Youri stood motionless in front of the dimming screen with its faint glow flickering across his face as the call came to an end, and the silence that followed was deafening. For a long moment he didn't move — didn't breathe, didn't think. Then, slowly, almost mechanically, he lowered his eyes to the polished surface of the desk beneath his hands while Alan's words echoed through his mind over and over like a verdict already passed. It's either you, or her.
He closed his eyes. The memories came flooding in, sharp and relentless — Leonora laughing beneath the trees, the warmth of her hand in his, the quiet mornings, the rare and fragile moments in which he had believed, truly believed, that life had finally chosen him for something other than destruction. But beneath those memories something older stirred. Something colder. Something that had never really left. He had lived his whole life on the edge of ruin, walking a road soaked in fire and blood. He had tried to bury that man, to abandon him, to forget him. Now he understood something with terrifying clarity. You don't escape what you are. You only delay it.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. The warmth was gone. In its place stood something far more familiar, something the void itself had once feared. The Reaper had awakened.
Without a word, he turned and walked out of the study. Leonora was already in the hallway outside, standing steady but tense, as though she had felt the change in him before she even saw him. The moment her eyes met his, something inside her faltered. She stepped forward quickly. "What's going on? What happened?"
Youri didn't answer. He walked past her, and that alone was enough to send a chill through her. "Youri!" she called after him, more sharply.
He kept walking — through the halls, past the marble pillars, out into the open garden where the evening wind was whispering through the trees. He stepped onto the grass and stopped, his eyes drifting toward the horizon, the same view that had once given him peace. Leonora followed with quick, uneven steps and stopped a few paces behind him, her chest rising with restrained emotion. "What happened?"
The wind moved through his hair and brushed it across his face as he stood there in silence. Then, slowly, he turned. Their eyes met, and Leonora felt it. That look. The one she had hoped never to see again. The man who had learned to live was gone. So was the warmth, the softness he had fought so hard to reclaim. What stood before her now was the man who had survived by becoming something else entirely.
He took a step closer. "I thought we would have more time," he said quietly. "But I guess I was wrong."
She frowned, with confusion and fear tangling together in her. "What are you talking about?"
He raised his hand — cold and steady — and laid it gently against her cheek. "I have to go."
Her eyes went wide. "No," she said at once, seizing his wrist. "What did he say to you?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, and for one brief moment everything else disappeared — the world, the war, the past, all of it fading into nothing while he held her. Then he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I never wanted to break my promise." And just like that, he let her go.
She stood frozen as he turned away. "No — Youri, wait—" But he was already walking — across the garden, through the gates, out of her reach — and a moment later the roar of his bike shattered the quiet of the estate. He didn't look back. He didn't hesitate. The machine surged forward and tore through the roads of Fansilia while the city blurred into streaks of light around him. The hours passed. The sun went down. Night swallowed the sky. And still he rode.
Until at last he stopped. Marta's pub stood on the corner of a dimly lit street with its warm glow spilling onto the pavement like an invitation he didn't deserve. He went in, and the noise in the room faded the moment he entered — not because anyone told it to, but because of him. He walked to the counter, sat down heavily and lowered his head onto his folded arms.
Marta looked up from behind the bar and studied him for a moment. Her expression shifted from irritation to something more serious. "Well," she said dryly. "What did you do now? Piss her off again?"
No answer. That was enough, and her eyes narrowed slightly. Something was wrong. She didn't press him. She simply poured him a drink, then another, then another, bottle after bottle, while the time blurred away. When Leonora called, asking if he was there, Marta didn't need to be asked twice. "Yes," she said simply.
Not long after, the door slammed open, and Leonora's presence cut through the room like a blade. She saw him instantly — sitting there broken and drunk, running. Her anger ignited. Without a word she stormed across the room, seized him by the back of his collar and hauled him off the stool. He barely reacted, his body too heavy with drink to resist. "Enough," she snapped. She dragged him across the floor, ignoring the stares and the silence. Outside she shoved him into the car.
The drive back was quiet — too quiet — the kind of silence that said everything words couldn't, and by the time they reached the mansion, he was barely conscious. She dragged him inside, through the halls and up the stairs into their room. This time she didn't throw him. She helped him onto the bed — carefully, gently — and her anger was still there, but beneath it something else was breaking. She reached into a drawer and took out a pair of cuffs. Her hands trembled a little as she looked at him. "This is for your own good," she whispered, and she fastened them around his wrists. "I won't let you walk to your death."
The night passed slowly and painfully. Morning came. Light filtered into the room, and Youri stirred. His eyes opened slowly, and for a moment nothing made sense. Then he felt the weight around his wrists. The memory came back all at once. He lay staring at the ceiling in silence.
Beside him, Leonora woke and pushed herself up. Her eyes went straight to him. "So," she said quietly. "You're finally awake."
He didn't answer. He only looked at her — that same look. It made her chest tighten, and her face hardened. "So you're still not talking." He shifted and began to sit up. She grabbed his cuffed hands. "No. You're not going anywhere."
For a moment neither of them moved. Then there was a quiet sound. Metal, cracking. Leonora's eyes widened as Youri gently drew his hands apart. The cuffs snapped and fell away, useless. Silence filled the room. He stood up slowly. She didn't move. Tears were already running down her face. She knew. Whatever he was about to do, she couldn't stop it — and that terrified her more than anything ever had.
In one last, desperate attempt, she spoke, and her voice broke. "If you walk out that door, I swear — you're dead to me."
He froze, for just a second. Then he turned back to her and smiled — not the cold smile of the Reaper, not the empty one, but something soft. Something real. "I know," he said quietly. And after a moment: "I'm sorry for what I'm about to do."
Then he turned and walked away. This time, he didn't stop. And he didn't look back.