Page 89 of Eternal

AZRA

“Everything In Its Right Place” by Radiohead

Present

T he steward offered a drink, and I didn’t ask what it was, I just nodded.

It stung my throat, just like hers did.

I told myself I didn’t care when I grew up, that it made us almost similar in way. If I was in her shoes maybe I’d understand her, I’d understand why she left even before her death.

My mother sits heavy in my mind lately.

Maybe because even if she probably hated me the last years of her life, she loved me enough to let me fight for her justice.

Maybe that’s why I can’t let go of this whole mess.

But when I looked out the window and saw nothing but gray, I remembered the dead irises in our garden.

There’s no hope in misery, no hope in aching for something that isn’t going to save a dead heart.

So, I kept drinking.

One, then another.

How long has it been since I drank like this? Since I let it burn and blur and smudge everything out? So long .

I thought I healed, I truly believed it, and all it took was for my soul to touch another, and suddenly forgetting became a need… because remembering hurt.

Is it okay if I show up in Vesper drunk?

I honestly don't even know where I’m sleeping tonight, Vik said the Don arranged a car for me for my arrival, so I’ll probably stay at one of the Zennites' hotels in the city.

God, I’m so fucked.

So fucked I can’t even pretend I’m different from her anymore. This was her way to forget, to feel less, to shut it off.

I swore I’d never be like that anymore. I promised myself I’d be better. I promised my little me that I’d protect her. Can she see me right now from inside my head? Is she disappointed?

I hope she understands why we became like this.

Why does it feel like my heart is breaking the same exact way?

The jet is quiet and I like this silence. My phone was on airplane mode, but I’d seen their names flash before takeoff.

Vik. Kat. Both of them are texting too much.

Kat

Call when you land, Visha.

Vik

I heard it was raining these days, but the beach is too pretty there. You should see it, Kroshka.

Vik

Are you okay?

No. I wasn’t, but there’s no signal up here to say it. Too bad.

I pulled out the folder instead, names, a story, a lead to something, kids are being sold away, women are being used, trafficked, everywhere, but this, this is under our noses.

My hand trembled a little as I flipped through the pages.

I wasn’t sure if it was the plane or the drinks.

Probably both.

I downed another, and another.

The ceiling spun a little when I tilted my head back, and after a few re-readings of the same names on the journal and files, I closed my eyes.

But it came anyway.

Her voice. Her eyes. That song she used to hum in the kitchen when she wasn’t falling apart.

“ You’re the iris of my world… ”

Was I ever really her iris, or just a lie she told me before showing me even mothers could hurt? She smiled when she said it.

I really thought love looked like that, I believed it.

Even when she screamed, even when she shook, even when she forgot to feed us, even when she cried.

I know, deep down, I still believe it, I thought love just hurt sometimes.

And maybe… maybe it wasn’t that bad.

Because it was prettier than the pain that came after, that coldness, that silence, that house , those hands that didn’t even pretend to love me made her hurt almost gentle.

At least she cried after hurting me.

But them… they hurt me and smiled.

What a cruel thing, giving innocence to a child, then watching them choke on it.

“ Azra… ”

I opened my eyes too fast, tried to blink it away, I tried to remember why I was even on this flight.

Oh yeah… Because I had a mission, because I owed them answers.

But I can’t even think straight, all I could feel now was the warm weight of the liquor crawling through me.

I used to be better than this. Didn’t I?

I stared at the empty glass, then looked out the window again.

Still gray. Still endless. Still dead .

And I hated how much I didn’t hate it.

I kept saying yes to another glass until all I had near me was an empty bottle.

Somewhere in the haze, we landed.

I didn’t remember the descent, just the soft voice of the steward.

“A car is waiting down the stairs, ma’am. Hope you had a great flight.”

His smile was too nice, like he didn’t just watch me drink myself hollow, like he didn’t care.

“Incredible,” I muttered. “Thank you.”

I stood too fast, legs unsure, vision too soft around the edges.

God, I’ve done this before. Same sick feeling, same slow shame.

Only this time, I don’t have the excuse of being young or lost. I just… did it. Drank my way through the sky like it wouldn’t count if I did it up there. Like altitude made it symbolic, as if no one saw me fall, I didn’t really fall, maybe if I did it up there, it wouldn’t count.

As if being thirty thousand feet in the air made it poetic instead of pathetic.

No one sees you in the clouds. That’s the lie, isn’t it?

The steward offered me his hand, I saw it before it moved and stepped back automatically. Why did I flinch?

I never used to flinch, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s because I know what happens when someone reaches and I don’t move.

The stairs felt endless, cold air hit my face like a slap as soon as I stepped out, it sobered me just enough to breathe.

And the moon… the moon was clear tonight, and I could see it so bright here.

A black car waited on the ground, the driver already out with the door open. “Voron.” He just said. And nodded before smiling softly.

We drove with the radio on and I just watched the city stretch itself under a navy sky. Vesper at night wasn’t loud like Vegas, it breathed slower, cooler. I liked it a lot.

Somewhere along the coast, we took a turn and the sea came into view. How pretty…

The window was cracked slightly, salt air slipped in, soft and clean, and I pressed my head lightly to the glass.

I’ve been to the beach before, but never just to be there, always with blood on my hands or weapons in my bag. Missions, dead drops, targets.

But tonight…No orders, and no shadows. It’s just me.

I almost asked him to stop the car, pull over, let me walk the rest, let me get close enough to hear the sea breathe.

I always thought the ocean was the only thing that ever felt truly free. It could rage, crash, pull things under and still be forgiven for it. It could be still, calm, glowing under the sun, and no one questioned its mood. It didn’t have to explain itself.

It felt the rain, took the snow, hid whole storms in its gut and stayed quiet about it.

Some days, I wonder if it ever gets tired of holding it all in.

Because I do, and I didn’t feel safe, but I didn’t feel hunted either, and for someone like me, that was the closest thing to peace I’d had in years.

The car didn’t stop at a hotel, it rolled into a quiet street, tucked behind tall gates that swallowed up the city noise. A towering penthouse building, guards stationed outside, two by the parking lot, two more by the entrance. It looked... expensive, too expensive for me to be visiting.

A man stood under the awning, smoking, white shirt, dark hair, phone in hand. Was he wearing gloves? Fuck, being drunk makes my eyesight lazy, but the closer I got, the clearer it became.

Nikolai Volkov, The Don.

He smiled when he saw me, charming and cold, but there was something disarmingly gentle about him. I knew he was dangerous, but somehow, just his eyes made me feel safe.

“I hope the flight wasn’t too rough,” he said, his voice low, smooth. Without waiting for an answer, he took my suitcase from the driver’s hands and nodded at him. “Get back to your position, Levi.”

The driver didn’t speak, just gave a brief salute before heading back to the car.

Nikolai turned back to me, gesturing toward the building. “Come on.”

I stepped out of the car, my legs unsteady, and followed him inside, the elevator doors sliding open with a soft ding.

“You didn’t tell me. How was your flight?”

“It was fine,” I said, too quickly.

His eyes flicked to me, just for a second, not judging, probably noticing how bad I was looking.

“I figured you wouldn’t want the noise of a hotel tonight,” he said, gesturing behind him. “So I arranged something quieter, safer. Didn’t know how long you’d be staying.”

I looked past him at the door, the clean steel and glass. “That’s… kind. But I could’ve found a place.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Probably. But for someone with your reputation, I thought comfort might come first this time.” A pause. “It’s temporary,” he added. “But private, no one knows you’re here except the ones who need to.”

There wasn’t much to say, I hated how grateful I felt. “I appreciate it,” I said, carefully. “Really.”

He nodded, then stepped aside, opening the door for me. “Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow, late morning, no rush. I’ll send you a text.”

I walked past him, the scent of clean linen and oak-wood hit first.

Before I stepped fully in, I paused and looked back.

“I’m sorry if I… showed up messy .”

His eyes met mine, he didn’t smile this time, he simply had something softer than that in his eyes.

“You showed up alive,” he said. “That’s all that matters tonight.”

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. “Excuse me, I have to take it.” He stepped slightly away, answered it with a dry, amused; “Yes?” A pause. He glanced at me briefly. “No, she just got in. Yeah. Still vertical and alive.”

His mouth twitched at whatever came through next. “No, I’m not saying that to her. Tell Z I’ll bring her favorite wine. If the Emira insists on dinner, then I’ll be here.”

Another beat, then, a quiet chuckle. “I promise, Z, I won’t be late.”

He hung up and turned back to me, that same faint smirk lingering, he pulled a key from his coat pocket, along with a slim black card.

“I know Voron rides,” he said simply. “One of my friends is a sick bastard when it comes to vintage bikes. There’s one downstairs, tuned, blacked out, yours while you’re here.”