Page 69 of Dark Embers

She hands me a brown pharmacy bag and a clipboard of discharge papers. Oleksi signs them without blinking, and before I know it, I’m being wheeled toward the exit, Elena now bundled in a baby blanket across my chest.

As we step outside into the cold night air, Moscow’s skyline glittering with soft orange lights and snow-dusted rooftops, something shifts inside me. I feel less burdened but there is still a secret I’m holding—the plan Sam gave me—burns hot in my chest.

No matter what happens tonight, I’m leaving tomorrow—I remind myself. I’ll be disappearing. Vanishing from Oleksi’s world to protect him and Elena and the tiny life fluttering inside me. And that is one secret I still have to bare and this time it’s my secret.

I look at him as he wraps his arm around me, his body shielding me from the cold as we walk toward the waiting car.

I memorize the way he looks in the moonlight.

The way he touches me like I’m breakable.

The way he holds me like I’m his entire world.

Because this time tomorrow, he’ll believe I’m dead.

And I’ll be somewhere else, someone else—erased. But if it saves him, if it keeps him breathing, I’ll endure my secret. Even if it breaks me in half.

Oleksi

The car is quiet as we pull away from the hospital, the city lights casting a dull amber glow across Sabrina’s face. She hasn’t said much since we got in—hasn’t had to. I’ve been waiting to ask, needing to, because if we’re really doing this—if we’re really going to walk through fire together—then no more secrets.

“Whose baby is she?”

Her body stiffens beside me. She doesn’t look at me—just stares out the window like she’s hoping I’ll forget I asked. But I don’t. I can’t.

“Tara’s,” she finally says.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Not really. But I still feel something shift in my gut. Something dark. Heavy.

“And the father?” My voice is low, but it carries weight. “Who is it, Sabrina?”

She turns to look at the back seat where Elena’s strapped in, those ridiculous noise-canceling earmuffs covering her tiny ears. Sabrina doesn’t answer. Not right away.

I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles whitening. “Sabrina. Who’s the father?”

Her eyes close for a second too long, and when they open again, they’re glassy.

“Gavriil.”

The breath leaves my lungs like I’ve taken a hit to the chest. My brother. My blood. The truth of it cuts deeper than I expect, even though I already knew. Somewhere deep in my gut, I’ve known since the moment I first saw Elena. The connection had been too strong, too immediate.

“She’s eight months old,” I say. “When’s her birthday?”

“Two days before Gavriil was killed.”

My stomach turns to lead. “Is that why you were so certain Tara wasn’t involved in his murder? Because you were with her?”

Sabrina nods, eyes closing briefly as if steeling herself. “Fifteen months ago, Tara came to me begging for help. Irina had found out about the affair with Gavriil and threatened her. Tara was scared—for the baby, for herself. She didn’t know what to do.”

I listen, eyes on the road, every turn of the steering wheel grounding me in the present while her words drag me through the past.

“I took her to my father’s old cabin outside Vegas. We hid her there. I faked the pregnancy and told people Elena was mine when she was born. Then two days after Elena was born, I woke up to her crying. Tara was gone. She’d left a note on the fridge saying it was the only way to protect Elena, me, and my mom.She made me swear never to tell anyone. Said if anyone knew who Elena really was, we’d all be targets because of who Gavriil was.”

I glance at her. She’s telling the truth—I feel it. And more than that, I can see the relief in her face. She’s been carrying this alone for so long, balancing on the edge of duty, loyalty, and fear. My chest swells with pride and fury all at once.

Elena… my niece. Gavriil’s daughter.

It makes sense now. The bond I’ve felt with her—the instinct to protect her like she was my own. Because Elena is. She’s part of my brother. Part of me.

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