Page 121 of Eternal

AZRA

“Saturn” by Sleeping at Last

Present

I don’t see Alexander. Or Damir.

My eyes scan the room, brush over familiar faces, but neither of them is here.

But I didn’t care, I was alone on the balcony, smoking quietly.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Tired but happy.

Zanae joined me with a drink, smiling delicately. “You came out to escape too?”

I leaned against the railing, staring out at the distant stars. We see them so clearly from here.

“Something like that. Too many people in there.”

She laughed and looked back up at the sky, like she always does.

Maybe she’s used to it.

Maybe it’s her escape, the same way I used to draw them on the ceiling and pretend I was somewhere else. I saw the tattoo on her thigh. It’s small, but visible, next to a quote. A constellation. My favorite one. Andromeda.

“Brian would’ve liked to see you on your last day,” she says. “But she’s pretty swamped…”

“That’s okay,” I reply softly. “I’ll probably bother her the moment I run into a sketchy sample or an analysis I can’t make sense of.”

She laughs and she leans against the railing too, and in the way she moves, I see them again.

The marks. I’ve seen them before. Once.

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t look too long. But tonight, something pushes me to break that silence. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe the exhaustion.

Or maybe just… comfort ?

The faint scars shimmered in the moonlight, crossed by a tattoo, a heartbeat line running through the name “ Elijah ”.

“You survived,” I said softly, nodding toward the scars.

She followed my gaze, her smile turning almost sad. “Barely. He found me before I could finish it. Dragged me out of Hell and made me fight for something. Him , mostly.”

I hesitated, then said, almost offhand, “Mine are on my thighs. And my forearms.”

Zanae doesn’t answer right away. She doesn’t even move. Her fingers start taping on the railing, like she’s nervous, or remembering. But I feel her breathing slow down. And without looking at me, she simply says, “It was always to remind myself that I was still alive.”

She doesn’t speak again immediately.

She stares at the sky, as if the stars might soothe something a brutal world never forgave.

Then, in a whisper she added, “It’s scarier to be loved than to be alone. Because when you’re alone, there’s nothing at stake. Not even hope.”

I stay beside her. There’s no answer to that. But I chuckle. Stupidly . Maybe because I can’t explain why I started doing this to myself.

I don’t even understand it.

She smiles like she heard my thoughts and says, “You don’t need to explain. I know what it’s like, to think you have to carve out the pain just to make it leave. But pain doesn’t listen, does it?”

I shook my head, a dry laugh escaping. “No. It doesn’t. Nothing can help.”

She exhaled and turned to face me fully. “Strength does.”

I looked at her, a little surprised. “And how do you find that kind of strength?”

“You borrow it,” she said simply. “From the people who believe in you. From the ones who’d fight for you, even when you can’t fight for yourself.”

I leaned back, letting her words sink in. “Borrow, huh?” I smile. “I guess I’m not above stealing a little strength. I’ve done worse for less.”

“Perfect. Steal all the strength you find.”

I was just about to reply when I saw him through the glass door.

My eternal partner.

He was watching me, sitting there next to Elijah and Nikolai.

Zanae followed my line of sight and smiled. “Looks like someone already thinks you’re worth fighting for.”

“That’s complicated.”

She laughed, a full, rich sound, strangely adorable. “Of course it is. Nothing worth having is ever simple. That's why we survive right?”

The wind lifts a strand of her hair. She doesn’t brush it back.

I tighten my grip on the glass. My wrist is tense. My arm too. “I don’t think I ever learned how to do anything but survive,” I say softly.

“That’s already a lot,” she breathes. Another silence. Softer this time. Then she turns slightly toward me. Her voice is steadier. Honest. Fragile, but soft...

“You know… we often think that when it’s all broken, when we can’t even love ourselves or forgive things we never even did.

That maybe no one else could possibly do it for us.

But sometimes, someone shows up. And that person helps you realize…

you don’t deserve all that weight you’re carrying.

You can live. You’re not as broken as you believe. ”

I don’t move. I take in her words like warm air on an old wound.

She smiles, eyes glinting slightly, then adds, “I think your partner would be happy to help you see that. To prove it to you.”

I let out a short, almost bitter laugh. “That’s not what you think. It’s not possible… between us.”

Zanae doesn’t answer right away. She gazes back into the hall. Where Elijah stands.

She smiles gently, with that odd serenity only people who’ve known war and chosen love can showcase. “Trust me. When it comes to ‘impossible ,’ I know plenty.”

Her eyes find mine again. “But as long as there’s love… there’s hope.”

Before I could answer, the balcony door creaked open. Elijah stepped out looking at his woman with soft eyes.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” he said, voice tender and warm, as he draped his coat over her shoulders.

She smiled up at him, her fingers brushing his hand. “I’m okay.”

“Doesn’t mean you won’t catch a cold.” Then he looked at me, gave a curt nod. “You should both come inside.”

“I’ll stay a bit longer here.”

He pressed his lips together before speaking. “Damir’s in the room upstairs. He might want to talk to you.”

My brows knit together in confusion, but when I turned to look behind us searching for him I didn't see him. He was already gone.“Okay. I’ll go. Thanks for telling me.”

I started to leave, but Zanae reached out, placing a hand gently on my arm. She leaned in close, her voice a soft whisper against my ear. “Don’t let the world convince you that you’re too broken to deserve happiness. You’ll lose enough to this life as it is. Don’t let it take that too.”

Her words are echoing in my head when I start going upstairs and searching every room in this house.

I pushed the last door open, only a crack at first, and it was really dark inside, only the outside light of the moon and the garden’s lights.

And there he was.

Damir, sitting on the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, a half-empty glass in his hand.

Shirt unbuttoned, stained with blood, hands and jaw smudged like he’d wiped them and didn’t care.

He didn’t look surprised to see me, he simply watched every movement with empty eyes.

I stepped in quietly, shut the door behind me and walked toward him like I wasn’t sure why I was walking at all.

He shifted slightly, making space for me, and so, I climbed into his lap, one leg on either side of his. My knees against his hips, his free hand slid around my waist, holding me in place.

I lifted a hand, fingers brushing along the blood at his jaw.

He flinched, and it hit me in a way I didn’t expect, it made my chest ache.

Because he shouldn’t flinch at kindness. Not him . Not someone who gives it to me every day like it costs him nothing, when I know it costs him everything.

Because he doesn’t know what it’s like to be held gently. He only knows how to offer it. Never how to receive it. And I hate that for him.

God, I hate that for him, as much as I hated it for my younger self.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

That’s when he smiled.

“No,” he said. Soft. Almost gentle. “It’s okay.” Then his hand slid up, gripping my tie. Tight. And then his fingers curled in the knot of my tie. Pulled. Hard . “Come here,” he murmured.

And I was pulled forward, chest to chest, breath stolen from my mouth. Then he kissed me.

His lips moved, soft but brutal, like he was trying to say something in a language I didn’t quite understand yet. But somehow, when I kissed him back, it felt like my mouth understood him anyway.

We pull apart long enough to breathe.

“Why did you kiss me…” I ask.

He rests his forehead against mine, his voice low, needy, restrained, “Don’t ask why.” A pause. Then, “Just give me your mouth, partner .”

And I did.

We barely pull apart, gasping for air, lungs burning.

His breath fans over my lips, ragged, urgent, like he’s barely holding himself together.

Our mouths crash back together, open, greedy, tongues tangling in a wild, frantic rhythm.

“ Damir… ” slips out of me, raw and desperate, spilling from somewhere deep and unfiltered.

His hands slam into my hips, fingers digging in tight, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.

I’m pressed so hard against him I feel every heartbeat, every shudder of muscle beneath his shirt.

My fingers scrape up his neck, and when I pull back for air, I catch the streaks of my lipstick smudged across his skin, messy and bold exactly like this moment.

He growls low, teeth grazing the hollow of my throat, biting hard, making me shiver, the way his mouth moves in hungry, relentless kisses down my skin.

His body crushes into mine, every movement is brutal, hips shifting slowly, pressing, grinding without purpose but with all the urgency of something needing release.

His hands roam, tracing the curves and lines he knows too well, like memorizing me again.

He pulls back for a second, voice low and rough. “I missed you.”

I smile against his lips, breathless. “I was with you all night long.”

He shakes his head, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. “No. I’ve been away from you for an hour.”

The corner of my mouth quirks up. “It’s just an hour...”

“Well, it was the longest hour of my life.” He chuckles, and the sound vibrates against my skin as he closes the space between us again, claiming me with a kiss that promises everything and nothing all at once.

His lips linger on mine, slow and heavy, like he’s trying to memorize every line before we move.

He pulls back again, breath warm against my cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”