The academy's nocturnal morning passed in a quiet blur. Rose moved through breakfast and the briefing in the Guardian Strategy Room like a shadow herself, caught somewhere between the frayed edges of a restless night and the demands of her second day. The familiar routines, with their low murmurs and watchful glances, were a fragile tether back to reality. The quick pace of the academy in the early evening felt distant, almost dreamlike. She could feel eyes on her, but she ignored them, letting her guard slip just enough to find a semblance of calm in the bustle.
Now, on patrol with Celeste on the academy's southeast grounds, the solitude of the woods was a relief, a balm to the invisible wounds that still bled beneath her skin. The forest around them loomed with a quiet vigilance, shadows draped over the trees like a dark canopy. Every once in a while, she caught Celeste sneaking glances at her, a barely-there curiosity glinting in her gaze.
Eventually, Rose's patience thinned, and she threw Celeste a sideways look. "Alright, go on, spit it out."
Celeste didn't look away, caught in the act but unapologetic. "We've got a bet going."
Rose raised an eyebrow, her voice laced with a touch of bitter humor. "Let me guess. How long until I lose my shit?"
Celeste chuckled, low and dry. "Two weeks, give or take." She let Rose react, a tiny smirk tugging at her mouth, before continuing, "But no, that's not it."
A reluctant smile ghosted across Rose's lips. There was something refreshing in Celeste's bluntness. "Alright, then, what is it?"
Celeste's gaze softened slightly, turning thoughtful. "It's how many Molnija marks you'll get for Budapest."
The smirk slipped from Rose's face, her body going taut as she looked away. The reminder stirred a prickling unease, a jolt of cold that ran from her neck to her spine. Molnija marks—small, permanent reminders of Strigoi kills—were supposed to be symbols of pride, honor, skill. She had fifteen already, an impressive count for her age, and she'd once worn them with a strange satisfaction. But now, the idea of adding another felt like ink poisoning her skin, each mark another thread in the tapestry of horrors she wanted to forget.
Sensing her discomfort, Celeste nudged her, the silence between them softening. "Come on, Hathaway. Help a girl make some money."
Rose forced a wry smile, keeping her tone light. "What are the bets?"
"Most are saying five to twelve."
Rose scoffed. "Generous of them. And what about you?" She squinted at Celeste, curiosity sparking. "Where'd you place your wager?"
Celeste didn't break her gaze, a hint of something unspoken in her expression. "Ten."
There was a pause, and finally, Rose's voice dropped, barely more than a whisper. "Double it."
Celeste froze mid-step, the humor wiped clean from her face as the weight of Rose's words settled in. She searched Rose's gaze, the realization sinking in. Whatever notion she'd held of Budapest was shattering, replaced by the truth: Budapest had been a massacre, a merciless swarm. They were never meant to survive.
The silence that followed was laden with unasked questions. Celeste's eyes seemed to deepen with the understanding, the shadows around them pressing closer. Rose could feel her own memories stirring, like ghosts pacing just beyond the edge of her thoughts, restless and relentless.
They continued in silence, the unspoken weight between them a shield, a fragile truce against the nightmares hovering just beyond the line of the wards. Celeste's shoulders were taut, her gaze wary, but her respect for Rose ran deeper now, an unspoken thread of solidarity.
Finally, hoping to shake the heavy air, Rose nodded toward the subtle glint of security measures woven into the woods around them. Hidden cameras blinked from within the shadows, movement sensors camouflaged in the trees. "Seems a bit overkill," she murmured.
Celeste exhaled, her gaze following Rose's. "That's Captain Belikov for you. After Budapest and the recent sightings of Strigoi in Montana, he didn't take any chances. No one's allowed on the grounds alone, even inside the wards."
Rose tilted her head, glancing toward the distant perimeter. A faint vibration in the air—the thrumming pulse of ward magic—seemed to reverberate through her, steady and strong. "The wards stretch farther than I thought. We're miles out, and I can still feel them."
Celeste turned to her, brow furrowing. "You can feel them?"
Rose hesitated, feeling the weight of the wards like an instinct, a pull she couldn't explain. Before she could answer, a faint noise—softer than a breath, but unmistakable—echoed through the trees, stopping them both mid-step.
Celeste's posture shifted instantly, her hand moving to her radio with practiced precision. "HQ, this is Guardian Celeste," she murmured, her voice clipped but controlled. "We've got a possible disturbance on the southeast grounds. Moving to investigate."
The radio crackled in response, confirming the report, and Celeste nodded to Rose. "Let's check it out. Stay close."
They moved in silence, instincts sharpened by years of training, their steps measured but alert. Rose's grip tightened around the hilt of her knife, the weight of the blade familiar, a comforting extension of herself in the darkness. The sound grew nearer, more distinct—a faint rustling, interspersed with a peculiar tapping noise. The scent of blood, metallic and faint, teased her senses.
Rose leaned toward Celeste, her voice a soft whisper. "Do large animals ever make it this far into the woods?"
"Not typically," Celeste replied, keeping her eyes ahead. "We had a Moroi with earth elemental magic set boundaries a while back—supposed to keep them out."
Rose frowned, her unease deepening. "What about smaller animals?"
Celeste shook her head, the edges of her voice laced with a touch of doubt. "Shouldn't be any, but... it's the woods. Things slip through."
They continued forward, Rose's senses heightened, every nerve alert. Just as they neared a break in the trees, she reached out, halting Celeste mid-step. "Careful. You're about to step past the wards."
Celeste turned, eyebrows knitting together. "How... how can you tell?"
Rose didn't answer, her gaze fixed on a small form lying low against the ground some yards away. Her heart hammered as she squinted through the shadows, the faint outline becoming clearer—a small, huddled creature, barely moving.
"There," Rose murmured, pointing. "Do you see it?"
Celeste peered through the darkness, her brow furrowing. "Is that... a cat?"
"Stay here," Rose said, the command coming out sharper than she intended. She stepped past the wards, the protective magic retreating as she moved into the shadowed space beyond. The darkness felt thicker here, pressing in closer, and every sense prickled with alertness. Her fingers flexed around her knife as she neared the small form.
The cat—a disheveled gray tabby—lay against the base of a tree, its fur matted, eyes wide with terror. Its claws were raw and bloody, leaving faint scratches on the bark where it had clawed in desperation. The scent of blood was faint but unmistakable, mingling with the earthy tang of the forest floor.
"Hey there," she murmured, crouching down, her voice gentle. The cat hissed, baring its teeth, but its strength was spent. "Easy, I'm just here to help you, little terror."
The cat lashed out, claws raking across her wrist. Rose winced, muttering a soft curse, but she continued, cutting away the thin, cruel wire that bound it to the tree. Finally free, the cat settled in her arms, trembling but too weak to resist further.
When Rose returned to the wards, Celeste stared, confusion etched into her expression. "Who in their right mind ties a cat to a tree in the middle of the woods?"
Rose glanced down, reading the collar tag. "Oscar."
"Who?"
"The cat's name is Oscar."
Rose cradled the exhausted cat, a strange, lingering question settled in her mind. Who, indeed, would go through the trouble of tying a defenseless animal to a tree, just beyond the protection of the wards?
Celeste pulled out her radio, her voice steady as she made the call.
"HQ, this is Guardian Celeste, southeast patrol. We found… an unexpected disturbance in the outer woods." She paused, glancing at Rose and the tired cat in her arms before continuing, "We're bringing back a domestic feline—found bound to a tree just beyond the ward line."
A short silence crackled through the radio, followed by a firm reply. "Copy that, Guardian Celeste. Report back to HQ immediately. You're switching out with the northwest patrol team."
Celeste's gaze met Rose's, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes—concern, perhaps, or a shared sense of the strange incident that had interrupted their night. "Understood," she answered, her tone professional.
Pocketing the radio, Celeste gave Rose a nod. "Looks like we're due for a detour."
Rose held the cat closer, its faint, steady purring a quiet reassurance against the strangeness of the woods that loomed behind them. The academy lights grew brighter as they made their way back, a protective glow in the encompassing darkness.
The walk back to the academy was quick and swift, full of questions neither Rose nor Celeste voiced aloud. As soon as they stepped into Guardian Belikov's office, they found Lissa Dragomir waiting, seated by the door with her head down. The princess looked up as they entered, and the moment her eyes landed on the small bundle in Rose's arms, she shot to her feet.
"Oscar!" she cried, face blotchy and streaked with tears. Her fingers trembled, reaching instinctively.
Rose took a step back, clutching the cat tighter, confusion knitting her brow. "This is… your cat?" she asked, the question half-directed at Belikov, who stood behind his desk, arms folded and face hard.
"Yes," Lissa answered, her voice choked. "I've been looking for him all morning; he wasn't there when I woke up." She reached out, eyes filled with desperation, as if retrieving the cat was the one thing keeping her grounded.
For a moment, Rose's grip on the animal tightened, her mind whirling with too many questions. The cat had been bound just outside the wards. Was this some twisted bait? "Lissa," Rose said slowly, her tone cautious, "are you sure this is your cat?"
The princess looked at her, frustrated and upset. "Of course I'm sure. I've had him for ten years. Now, please, give him back." Her arms reached out again, and Rose could see the way her fingers quivered, each heartbeat seeming to tighten the tears clinging to her lashes.
Still, Rose hesitated, her instincts telling her to hold back. She turned, locking eyes with Belikov. "We need to go back," she said, her voice steely. "Right now. We need to retrace our steps."
Belikov nodded slowly. "I already sent a team to check the grounds. They're combing the area." He turned to Lissa, his tone softer but firm. "Princess, when was the last time you had Oscar?"
Lissa's gaze flickered from Belikov to Rose, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the blood matted in the cat's fur, her lip quivering. "Last night. He was with me when I went to bed… and this morning, he was gone." Her eyes settled on Rose, and she stepped forward, an edge to her voice. "Please, give him back."
Rose's jaw tightened. She could feel the gentle nudge in her mind. She stiffened, realizing what it was—a compulsion, subtle but undeniable. She turned a hard glare toward the princess, her voice low and dangerous. "Careful, princess," Rose warned. "That won't work on me."
For a moment, they locked eyes, an unspoken battle of wills hanging between them. Just then, Oscar twisted in Rose's arms, and with a sudden hiss, sank his teeth into her hand, drawing a sharp sting of pain. She released him with a muttered curse, and he leapt straight into Lissa's arms, curling close as she held him, her tears renewing as she took in the blood streaking his fur and the raw state of his claws.
Belikov cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence. "Celeste," he said, his tone cool, "escort Princess Dragomir and…Oscar to the infirmary. Let's see if they can do anything for him."
Lissa shook her head, clutching Oscar tighter. "No, I'll take care of him myself," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. She cast a glare back at Rose, as if accusing her of somehow causing the cat's distress, and without another word, she turned and swept out of the office. Celeste's gaze flickered to Belikov for a moment, catching his nod, before she followed after the princess.
Rose stood there, cradling her bitten hand, muttering under her breath, "Ungrateful little beast."
Belikov's gaze shifted, lingering on her injured hand. "Did he bite you?"
"It's just a scratch. I'll survive," Rose quickly brushed off. But then, to her surprise, he stepped closer, reaching for her hand.
"Let me see."
A rush of warmth shot through her at his touch, his fingers so steady against her skin it was as if he could anchor her with just a hand. She forced herself to hold still, unwilling to show the effect he had on her—even if the traitorous heat spreading up her arm betrayed her. His hand enveloped hers, carefully turning it over to inspect the bite marks, his focus solely on the small wounds. But for Rose, everything seemed to narrow to the point where his skin brushed hers.
"It's nothing," she murmured, instinctively trying to tug her hand free. But his grip held firm, his thumb grazing her skin as he brushed gently over the wound, igniting a delicate line of heat that spread upward.
"Sit down, Rose. Let's get that cleaned up properly." His tone was softened, yet edged with something unyielding, leaving her no room for argument. The slight warmth of his fingers lingered, an unnervingly steady grip that sent a jolt through her resolve.
He kept hold of her hand, pulling her gently but firmly toward a chair, guiding her into the seat before kneeling before her and reaching for a small first aid kit on the shelf behind him. He opened it, drawing out antiseptic and bandages with practiced ease.
The sight made Rose blink. She had to remind herself that this man was one of the most revered Guardians in the Moroi world—legendary even. And here he was, kneeling in front of her, tending to a bite wound from an irate cat as if it were the most ordinary task in the world.
Belikov met her bemused gaze with an unreadable look, a slight, almost amused twitch at the corner of his mouth. "What?" he asked, tilting his head, his eyes never leaving hers.
She gave a soft, reluctant scoff. "Just didn't peg you as the type to fuss over scratches."
"Fuss?" His brow arched, and that faint hint of a smile played on his lips as he carefully dabbed the antiseptic over her skin. "I wouldn't go that far. Just doing my job." His fingers were steady, and though his attention seemed fixed on her hand, she felt the weight of his presence settling over her, the quiet strength in his movements an oddly comforting presence.
"Besides," he continued, his voice even, "this isn't the first prank done at Princess Dragomir's expense." His tone was casual, but there was something hard beneath the words, an edge that cut through the simplicity of the statement.
Rose looked away, gathering her thoughts, pushing down the strange flutter that had crept into her chest. "A prank?" she scoffed. "Leaving a cat bound just outside the wards? That's not a prank. A prank is… I don't know, putting garlic in a guardian's boots or swapping sugar for salt. This—" she hesitated, her gaze sharpening, "—this was intentional. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing."
"Exactly," he murmured, continuing to work on her hand with careful precision. "And they did it without setting off any sensors or being caught on the cameras." His voice was low, as though sharing something meant only for her. There was a gravity to his tone, and as he lifted his gaze to hers, Rose caught the silent question hidden there.
Her pulse quickened. She'd seen the security measures herself—there was no way anyone could have moved undetected without specialized skills or… magic. Her eyes searched his for confirmation, the question unspoken yet heavy between them. "Are you saying a Moroi did this?"
He didn't reply immediately. His focus returned to her hand, pressing a bandage carefully over the bite, sealing the wound with slow deliberation, as if the answer to her question carried weight he wasn't quite ready to lay bare. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet. "Do you know who Lissa's brother is?"
The unexpected question threw her off. She'd never been one to follow the royal lines closely. "Should I?"
A hint of something dark crossed his gaze, something Rose couldn't quite place. "Andre Dragomir," he said, his voice barely above a murmur, "the next in line for the throne."
The implication settled over her like a shadow. She'd seen a hint of the court's cruelty, but this—a royal sibling putting his own family at risk—was a level of intrigue and manipulation she hadn't expected. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence heavy, fractured only by the soft rustle of movement in the corridor outside.
Belikov's hand lingered on hers a second longer than necessary before he finally released it, his touch leaving an almost magnetic warmth in its wake. His gaze softened, barely, but enough to make her wonder at the layers he kept hidden behind that calm, impenetrable exterior.
Belikov sat across from her, closing the first aid kit with deliberate slowness. "Moroi politics are a different battleground, Hathaway," he said, his voice as steady as ever. "One just as lethal as Strigoi, if not more."
Rose's gaze narrowed as she absorbed his words. She'd heard whispers of the court's cruelty before—stories of royal rivals dismantling each other's reputations and influence through quiet sabotage, secrets traded like weapons. It was a level of intrigue and manipulation she had never fully understood, and one she preferred to keep at a distance.
"The Dragomirs are one of the oldest and most powerful royal bloodlines," he continued, watching her carefully. "And one of the rarest. After their parents' deaths, only Andre and Lissa remain to carry the family's sigil. Andre's a favorite for the throne, which, as you can imagine, has made the Dragomirs… visible. There are plenty of Moroi who see them as a threat."
She caught the faintest glimmer of something hard in his gaze—a look that hinted at the burdens he carried, at the silent battles he fought to protect the academy's students from forces far more insidious than Strigoi. It occurred to her that he wasn't just a guardian to Lissa; he was a shield against an entire world of dangers that most people didn't even know existed.
Belikov hesitated before continuing, as though weighing how much to share. "Since the accident that killed their parents, Lissa's life at the Academy has been... turbulent. Fragile, even. And the other students—they see that. They know exactly where to press."
Rose's brow furrowed, an edge of irritation coloring her voice. "Then ship her off to her brother. She's better off at the royal court than here."
Belikov's gaze remained calm, though his expression softened just slightly. "She needs to graduate first," he said, the simplicity of his answer leaving little room for argument. "The court is no place for someone as unprepared as Lissa."
Rose scoffed, but the sharpness in her voice had softened, replaced by something more thoughtful. "She doesn't seem like she belongs in either place. She's too... delicate for these games. If she can't handle a few students here, how is she going to manage a court full of predators?"
Belikov leaned back, folding his arms as he regarded her. "That's where you come in."
Rose blinked, caught off guard. "Me?"
Belikov's gaze held hers, steady and unyielding. "You should consider being her guardian."
The suggestion landed between them like a stone tossed into still water, rippling out in silence. Rose blinked, caught off guard, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. "What?"
"Lissa needs someone she can relate to, someone who's been through hardship." His voice softened, but his gaze remained intense. "Someone she can look up to."
"That's an incredibly bad idea," Rose shot back, trying to tamp down the surge of panic rising in her chest. She could feel her pulse quickening, the walls of the small office seeming to close in just a bit tighter.
Belikov shook his head slowly, undeterred. "I disagree. You both understand loss, and you could help each other. You're stronger together than apart."
A flash of anger kindled in Rose's eyes, the sting of his words sharper than any blade. "So… what, you want to pair the broken dhampir with the broken Moroi?" Her tone was icy, clipped. "Just throw us both into the deep end and hope we manage to keep each other afloat?"
Belikov's brow furrowed, his gaze steady but compassionate. "That's not what I meant, Rose."
"No?" She scoffed, her hand still tingling from the bite, her pride stinging from what she perceived as his thinly veiled pity. "Feels like that's exactly what you meant." Her voice rose, her tone laced with anger and disbelief. "Is this what the bandaging was for? A warm-up to make me more… compliant?"
Belikov's eyes darkened, his mouth setting into a thin line. "You're twisting things, Hathaway."
"Am I?" Rose countered, her voice brittle, almost mocking. "All this talk about healing and recovery—sounds to me like you're just trying to foist me off on someone who's just as messed up." The word came out harsher than she'd intended, but she didn't regret it, her anger flaring even hotter.
Belikov exhaled slowly, his patience visibly thinning, though he kept his voice measured. "That's not what this is. I'm trying to tell you that you could be exactly what Lissa needs. And maybe—" he hesitated, his gaze unwavering "—she could be what you need, too."
She threw her head back, scoffing, and crossed her arms. "I don't need anyone. Least of all, a new charge." Her jaw clenched, her mind flitting back to Kiran, her late charge, to the brutal finality of Budapest. A hollow ache spread through her chest, but she pushed it down, her anger intensifying. "I'm not here to be anyone's savior."
Belikov's expression softened, but his voice held firm. "I'm not asking you to save her. I'm asking you to protect her, to let her feel safe." He paused, his eyes searching hers. "And to give yourself a chance to find purpose again."
"Purpose?" Her eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing. "I'm a guardian. I know my purpose, and it's not to be a damn therapist." She took a step back, her chest rising and falling with the effort to keep her emotions in check. "I'm done here," she said, her voice cold and distant. "Thanks for the pep talk, but I'm not interested."
Belikov's face darkened, his patience finally snapping, and his tone turned sharp, his words clipped and steely. "I wasn't giving you a choice, Hathaway."
Her eyes flashed, and she took another step back, folding her arms defensively. "Oh, is that so?"
"Yes," he said, his voice like iron. "You're part of my squad now. When I give you an order, I expect you to follow it."
A cold anger settled in her gaze, and she felt the sting of indignation rise in her chest. "So that's it? You're just going to pull rank?"
"If that's what it takes to get you to listen." His voice was a low rumble, the firmness in it unyielding, and he took a step closer, his presence a heavy weight in the room. "You're not a lone wolf anymore, Rose. You're part of something bigger, and that means you answer to me."
Her chest tightened, her hands clenched, and she met his intense gaze with a defiant glare.
Rose stormed out of Belikov's office, her mind a chaotic mix of anger and confusion. She could feel his words echoing in her head—I expect you to follow it. The implication that she needed saving as much as Lissa felt like a barb lodged deep, reopening a wound she'd fought so hard to close. She wasn't broken, and she didn't need anyone else's pity or misplaced concern.
The chill of the evening air settled over her as she found herself in one of the academy's empty training rooms, dimly lit and quiet. She let out a sharp breath, her hands trembling from more than the bite wound. Without a second thought, she pulled out her knives, the familiar weight anchoring her, steadying her in a way nothing else could.
She began moving through her routines, each motion precise and controlled. The knives flashed under the pale lights as she slashed and jabbed at invisible opponents, her muscles straining and releasing with each movement. The exertion brought a fleeting sense of peace, but her focus fractured, and images from Budapest flickered at the edge of her vision—the cold, ruthless eyes of the Strigoi, Kiran's last breath, the blood that had coated her hands. Her control wavered, and her next strike missed the target entirely, the knife clattering to the ground.
Breathing hard, she doubled over, bracing her hands on her knees. Her heart pounded, but this wasn't the usual satisfaction she found in training. This was something raw, unhealed, and it surged up inside her, threatening to break free. She pushed it down, pressing the memories back into the dark corners of her mind.
In that quiet, empty room, she stood alone, facing her own reflection in the mirrored wall. She looked at herself—tired eyes, a guarded expression, and a resolve that hadn't yet faded. She was a guardian. And if she was going to follow Belikov's orders, she'd do it on her own terms.