“Then let me help.”
I stared at him. At this golden prince standing in rain and broken glass, offering to shoulder weight that would crush him. Offering it like it was simple. Like it wasn't the most dangerous thing he could possibly do.
“You do not know what you are offering.”
“I know exactly what I'm offering.” His thumb traced my cheekbone. Catching rain or tears, I couldn't tell anymore. Didn't care. “I'm offering to carry your ghosts with mine. To be someone you don't have to pretend with. Someone who sees all of it and chooses you anyway.”
“I will hurt you. Will fail you. Will—”
“Will be human,” he interrupted. “Like the rest of us. Imperfect and flawed and trying anyway.”
“I am not good at trying.”
“Bullshit. You try harder than anyone I've ever met. You just call it duty instead of caring. Call it protocol instead of love. Call it anything except what it actually is because admitting you care means admitting you could lose, and you've lost enough.”
That startled a laugh out of me. Broken. Wet. But real.
“You are impossible.”
“Runs in the family.” He stepped closer. Until we were breathing the same air. Until I could feel his warmth cutting through the rain. “You don't have to be alone anymore, Viktor. You don't have to carry this by yourself.”
“I have carried it for a long time.”
“And you can keep carrying it for more if that's what you need.” His forehead rested against mine. “But you don't have to. I see you. All of you. The good and the broken and the parts you think make you a monster. And I'm not afraid.”
“You should be.”
“Too late.”
The rain fell harder. Thunder rolled closer. The world narrowing to just this: him and me and the space between where all my walls used to be.
“Everyone I get close to dies or gets destroyed,” I said. Last defense. Last wall. Last desperate attempt to protect him from myself.
“I'm not everyone.” His hands framed my face. “I'm not Anya. I'm not helpless. I'm not someone who needs you to sacrifice yourself to keep me safe.” His eyes burned into mine. “I'm someone who fights beside you. Who chooses you. Who refuses to let you disappear into guilt and shadows because you think that's what you deserve.”
“Why?”
“Because you're worth it. Because even if you can't see it yet, I do. And I'm not going anywhere.”
The words broke something inside me.
Not violent. Not destructive. Just broke.
Like ice cracking under spring sun. Like walls I'd spent years building finally giving way under pressure they were never meant to hold forever.
I tried to speak. Couldn't. Throat too tight. Eyes burning in a way that had nothing to do with rain.
“Viktor.” His voice went soft. Worried. “It's okay. You're okay.”
I wasn't okay.
I was falling apart in a garden at three in the morning while a prince whispered lies about me being worth saving.
I was remembering Anya's laugh. Her smile. The way she used to steal my cigarettes and pretend she didn't smoke. The way she'd called me Vitya in Russian when she wanted something, knowing I couldn't say no. The way she'd looked at me the last time with eyes that said she forgave me even though I'd never forgive myself.
I was feeling every hour of every day I'd spent turning myself into a weapon because weapons didn't grieve, didn't feel, didn't break under the weight of memories that should've killed me years ago.
“I never told anyone her name,” I heard myself say. “Not in eighteen years. Not Adrian. Not Dom. Not anyone. Just kept her locked inside where she couldn't hurt me anymore.”
“Then I'll keep it safe.” His thumb brushed across my cheek, catching moisture that wasn't rain. “I'll keep her safe. Both of you.”
That did it.
The dam broke.
Everything I'd been holding back for eighteen years came pouring out in a sound I barely recognized as coming from me. Somewhere between a sob and a roar. Raw and animal and completely uncontrolled.
My knees gave out.
