“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 intoa 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.
