Every day, every second, the world changed forever to accommodate another life. I couldn't help thinking that maybe on this very day, eighteen years back, the stars were aligned or another cosmic event of similar magnitude took place, as another line had surged on Destiny's book when Rose Hathaway was born.

My grandmother used to tell me that there was no such thing as an unimportant being. It had seemed cliché, but she would say that everyone one of us had a crucial part in shaping the Universe, even if our lives were quiet and seemingly uneventful. Back when I was a teenager, I was a skeptic of the fact that every little action of mine was important. Sure, I knew that there were people that would set things in motion, their actions triggering change and shaking the balance of things, but I could hardly believe that every inconsequential choice I made mattered that much. Thinking like that made choosing much harder, so I just resigned myself into believing that I had little effect on the shape of things to come. That was, until I met Rose.

On that day in the cabin, I remembered doodling idly through her back; creating patterns between her freckles, wondering what I would find if I tried to join the dots on her skin. Maybe it would be the answers for every mystery on Earth. Maybe I would find God's message to humanity on the curve of her shoulders. Maybe the way her hair spilled around the pillow would reveal the secret of how existence began and how it would, eventually, end. Maybe I would find out that I was just making symbols out of nothing and life didn't make any sense, and maybe I wouldn't be scared of the lack of purpose because she was with me.

Every aspect of her body told a story, and I knew I could have spent my whole life reading her. I knew I had written a few of my own lines all over her being, and it had made me happy, because I finally understood what my grandmother had told me. Almost eighteen years of choices seemed like nothing when compared to the big picture but had made Rose who she was.

She had been excited about her birthday. Thinking back on the day I had asked her about what she wanted it had been clear that she didn't expect anything from me besides being there. It was, after all, a day that would change our lives. She would no longer be a minor, and we would be one step closer to being together. I had wanted to shower her with presents and celebrate her existence. She deserved expensive, beautiful things.

She also deserved to be alive, and that was yet another thing I would never be able to afford.

I couldn't sleep, even after overexerting myself the whole night through, hunting and killing Strigoi, so I headed for a church nearby. It was the Basilica of St. Catherine, a Roman Catholic temple – the oldest one in Russia – but it didn't matter much to me that the place wasn't Orthodox. It was beautiful, full of history, located in the heart of the city, and it would be empty at this time of the day.

When I got there, I could hardly pay attention to any of the details, though, as I sat down in the back. I went there looking for peace but even with eyes wide open all I could see was her face. Churches had always been my refuge. I wished that the holy ground could keep the thoughts of her away, as it did to her physical self. I was a haunted man whom even God was refusing to help.

Soon enough, I couldn't take it anymore, so I headed back to the hostel to wait for night to come. I would undoubtedly do the same thing I did the night before: head to Moroi and human clubs around town, find Strigoi, torture them, asking for Rose, and kill them right after that.

I had staked three Strigoi on my first day in St. Petersburg. The seven molnija and the zvezda – a battle mark given to those of us who fought to protect the Academy, meaning that we had made so many kills there was no way of keeping track of the numbers –were reminders of my time as a guardian, and right now my title didn't matter. I didn't want to remember any of those deaths, even though I understood the importance of the molnija, reminders of the lives you saved and the ones you couldn't. It was a relief to know that those who I had staked while looking for Rose wouldn't be marked permanently on my skin. She wouldn't end up as another tattoo on my neck, one that people would stare at with horror or admiration, a mark without a face and a story no one would care enough to ask about.

My body hit the ground and I felt a wave of pain shooting through my column. The Strigoi charged, not giving me time to catch my breath, but I was waiting for it. He was young, his strength and speed spoiled by his recklessness. We struggled to get an advantage over one another, until I finally found an opening when he left his right side unguarded as he attempted to hit me. It was enough for me to send him landing with his back on the floor and pinning him to the ground, driving my stake into his shoulder and asking in Russian, "Where is Rose Hathaway?"

I had been asking that same question to every Strigoi I could find over the last week. By this time, I was sure I had heard every possible death threat there was; my body was hurt in many places, and I still had no answer. The nights were a blur: go out, stay in the dark, ignore every form of interaction with people and wait for them to strike; question then kill them, and try again, wait for sunrise, treat the wounds, go to sleep. My roommates and even the hostel's owner were getting a little suspicious of my odd schedule; that and the fact that sometimes I came back beaten up and covered in blood didn't help much. I would have to find another place to stay soon or head to Novosibirsk if I didn't find any leads.

Tonight I had chosen to start my search at a Moroi club, known by the Americans as the Nightingale. I knew the place from when I had guarded Ivan and was well aware that it was too expensive for me. I had no clothes to wear that would make me fit among the rich, and seeing a male dhampir without a Moroi to guard would probably look suspicious as well. I had to remain low-key, so I just hovered around the club, out of its wards so the guardians in front of the building wouldn't notice me. I'd been doing this for a while now, almost every night.

A few minutes into my vigil, I had found the Strigoi I was now fighting in an alley, feeding from a dhampir girl in flashy clothes that was undoubtedly heading for the club and charged at him. I was pissed off and tired, but not enough to miss the knowing glint in the Strigoi's eyes as he heard Rose's name. It was gone in a second while he tried to break free from my grasp, but I wasn't having it; I stabbed him again, this time closer to the heart. "I asked you a question. Where is Rose Hathaway?" I panted. He studied me with eyes full of hate and revulsion, but I could see the pain as he struggled to get away from my stake's range. "Fuck off", he spat at me.

My patience didn't last forever and this guy was getting on my nerves. It was possible that he knew something, though, so I had to keep trying. "Where. Is. Rose. Hathaway?" I punctuated each word with a thrust of my stake in his body. He hissed in agony as the enchanted silver made contact with his skin, anywhere but his heart.

"You are too late. The shadow-kissed one is no longer here." Noticing my surprise, the Strigoi tried to change his position and attack me. His attempt to kill me left me no choice but to finish him, because I knew I couldn't keep holding him much longer.

After that, my clothes were battered and bloodied. I felt disgusting and desperately in need of a shower. I had to dispose of the body first, though, so I started contemplating ways of hiding it until the sun was up.

I stood up. He had called Rose "the shadow-kissed one". What was that supposed to mean? How did a Strigoi in the middle of St. Petersburg, Russia, know about Rose's abilities? She had lost those after the change; otherwise, Lissa wouldn't have said that their bond was gone. Strigoi couldn't visit the world of the dead because they didn't belong there. I had to admit that I didn't know much about Spirit, so I had no idea what could have happened to Rose, as her situation was unprecedented.

Maybe this was just the way she would refer to herself among her peers, but I doubted it. Even when she was still a dhampir she had never volunteered information about her bond. Of course, it was to protect Lissa and herself from unwanted attention, and now she wouldn't feel the need to shield her friend from others.

Should I consider this information? Should I just brush it off and continue my mission? I knew who I could speak with about Spirit. There was another bonded pair back in Siberia. I felt a little idiotic for never realizing it before, but Oksana must have been a Spirit user, bringing Mark back from the dead. Their bond was known by their closest acquaintances, and it was by observing them for years that I was able to spot Rose and Lissa's weird synchronicity when we first met.

Every day, innocents were dying by Rose's hands. Delaying our encounter seemed selfish, but I had been rushing into this, not thinking too much about anything. It was a way of coping with losing her, but I had to get back on track. I was at a disadvantage because she knew me too well, and I was making assumptions and lucky guesses about her. I was slipping through the cracks, losing myself little by little.

My thoughts were interrupted when I heard a noise and caught a reflection of something gold by the entrance of the alley. When I got there to investigate, all I could see was the empty street.

Author's Note

I'm sorry, this took a little longer than I had expected. My life is a big mess right now lol. This chapter's song is St. Jude, by Florence and the Machine. If you don't dig the band, look for the lyrics, it's pure poetry. Also, things are going to get a little less angsty now. Dimitri is in conflict so I hope he is not too OOC.

Thanks for reading, and special thanks to the reviewers! See you next chapter