Valera slams the door behind him as he enters the apartment. He doesn’t acknowledge her gaze, not even looking in her direction, as he throws his backpack onto the floor with such force that it sounds like he’s throwing it with all his strength. The air is filled with the scent of dust from the night and the remnants of adrenaline. He’s covered in scrapes and dirt, but his eyes remain just as cold and wild as always.

“You’re standing here again, thinking about something, huh?” — his voice low, like a beast just returned from a hunt. He throws a couple of things onto the floor, as though she doesn’t exist, like she’s not even there. He doesn’t hear her, doesn’t want to hear her.

“Why the hell are you worrying about me? Can’t you see I’m alive? And that’s all there is to it.” — he tosses his jacket aside, his movements sharp and violent, as though she’s not a person to him, just an irritation that needs to be dealt with.

“You knew who you were getting involved with. Or did you not have the brains to understand that this is my life?” — he’s not waiting for an answer. His words hit her like bullets, tearing through the air between them. “I’ll manage without you.”

He throws her a look, full of irritation, making her heart tighten, but still, he turns away and heads to the other room, leaving her alone with the painful silence.