Page 128 of Eternal

AZRA

“To Build A Home” by The Cinematic Orchestra

Present

I pulled into the Bratva complex as the last light faded, the gate swung open without a word.

Before I could even cut the engine, my babies came barreling around the corner, full of energy and warmth. They jumped on me, tails wagging like I’d been gone forever.

I laughed, dropping my bag and crouching down to let them cover me in sloppy kisses. “I missed you,” I whispered, the tightness in my chest loosening for the first time in hours.

I play with the dogs for a few minutes, pretending everything’s fine, pretending I don’t still feel sick. That my head isn’t spinning. That I didn’t throw up outside like something inside me begged me to.

When I finally go inside, it’s warm, safe, even. Viktor’s on the phone, pacing like always, and Kat’s on the couch, phone in her hand, thumbs flying.

They both look up when I come in.

They freeze.

Then, without a word, they’re both on their feet.

Kat reaches me first, pulling me in like I’ve been gone for years, not a week. Viktor wraps around me right after, arms strong and steady. I feel small between them. And for once, I don’t try to act like I’m okay.

“Woman,” Kat says into my hair. “You didn’t call in two days. Not even a text.”

I can’t answer. My throat feels too tight.

Viktor’s hand starts rubbing my back slowly, calming whatever was happening inside.

He doesn’t say anything at first, he holds me tight.

I let them. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to talk. I want to stay here, right here, where nothing’s falling apart.

I think… I think I’m scared.

“I can’t,” I whisper. It slips out without me meaning to. “I can’t go back out there. I thought I could. But… but I can’t .”

They hold me tighter, no questions, no lectures. Only warmth and silence, and their arms around me like maybe they can keep the world out if they hold on hard enough.

Viktor lowers his head to mine. His voice is soft, careful. “You’re okay, Kroshka ?”

I shake my head, barely. Then I whisper, not even sure why I say it, “Flowers don’t cry, right?”

It’s quiet for a second. Then he hugs me tighter, like the words hit something in him too.

“They do,” he says. “They do when someone finally lets them.”

They don’t ask questions. Don’t try to pull more out of me than I can give.

We end up all curled on the same couch, like we used to as kids. Kat tucked into one corner with her legs over mine, Viktor sitting on the floor between us with his back against my knees.

Kat's hand stays on mine. Warm. Real . She hasn’t let go since I sat here with her.

Viktor hasn’t moved from the floor, but now his arm is hooked around my knees, like he’s trying to hold the pieces of me together without saying a word.

I close my eyes. Try to breathe. The air’s poisonous in my chest.

“ She… the girl,” I start again. “She said she’d been taken in by her parents but they quickly died and she stayed there alone.”

Kat leans forward slightly, her grip tightening.

“She said it started out like a group home, but it wasn’t. It was this church. But everything was off. They made them pray all day. No talking. No windows in the bedrooms. Cameras. Locks on the outside of the doors.”

Viktor’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t interrupt.

“She said... the girls and boys were always being watched. And if they acted out, they’d disappear. Sent to a room. Broken forever after they got out of there.”

I pause. The room is too quiet. I can hear my heartbeat in my teeth.

“She was smart,” I whisper. “She kept her head down. Did what they said. Pretended to break. One night she escaped. Said she ran barefoot through the woods for hours until she hit a road. But she was there for so long… Scared to death to be taken by a man or a woman during these gatherings. She was terrified of it, knowing she’d watch her friends be taken, crying because they didn’t want to. ”

My breath shudders.

“And I… I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About what happened to her. What might’ve happened to the ones who didn’t make it out.”

My throat tightens. I curl forward slightly, pulling the blanket up to my chest.

“And all I could think was... how close it sounded. How much it felt like... that house. My house. The basement. The mattress. The... bleach . The sound of the door. I wasn’t even there but it was the same kind of thing. It is the same thing. And it made me feel?—”

My voice breaks.

“Like I was still there .”

Sometimes, no matter how strong you are, no matter how hard you’ve worked to hold yourself together, it only takes one small thing to bring it all back.

A memory, a feeling, something you didn’t even see coming.

And suddenly, you’re right back in it, back in the version of you that struggled to breathe, to cope, to survive .

You feel it in your body before your mind even catches up.

That tension, that heaviness, the scars no one else sees, but you still feel like it, especially when you’re alone. Especially when you’re tired of pretending you’re fine.

There’s this constant fear underneath it all. Maybe it was never over, and no matter how far you’ve come, that fear doesn’t go away. Some days it’s quiet, other days, it presses down on your chest like it’s trying to stay.

And today it’s suffocating.

Kat shifts to press her forehead against mine. “You’re not there anymore.”

“I know,” I say, voice rising for the first time, brittle and wild. “I know I’m not. But it doesn’t matter. My head doesn’t care. It’s still there. I try to sleep and I see it. I smell it. I feel that floor under me. I am there. I’m always there.”

Viktor rises slowly, finally, and sits beside me on the couch. One of his arms comes around my back, pulling me between them both now, Kat on one side, Vik on the other.

“You don’t have to be strong for us,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to keep bleeding alone.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I can finish any of this. I thought I could. I had this whole plan. Find the truth. Burn it all down. Get revenge. But… ”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the shaking.

“I hear stories like hers and I fall apart. I start imagining every girl that didn’t get out.

Every kid like me who never even got seen.

It’s too much. It hurts so bad I… I can’t breathe sometimes.

I don’t want to go back there, but I can’t move forward either.

I feel stuck between that house and the grave. ”

Kat pulls me tighter into her chest. “Then don’t do it alone. Please, Azra. You don’t have to anymore.”

“I don’t know how to stop,” I say. “The revenge. The killing. The remembering. I feel like if I stop I’ll shatter.”

“You won’t,” Viktor says. “We’ll catch you.”

“What if you can’t? Vik… I swear I feel like... like I was born to break. And if I stop breaking, there won’t be anything left.”

Viktor’s hand moves gently to the back of my head. “We don’t mind carrying broken you .”

Kat presses a kiss to my temple, her voice soft. “You’re not alone anymore. You were never meant to be.”

I start crying, quietly, the way I used to when I was small and locked in that basement. No sound, only tears that fall and fall and never seem to stop.

But now I’m not alone.

Kat holds my hand.

Viktor holds my back.

I don’t know if I can finish this.

But maybe I don’t have to do it alone.

The crying fades, not all at once, but in slow waves. I breathe through it, let it pass, let it settle in the space between us.

Kat runs her fingers gently through my hair one last time, then stands.

“I’ll make us something,” she says softly. “ Visha , you wait for me.”

I almost smile. Almost .

She disappears into the kitchen, bare feet quiet on the wood floor.

I know what she’s making before I even hear the rustle of the cereal box.

She always made it when we were kids, plain yogurt, honey, whatever cereal was in the cupboard. Even when the cupboards were nearly empty, she’d always find a way to mix something together.

We’d eat it on the floor, knees touching, pretending we were fine.

I still eat it now. Every morning. Even when I don’t taste it.

Viktor doesn’t speak right away, he simply rests his arm along the back behind me, fingers brushing my shoulder.

Then, slowly, he leans in and wraps both arms around me, pulling me close, like he used to when I’d scrape my knees or wake up screaming from the cellar when I came back here years ago.

It doesn’t feel awkward, it doesn’t feel like pity, it feels like home .

“I can’t imagine what happened in that house,” he says quietly. “I’ve tried. For years. I wondered what you went through. But the truth is, I can’t picture it.”

I press my forehead to his shoulder, silent.

“But I’m here now,” he continues. “And no one’s ever going to hurt you like that again. Not while I’m breathing. Not while Kat’s breathing.”

I nod against him. “I don’t know if I can finish this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But should I?” I ask, voice shaking. “Should I keep going? I feel like... if I stop now, it’s stupid. Selfish .”

“If you want to finish,” he says, “I’ll help you. Like I always did. I’ll walk through it with you.”

I let that sit, let the silence hold me for a moment, then I whisper, “I think I need to. Not for me.” Viktor waits. “For the kids,” I continue. “For the ones still in it. The ones who never made it out.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, but he pulls me closer, resting his chin lightly against the top of my head.

“You always cared too much,” he murmurs. “Even when we were little.”

“I don’t know any other way.”

“Good,” he says. “Don’t change that. I want you to let us be here while you do it.”

I close my eyes. Breathe in his scent, clean, warm, familiar. The world doesn’t stop spinning. The pain doesn’t leave.

But I don’t feel alone in it anymore.

Kat returns a few minutes later, balancing three mismatched bowls in her arms.