A hand, black and glistening, swept the last veil of leaves aside—dripping with rain.
Vlad staggered one step back, pulse hammering. His breath caught in his throat, and every instinct screamed.
That hand! Those bastards again?
His eyes narrowed.
No, wait. Those fingers—
A figure—graceful, upright.
Porcelain skin glistened with water, rain still sliding down the curves of her body in thin, deliberate streams.
Her short red hair clung to her forehead and cheeks, parted cleanly down the center, plastered sleek by the downpour. The firelight caught in it like dying embers, outlining her face with a quiet glow.
Two daggers hung low at her sides—one held in a reverse grip, blade trailing beneath her wrist. The other angled forward, poised to strike. Both steady. Both ready.
Vlad didn't breathe.
No way…
His eyes grew and mouth opened slightly.
That face. How is she here?!
Her eyes lifted, sweeping across the shelter—landing on him for just a breath too long.
Something in his chest twitched.
Did she recognize me?
Her face was narrow, angular in that way that felt sculpted—cheekbones high, chin pointed, lips full and unsmiling. Her jaw was set in a calm tension.
But her eyes—pale, nearly silver—held him in place.
He hated that he noticed the way the water slid down the curve of her shoulder, tracing the line of muscle before disappearing beneath the edge of the dark, fitted rad suit clinging to her form.
Lean muscle beneath. Wiry strength wrapped in a striking silhouette.
Vlad blinked once.
Then tore his eyes away—just long enough to glance at Lana.
She hadn't moved.
Still, as stone, blade lifted, every line in her body coiled tight like a bowstring. Her eyes locked on the red-haired girl, unflinching.
The girl didn't speak.
She stepped once more into the glow of the fire, boots slick with rain, barely making a sound.
The blades in her hands stayed low, but present—extensions of her body, not tools. Like she'd been born with them.
Her head turned slowly.
Eyes flicked upward to the arching bentree ceiling. Then across the curved bark walls. The firelight danced over her as she moved.
She scanned the shelter. Her gaze landed next to the fire.
The skewered meat still sizzled gently over the low flames, fat popping, the scent of it thick in the air.
She paused.
For a half-second, Vlad thought he saw something flash in her expression. Hunger? Interest?
Or just curiosity.
Then her eyes moved again—slowly, deliberately.
To the side of the shelter where the body lay. The Vulturov.
The girl's stare lingered.
Finally, Lana broke the suffocating silence and said:
"Is that you? Lady Illiana?"
Vlad felt his throat tighten. His eyes bounced between her and Lana.
She knows her?
Of course, she knows her, you idiot!
The girl turned her head, slowly, deliberately. Her silver eyes slid to Lana—calm, unreadable.
She smiled.
A slow, quiet curl of the lips—graceful and composed. But to Vlad, it twisted like a knife.
"Quite arrogant of you," she said softly, "to not recognize the lady you serve."
The air inside the shelter seemed to shrink.
Vlad blinked once—twice.
She's a maidservant of Illiana Luov?
Lana lowered her sword.
The tip hit the floor with a soft thunk, bark and steel.
What is she—
Before Vlad could even react, she was moving.
A blur of motion—no hesitation, no tension. Lana sprinted across the shelter, her sole hitting against the bark below, eyes wide now—not with fear, but something else entirely.
"Young lady!"
The red-haired girl—Illiana—barely had time to sheath one of her daggers—on her back—before Lana collided with her.
Arms wrapped tight around her shoulders. A full, desperate embrace.
Vlad stared.
Huh.
Illiana didn't return the hug at first. Her arms stayed slightly lifted, awkward. But after a heartbeat, one dagger disappeared into its sheath, and her hands came to rest lightly on Lana's back. A touch more ritual than warmth—but not cold.
Vlad shifted his weight. No longer in a stance to engage in a fight.
Still not sure what kind of scene he was watching. But he had a guess.
Lana pulled back, just enough to look Illiana in the face.
And her expression changed. The hard edge that never left her eyes—not even when fighting for her life—melted into something fragile.
Concern. Real concern.
"Are you hurt?" she asked quickly, her hands already moving.
She checked Illiana's arms, the sides of her neck, the edges of her soaked rad-suit, brushing aside wet crimson hair
"Tell me if you're hurt."
Illiana didn't stop her. Didn't respond.
She just stood there—still, silent—eyes locked on nothing. Blank. Unfocused. Like she wasn't really here. Like the conversation had ended for her already. Like she'd stepped out of herself and left the shell behind.
Lana didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she noticed and didn't care.
Across the fire, Illiana tilted her head slightly, locking eyes with Vlad in silence.
"Who might this average-looking fellow be?"
Vlad blinked.
His mouth opened slightly—then closed again. No comeback came to him.
He wasn't offended. If anything, inside him there was a quiet flutter of something almost like relief.
So she doesn't know me. Great!
He let out a small breath through his nose. Something almost like a laugh flickered behind his eyes.
In his entire eighteen-year-long life, she was only the second girl who had ever actively downplayed his looks.
"Vlad," he said, deadpan, lowering his head down slightly. "And I'd say slightly above average."
Illiana gave no sign of amusement—but her eyes lingered a moment longer, studying him like she was cataloging his bones.
Then she looked him dead in the eyes and said:
"Average was pushing it."
A slow, unbelievable grin began to spread across Vlad's face, starting at the sides of his mouth and trying hard not to show. His eyes, tired just moments ago, now sparkled with a wild, almost crazy joy.
In search for gold, we've found a diamond!
He looked up from his slightly bent position, his grin still threatening to break free, only to be startled by Lana staring at him.
Her expression was unreadable, a mixture of bewilderment and perhaps exasperation. She quickly swept her gaze from him to the red-haired girl, confusion now clouding her features.
Did I do something wrong?
Illiana, however, remained a statue. She stood perfectly still, her silver eyes locked on Vlad, utterly devoid of emotion. Not a flicker, not a twitch—just a blank, unyielding gaze that held him in place. She was an unmoving silhouette against the flickering firelight, the rain beading on her porcelain skin without disturbing her composure.
Lana opened her mouth, a question forming on her lips, but before she could utter a sound, footsteps reached them from outside the shelter, growing rapidly louder.
Vlad's head snapped towards the opening. He turned his eyes towards Illiana, a slight, humor-soaked grin pulling at his lips.
"You didn't happen to bring some friends along with you, did you?"
"No."