Days blurred together in a steady rhythm, each one passing with a quiet sense of detachment that suited Rose just fine. Her routine has stabilized, though it was hardly what she would have chosen. The highlight of her days came during her patrol shift with Celeste. The academy grounds, shadowed by towering trees and steeped in the crisp air, offered her a temporary escape from the Academy's confines. Here, amidst the whisper of leaves and the crunch of gravel beneath their boots, Rose felt a semblance of peace.
Celeste wasn't one for idle chatter, which suited Rose perfectly. They combed through the grounds in companionable silence, their senses tuned to the world beyond the wards. The open space and fresh air cleared her mind, the tension knotting her muscles slowly loosening. Out here, she could breathe.
But after patrol, Rose's day always took a downward turn. Guardian duty for Princess Dragomir was something she could never fully stomach. She hadn't liked teenagers when she was one, and now she could barely tolerate the swarm of voices and whispers that seemed to follow her charge. Still, Lissa wasn't too bad. There was a fragility to the girl, a reserved kind of loneliness that Rose could almost respect. Their interactions were mostly limited to shared silences and a mutual, unspoken agreement to keep their distance.
As for Belikov… Rose has made a point of avoiding the man entirely. Since that first day, she hadn't shown up to a single training session, and he hadn't sought her out either. It was, she told herself, perfectly fine. Even if there was a restless energy simmering just under her skin-a tension that seemed to tighten every time she saw him at the briefings. She made sure to keep her distance, always choosing a seat at the back of the room, eyes fixed ahead.
This morning was no different. The guardians filed into the briefing room, their quiet murmurs blending with the shuffle of papers. Rose slipped in last, sliding into her usual seat by the wall, carefully avoiding Belikov's line of sight. The room buzzed with the latest shifts and assignments, but she let the vices wash over her, focusing instead on the steady rhythm she's settled into-one that kept her emotions at arm's length, exactly where she wanted them.
The briefing room stilled as Captain Belikov rose from his seat, pulling everyone's attention to him. Rose kept her gaze firmly ahead, her back pressed against the chair, hoping to blend into the shadows. She watched as Belikov's eyes swept over the room, a solemn expression settling over his features.
"At the end of today," he began, his voice resonating in the room, "we will be holding the Molnija ceremony. It is a time to honor those who have shown unwavering strength and courage in the face of danger. Each mark you bear is a testament to the sacrifices you've made and the lives you've safeguarded." His tone softened, the emotions in his voice unmistakable. "Tonight, those who are due their Molnija marks will receive them, a symbol of their duty and sacrifice."
A faint murmur rippled through the room, a mix of anticipation and reverence. Rose's stomach tightened, the words wrapping around her like a noose. The Molnija marks had always represented pride and valor-a symbol of a guardian's worth. But now, the thought of new marks felt heavy, as if every etched line would trap her further in the memories she was trying to escape.
Belikov nodded to a senior guardian, Paul, who stood with a list in hand. His voice, usually tinged with humor, was all seriousness as he began to read;
"First, Guardian Alain Amari," Paul intoned, his voice carrying across the room. "Two Molnija marks for the recent containment breach in North Ridge. Two confirmed kills."
Applause erupted, and Alain gave a modest nod as she acknowledged her peers' respect. Rose tried to lose herself in the ritual of it, clapping along, offering silent respect for the Guardians called upon. But with each name, her anxiety grew.
"Guardian Celeste Marlow," Paul continued. "One mark, for a successful mission clearing the border outpost."
Celeste's shoulders straightened slightly, a subtle nod acknowledging the honor. Rose glanced at her, nodding at her in approval.
The list went on, each name followed by a summary of the confrontation or mission that earned the guardian their mark. To Rose, it felt like a parade of ghosts, each accomplishment punctuated by the reminder of the bloodshed that lay behind it. Rose's hands balled into fists under the table, the memory of her own encounters vivid against the backdrop of the others.
"Guardian Rose Hathaway."
The name hung in the air, drawing every eye toward her. Rose forced herself to breathe, her gaze fixed somewhere on the opposite wall, willing herself to remain composed.
"Guardian Hathaway will receive the Zvezda mark," Paul continued, his voice softer now. "Awarded to those who have fought battles with the kill count is… beyond measure. For her actions on the Budapest Attack."
The room fell silent. No applause, no cheers. Only the weight of unspoken words hung between her and the others, an acknowledgment of the kind of courage that left scars - some visible, others buried deep.
One by one, Guardians began to rise, silent, a show of respect that went beyond words. Each standing figure was a testament to their shared understanding of what Budapest had cost. Rose could barely see through the film of tears threatening her vision, and yet she held herself rigid, unmoving, the only one seated among the rising.
The reverence in the room was suffocating, the silence pressing against her chest, and she clenched her fists, willing herself to hold it together. She wouldn't cry here, not before them all.
Chris cleared his throat and closed the clipboard. 'Thank you," he said, the words strained with emotion. "To each of you."
As the room slowly shifted back to the hum of voices and shuffling chairs, Rose remained in her seat, staring at her hands. The others filtered out, but she stayed, grief welling up, pressing against the fragile walls she'd built around it, threatening to break through.
Footsteps approached, and footsteps stopped just beside her, a quiet but solid presence, and she already knew it was Belikov without looking. For a beat, neither spoke. Rose's skin prickled, instinctively expecting an order, a critique—anything but the gentle patience in his silence. When he finally spoke, his words were softer than she remembered, the steel in his voice replaced by something uncomfortably gentle.
"I don't think words can touch what Budapest meant," he said quietly. "To you. Or to anyone."
Rose swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around each other, knuckles white. "I don't want to be honored for it," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Belikov nodded, his gaze steady. "Sometimes, we don't get to choose what becomes part of us. But we do choose how we carry it."
She let out a shaky breath, her gaze falling to her hands. "It feels… it feels like each mark is a piece of that night etched into my skin. A reminder I can't erase."
His hands rested on the table, close enough for her to feel his steady warmth. "The marks will be there, yes. But they don't define you. What you did in Budapest - that wasn't just duty. That was courage. And courage is more than a scar."
The words pulled her up short. She glanced up, golden eyes meeting onyx ones. His gaze was impossibly dark, threatening to pool her in and drown her in its midst. The mysterious scar still cut through his eyebrow, angry and jagged, refusing to heal. She didn't breathe a word, couldn't.
After a moment, he nodded, a barely perceptible acknowledgment. "I'll be there tonight," he said simply, standing and giving her one last, steady look before walking away, leaving her to the silence, to the choice of how she would carry what Budapest had left behind.
The day dragged on, each hour saturated with a slow burning anxiety that clung to Rose like second skin. As the Molnija Ceremony loomed closer, she found herself struggling to keep her focus. Her duties carried her through the halls of the academy, past classrooms and silent, shadowed nooks, but her thoughts incessantly circled back to the impending marks.
Lissa was quieter than usual, which somehow managed to both irritate and unsettle her. There was a fragility to the girl that Rose recognized all too well, yet it was this very quality she fought so hard to ignore. She didn't want to see herself in Lissa's soft, guarded silences. She didn't want to feel a pill toward protecting her. She told herself it was her obligation as a guardian, but some buried instinct drove her close, hovering in the background as Lissa's shadow.
By the end of the day, Rose could feel the pressure building beneath her skin, a silent boil she couldn't soothe. As they made their way back to Lissa's dorm, Rose noticed the whispers ahead, the sneaking glances in Lissa's direction as they passed. Faces turned, expressions painted with the smug satisfaction of an audience that thrived on another's shame. And then Rose spotted Aaron, far too close to a petite Moroi girl who leaned into him with an overdone laugh, her hand resting on his arm, her eyes flashing Lissa a knowing look.
For a moment, something dark rose up in Rose's chest - a surge of anger that felt both ridiculous and unavoidable. She had no reason to intervene, no obligation to care about this petty high school drama. The snickers and whispers grew louder, their stares like pins, the scrutiny burrowing into Lissa's back, deepening the princess's already slumped shoulders. And then, as if by reflex, Lissa's head dipped lower, her hand tightening around the strap of her bag. Rose clenched her teeth, a sharp bitterness spreading in her mouth.
Fine, she thought, if they wanted something to stare at, she'd give it to them.
Without a second thought, she reached back and pulled her hair into a high ponytail, baring the skin of her neck and the telltale scars that marred it - raw, ugly Strigoi bites.
The effect was almost instant.
The hall fell silent, eyes turning to her, the collective whisper of curiosity and ridicule giving way to a stilled, almost uneasy quiet. She held her head high, letting them see, letting the scars speak for themselves. She wanted them to look, to stare, to feel wherever strange mixture of fear and fascination those marks evoked.
A faint wave of satisfaction washed over her, and she dared anyone to look away. Let them see something that would haunt them, something they couldn't mock or understand, something that would make them shift uncomfortably in their skin. They could laugh at Lissa's pain, but they'd feel this - a visceral reminder of a world they couldn't comprehend, a darkness she, and every other guardian, carried for all of them.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure pausing at the end of the hallway. Belikov. He stood still, his gaze fixed on her, unreadable.
The whispers had died, the eyes had shifted, and she walked Lissa the rest of the way to her dorm in an uneasy silence. At the door, they finally stopped, and Lissa lingered, a quiet hesitation in her expression as she looked at Rose.
"Would you… want to come in?" she asked softly, her voice soft and hopeful.
Rose's instinct was to refuse, to keep her distance. But she felt the faintest tug in her chest that whispered maybe, just this once.
She met Lissa's gaze, the edges of her own bitterness softening just a little. "You won't try to use compulsion on me?"
A flicker of amusement danced in Lissa's eyes, a glint of something sharper than Rose had ever seen from her. "No promises," she replied, her voice unexpectedly firm, carrying just the faintest edge of mischief.
Rose let out a short laugh, surprised and, despite herself, a little impressed. "Alright then," she said, stepping into the room. "Let's see what you've got."
Once inside, Rose's eyes quickly swept over the room—a reflex born of habit. Her gaze settled on a familiar furball curled up on Lissa's bed. She smirked, her voice dropping into a murmur. "Hey there, little demon."
As if sensing her words, Oscar cracked open one eye, giving her a lazy, dismissive glance before turning his back to resume his nap.
"Ungrateful little shit," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
Lissa gave a small, soft laugh. "He has a knack for deciding who's worthy of his time. But… really, thank you, Rose. For finding him."
Rose nodded, looking away. "Just doing my job."
But Lissa didn't look away. Her gaze was steady, her voice quieter as she added, "And thank you for today."
Rose barely acknowledged the comment, giving a slight shrug as she continued her survey of the room. Her eyes landed on an adjoining door, partially open, revealing a glimpse of a spacious bathroom. She raised an eyebrow, catching sight of a luxurious-looking tub and several gleaming shower heads fixed along the wall. "Royalty sure does come with a few perks," she muttered, trying no to sound too envious.
Lissa, perched on the bed and watching her intently, offered a small smile. "You're welcome to use it anytime," she said, the offer genuine.
Rose wasn't above refusing a lush bath. "I'll definitely hold you to that,' she said, giving the bathroom another appreciative glance.
She finished her silent assessment of the room and stood there, hands in her pockets, awkwardly shifting from on foot to the other. Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by Oscar's soft purring. Lissa's eyes remained fixed on Rose, her gaze unusually thoughtful.
"It suits you, you know?" Lissa said finally, her voice soft, almost distant.
Rose frowned. "What does?"
"The black." Lissa replied simply, her head tilting to the side, a faraway look in her eyes as she took Rose in. "I never saw it on anyone before you. Really confused me at first," she continued, the barest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "But I think it suits you. Makes you look like an avenging angel."
Rose looked down at herself, perplexed. She was wearing an olive green crew neck and dark blue jeans - not a stitch of black in sight. She glanced back at Lissa, feeling a little off-balance and starting to wonder if the princess wasn't seriously unhinged. "Uh… thanks?" share replied, uncertain.
Lissa's gaze didn't waver, a small smile still playing at her lips. "Just saying," she breathed, almost to herself.
Rose blinked, thoroughly unsettled, but before she could process anything, Lissa's expression turned suddenly serious. "So, what are you going to wear?"
"What?" Rose asked, feeling like she was having whiplash.
Lissa's brow arched slightly, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "To the Molnija ceremony, of course."
"Oh." Rose paused, glancing away. "I… haven't really thought about it."
Lissa's smile softened, an understanding flickering in her gaze. "Maybe you should pick something that makes you feel strong," she suggested.
Rose gave a noncommittal shrug, but something about the idea resonated with her. She'd need every ounce of strength she could muster. She let out a small sigh, her eyes drifting back to Lissa.
"Maybe," she replied, a note of uncertainty in her voice. But as she took in Lissa's calm, expectant expression, Rose found herself thinking that perhaps there was something to it. Perhaps choosing how she looked would help her choose how she felt, if only for a few moments.
The silence settled over them again, but this time, it felt less awkward. For the first time, Rose thought that maybe, just maybe, they'd managed to find some kind of understanding.