Page 23 of Eternal

DAMIR

“The Chauffeur” by Deftones

Present

Viktor

First Mission with Voron. Be ready in an hour at the complex.

F irst mission with her.

Good .

I take a drag of my cigarette, the smoke curling in my living room, seeping into the walls, the furniture, everything around me.

It’s the kind of thing you hate but still fucking crave, the burn in your lungs that reminds you it’s there. Always .

A bit like her.

She likes to smoke too, and God, it suits her.

She holds the cigarette like it’s something to pass the time. Loose, careless, like it’s barely worth her time. Fucking impertinent.

Then she takes a drag, her lips pursed, her jaw tightens, and it’s all I can think about since that night. Another week passed since we got assigned to work together. A week of me following her everywhere again.

It pisses me off how good she looks doing it. Smoking, I mean.

But I’m seeing her today.

And yeah, I’m excited, whatever , it doesn't matter that I talked to her a few days ago, it wasn’t enough.

Not the stalking, not the fighting, nor the conversations.

She does that to me, leaves me restless, wired, like I’m always chasing something I’ll never catch.

And I hate that.

The message sits on the screen, glaring at me in the yellow light of my apartment.

First with Voron.

The words that shouldn’t mean anything actually do. Too fucking much, they stir something jagged and alive in me. The first real mission with her. Her .

I rub my eyes; the lack of sleep is really fucking with my head. I haven’t had a real night’s rest in days.

Not with her taking up all the space in my life. Not when I’ve spent every moment following her super early on, watching her, breathing her world like it’s my own misery.

The cigarette burns to its end, and I crush it out, ash scattering into the tray, and catch my reflection in the mirror as I stand.

My eyes snag on the ink spread across my back. One lighter than the other, beautiful and predatory.

She got into my head before I even said a word. Left her mark without trying, like it was nothing. That’s fine, I guess. I’ll be the one to stop her anyway. The last and only one.

“Fuck, she’s messing with me,” I thought out loud.

I never planned this. Never wanted it. But it’s there now, etched into me, permanent and cold.

And I like it. No, I like them . I like her eyes. That’s... weird, right? I don’t even know her.

Except I do.

I know every breath she takes, every step she makes, the curve of her lips when she’s pretending to laugh at Viktor’s jokes or when she thinks no one’s watching her smile tenderly at the dogs. I know how she fights, the small rasp of her voice when she chuckles sarcastically.

And those eyes...

They saw me at the party, not looking. Saw. Stripping me bare in a way no one else ever has, not because she felt something, but because she was calculating, and searching for a threat, eyes like that don’t forget anything, good thing I haven’t forgotten them either.

For the first time, I wonder what it would be like to have her really see me. Not as a shadow at the edge of her life, but as the center of her focus.

To have her look at me the way she does when she smiles at someone who’s earned it.

What the hell am I thinking? This isn’t part of the plan.

Remember the mission, for fuck’s sake.

I move toward the wall at the back of the house, the one lined with that cork-board and all the photos I’ve been collecting over the last two weeks, pictures of her.

She’s everywhere now, staring back at me from glossy scraps of paper, but I still don’t know enough, not her real identity, not what drives her.

Every time I track her movements; she’s a step ahead.

My gaze falls on a photo of her with Viktor.

There’s another one of her playing with the dogs. I stop, lingering on it longer than I should, trying to decipher her.

I turn away, pulling my black jacket from the wardrobe.

Focus . She’s a job. Nothing more.

But as I slip my arms into the sleeves, I catch myself thinking about her. Again . The way her laugh sounded at the party, the way her smile made something in me burn.

I don’t care about her smile. I can’t care about her smile.

This is business. My business.

And yet, there’s a stupid obsession I didn’t see coming. The last thing I need is to care about her.

I sit down, grabbing the coffee I left on the table, but it doesn’t warm me, nothing does anymore. My eyes shift back to the wall, to the photos pinned there.

There’s a photo of her from the party, a candid shot of her looking over her shoulder at someone, or something. The way her jawline catches the light, strong and scarred, makes my throat tighten.

What’s that scar from?

I should’ve known she’d make me obsessed.

There’s something irritating about not knowing her name. I gave her mine, I gifted her my identity, and she hasn’t given me a damn thing in return.

Fucking maddening.

Katarina and Viktor call her Kroshka or Visha when they’re in public.

Nicknames .

Nothing real. They guard her secrets like they guard their own lives.

What’s your real name, partner?

She doesn’t trust anyone enough to tell them.

I should leave, get on with the mission, but the photo catches me again before I head out, the one from the party. Her gaze in it feels almost... aware.

Like she knew I was watching, even when I shouldn’t have been. Maybe she liked it, maybe my sweet partner liked my eyes on her. A smile tugs at my lips, amused .

She never caught me taking that picture, but somehow, I think she knew.

I glance at the clock. Time to go.

Grabbing my keys, I head to the bike and start it up. The Mission is clear, and the plan is simple.

But as I rev the engine and pull out into the street, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to walk into something much more complicated than I’m prepared for.

My sweet partner.