You hadn’t meant for him to see you like this.

The hall lights cast long shadows across the polished floorboards as you stand frozen, one foot hovering above the threshold. The silence feels thick, oppressive, broken only by the faint drip of water from the front porch where Kolya must have shed his raincoat. Your bag sits half-packed on the entryway bench, straps tangled around your fingers. You had hoped to slip away before anyone noticed, to disappear into the night with nothing more than bruised skin and quiet resolve.

But Kolya’s voice, low and controlled, cuts through every failed escape plan.

“What happened to your face?”

He stands at the far end of the corridor, coat still damp, hair mussed by the rain, eyes locked on you as if you are the only thing in the room. His calm tone is a lie you know too well.

You try to brush past him. “It’s nothing.”

He takes a step forward. “Don’t lie to me.”

Silence stretches between you. Through your hair, Kolya notices the faint purple edge of the bruise at your temple and the way your skin dips where a fist must have struck. His hands curl into fists at his sides.

“My dad... hit you?”

Luca...your adoptive father. You nod once. It’s all you can manage.

Kolya breathes in deep, the way he does when he’s holding back a scream or violence. “I was gone for two days,” he says quietly, “and this happens.”

You try to explain. “He was angry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t,” he snaps, eyes flashing. “Don’t justify it.”

He looks away and paces like a caged animal. You watch the shift in him: rage simmering under the surface, yes, but also something far more dangerous. When he looks back at you, it is not just fury but fear, guilt, and longing.

He walks up slowly, voice hoarse. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I was leaving.”

“I know.” He pauses. “That’s what scares me.”

You try to laugh, but it breaks halfway. “Because you’d lose me?”

“No,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I’d let you go.”

He reaches for you, then hesitates, hand hovering near your cheek. When he finally touches you, it is barely there, as if he fears he might ruin you further just by caring too much.

“You’re my sister regardless of whether you were adopted or not,” he says, voice cracking. “You’re the only thing that keeps me from becoming a monster.”