Chapter 94: You Shouldn’t Be Here
It was still early in the morning when Ivan and Nikolai left the inn. The sky was just beginning to turn from black to grey, and the air was so cold that their breath turned into mist with every word they spoke. A bitter wind howled through the empty streets like a warning, rattling loose shutters and whistling through cracks in the stone walls. Snowflakes danced in the air, soft but relentless, clinging to their coats and eyebrows.
The silence between them was thick, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy, almost suffocating, like the air before a storm. The kind of silence that meant something was breaking inside someone, even if they didn’t say a word.
Ivan barely said a word, though. He mounted his horse without looking back, his jaw tight, his eyes empty. His gloves creaked as he gripped the reins too hard, his knuckles pale beneath the leather. All that mattered was getting to Svetlana.
The horse shifted beneath him, sensing his tension. Ivan didn’t soothe it. He didn’t even notice. His mind was far away—trapped somewhere between dread and desperation. In his heart, he could hear Lydia’s voice, soft and panicked. He could see her eyes, wide with fear. And he hadn’t even been there to hold her hand.
Nikolai followed quietly. He knew better than to speak when Ivan was like this. He’d seen that look before—a storm brewing behind a calm face. A silence that wasn’t peace but pain. The same expression Ivan wore the night his father died. The night he had to put aside his boyhood and become something else.
They rode fast, even though the snow was heavy. The horses galloped hard, their hooves kicking up ice and frost, but Ivan didn’t stop. Not even once. It was as if he was racing against time—or maybe death itself.
Each step forward was a strike against the clock. Ivan didn’t know what he was riding toward—a disaster or a miracle—but he knew one thing: if he arrived too late, he wouldn’t survive it. Not this time.
His mind was too loud for words. Every beat of the horse beneath him only echoed the pounding in his chest. Every flake of snow that hit his skin felt like a memory trying to break through. And he didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to feel anything. He just needed to get to her.
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Hours later
Back in Svetlana, it was already afternoon.
Lydia sat by her window, the same window she hadn’t moved from since morning. Her legs were stiff and aching, but she didn’t move. The room had grown dimmer as the snow clouds thickened, but she hadn’t lit a lamp. The natural grey light suited her mood. Cold. Heavy. Lifeless.