Page 47 of Eternal

DAMIR

“Dark Red” by Steve Lacy

Present

I t’s been a week since I’ve seen my partner.

She still sends me a picture every day. Not of herself.

Never of herself. A glimpse of something, her training gloves when I ask her what she’s doing, a half-empty cup of coffee when I ask if she’s awake, the sky before dawn when I ask if she’s okay.

And I reply with the same kind of pictures.

My hands on my bike when she asks what I’m doing, the training center when she asks if I’m still training, and the moon when she asks back if i’m okay.

Little things.

Things that mean nothing.

Or maybe they mean everything.

I never cared about this kind of thing before. Never thought about it, not once. Never felt anything about it. But it changed.

Maybe it was that night at her apartment, when I stayed too long for no reason at all.

Maybe it was the way she looked at me with those soft haunting eyes because she was too tired to be the same woman I know outside of our little bubble.

Or when she talked to me smiling and beautiful, and thoughtful.

Or maybe it’s just this. This weird shitty sensation in my chest, slow and insidious, poisoning me worse than the missions ever did.

She hurt me. Left bruises from our fight, from the way she fought with everything she had.

Because she’s strong. Too strong. And she loves it.

Loves the pain, loves the violence. But something did change that night.

I saw it in the way her hands shook when she thought I wasn’t looking, holding that old cover closer to her.

The way her voice cracked when she talked about her mother. Her brother. The people she lost.

Grief twists people. Turns them into something new. Something dangerous. I know this.

Because it happened to me.

I killed to drown my grief. Killed to stop the ache in my ribs, to make the weight of my own existence easier to carry. To feel something other than rage and hopelessness.

That’s why we’re the same.

And maybe that’s why I shouldn’t be thinking about her now, shouldn’t be hesitating, shouldn’t be gripping the edge of this desk like my own thoughts might tear me apart.

Because Voron would’ve never let herself be distracted because of some weird thoughts of us talking and eating again or of me braiding her hair again.

Cause I do have these thoughts and fuck I don’t get what they mean.

Finish the fucking report.

I exhale, drag my fingers over the keyboard. This is routine. This is what I do.

REPORT – WEEK 10

SUBJECT: Voron

LOCATION : Still operating in Vegas. No notable movement outside of routine patterns apart from some enforcers missions on the outskirt of the city.

ACTIVITY: The target remains highly skilled and elusive. Continues to operate at an exceptional level despite prior injury. Minimal signs of weakness, almost none. Engaged in a recent mission eliminating Donovan Atler. Method: Knife and bullets involved. Remains undetected.

THREAT ASSESSMENT : High. The target is lethal, independent, and well-connected. Bratva affiliation remains strong. No indications of betrayal or fracture within the organization apart from Lev.

The cursor blinks at me.

I should write more. I should tell them she’s still healing, that she isn’t as untouchable as she seems. That if they want to eliminate her, now is the time. I’d need a signal, and I’d do it.

That I spend time with her. Braid her hair and talk. That we text a lot, and I like it.

I don’t.

I can’t. I don’t want to right now. Instead, I deleted the section entirely.

And before I can stop myself, I pick up my phone.

Me

You hungry, partner?

Partner

Why? Are you buying?

Me

Maybe.

Partner

Depends, then.

Me

I’ll pick you up in a few. Be ready.

A pause. Three dots.

Partner

Okay but don’t be late.

Me

I know you miss me but keep it up until I arrive, you’ll hug me then.

Partner

Shut up.

I stare at the screen, catching myself smiling before I can stop it. We’re going to talk again, and I’m stupidly excited to see her again.

This is a mistake.

I know it. I’ve always known it.

But I grab my keys anyway and the second helmet. Fuck mistakes. I want to see her, I really do.