Ginevra lifted a hand that still carried faint smears of dried blood and nudged the man's shattered frames back into place—steadying them with a cold kind of care.
Then she turned her head, leaned in close to his ear, and spoke so softly it barely counted as sound.
"If you keep thinking you can reach for her again," she whispered, each word slow and precise, "I'll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life. And you'll live long enough to remember."
The man's pupils dilated in raw panic. His hands and feet went cold. What rose inside him wasn't "fear" in the ordinary sense—it was the primal kind, the kind that made the body believe it was already prey.
This girl wasn't normal.
She was something that had been watching from the dark for a long time—quiet, patient, and hungry.
-
At the same time, far away at Red Tide Harbor, a tall, razor-thin man in a perfectly tailored suit stared down at a young man kneeling on the deck.
The kneeling man was drenched in sweat, shaking so hard his shoulders jerked with every breath.
"I told you," the suited man said, voice flat as a machine, "I hate liars."
He tugged at his collar as if even the air was irritating him, then flicked his hand toward his men—an effortless gesture that carried the weight of an execution.
"Take him. Make sure he remembers."
A strangled, desperate scream tore through the wind.
"Oh—and don't stain my deck," the man added, almost mildly. "I have a cleanliness issue."
He loosened his collar again, frowned, and brushed two fingers over the left side of his neck.
A faint rash.
As if on cue.
"Tch."
Those two little brats at home are talking about me again, he thought, irritated. Every time they badmouth me, my skin flares up.
-
Not long after, the police arrived.
After a brief, efficient rundown of the situation, they shoved Draven—now vacant-eyed and trembling—into the squad car.
Jayna had been standing by the doorway the whole time. When she saw the man's face—swollen, bruised, and lopsided from the slaps—she froze, stunned.
She hadn't seen what happened inside the monitoring room.
Only that the "kind, shy" guard who used to greet her had become a monster, and that monster was now leaving with a face that looked like consequences.
Ginevra stepped out after them.
Jayna rushed up, asking in a quick, shaky stream if she was okay, if she'd been hurt, if anything else happened in there. Ginevra answered only enough to settle her—nothing more.
Because Ginevra had already decided something.
The police had their process.
But she had her own.
Everyone still had to go to the station to give statements—security staff included, and Jayna and Ginevra as well. The rest would be decided after the investigation ran its course… and after Jayna's father was notified.
To avoid stirring the entire estate into gossip and chaos, the police cleared the path, locked down the blind-spot area, and assigned officers to stay and survey the scene.
They contacted Mr. Carter.
Captain Thor, preparing to get into the car for the station, passed Ginevra at close range.
He couldn't stop himself from glancing at her.
What he'd seen earlier—how quickly she'd moved, how cleanly she'd pinned a grown man down, how calm she'd been while doing it—still clung to him like a nightmare he couldn't shake.
And now… now she stood beside Jayna with her face composed, even gentle, as though nothing had happened.
That, Captain Thor thought, was the scariest part.
He lowered his head before Ginevra could look back.
He didn't want to meet those eyes again.
Not tonight.
-
Mr. Carter arrived half an hour later, summoned from across town by Mrs. Rose, who'd been away running errands.
When he saw Jayna safe, his shoulders sagged with a grief-soaked relief.
"Jayna… I'm sorry," he blurted. "I'm so sorry."
Jayna, sitting in the back seat, watched the older man's trembling hands on the steering wheel and shook her head.
"It's not your fault," she said quietly.
"If anything happened to you," Mr. Carter choked out, "how would I face your dad—?"
He reached for his phone.
"Don't," Jayna said quickly, voice firm. "Not yet."
Mr. Carter's hands froze mid-motion. "How can we not tell him?"
Jayna lowered her gaze, choosing her words carefully.
"I overheard Mr. Hart talking to my dad once. It sounded like there's trouble at the factory. I don't even know how serious it is, but Dad's been running around nonstop. If he hears this tonight, he'll panic."
She swallowed. "Please. Not tonight."
Mr. Carter exhaled, torn, then gave a reluctant nod. "Your father… he has been stretched thin."
Jayna continued, softer now. "Let Ms. Rose come back tomorrow and tell him properly. And please don't tell her tonight either—she'll rush back immediately and she'll be scared sick."
Mr. Carter hesitated, then finally agreed, voice rough. "Alright. Alright… we'll do it your way."
Jayna had always been like this—thinking of everyone else's sleep even while her own hands were shaking.
Only then did Mr. Carter remember the quiet girl sitting beside Jaynara.
He glanced at the rearview mirror.
"And this is…?"
Jayna's hand found Ginevra's, fingers interlacing with a tenderness that trembled.
"Uncle Carter," Jaynara said, looking at Ginevra with a warmth so obvious it almost hurt, "this is my friend—Ginevra Volkova. If she hadn't come to find me tonight… you might not have seen me again."
"Don't say that!" Mr. Carter snapped, horrified. "Don't say things like that!"
His voice broke, eyes shining.
He looked into the mirror again and spoke with full sincerity.
"Ginevra… thank you. Thank you for protecting our Jayna."
Ginevra's expression softened slightly. She shook her head.
"It's okay," she said quietly. "You don't have to thank me."
Jayna turned Ginevra's hand over anyway, staring at the scrapes—several thin, angry red lines.
Her throat tightened.
Her eyes stung again—not because she was scared now, but because seeing Ginevra hurt made her feel worse than her own bruises.
"It's my fault," Jayna whispered. "When we get home, I'll put ointment on it. There's medicine in the house."
Ginevra simply nodded. "Mm."
-
They recorded their statements at the station.
Draven admitted what he'd done.
The formal ruling would come later, after the investigation and the necessary notifications.
But one thing was already certain:
The man would pay.
-
On the way home, with Mr. Carter driving and the streetlights sliding past like silent witnesses, Jayna sat rigidly in the back seat for a long time.
Then, in a voice so small it barely survived the air between them, she asked:
"Can you stay?"
Ginevra looked at her.
Jaynara's fingers tightened around the edge of her skirt, knuckles whitening.
Afraid of being refused, she tried again—careful, almost pleading.
"Just tonight," she whispered. "Can you stay here… for me?"
Even with Mr. Carter back, Jayna was still terrified of being alone.
And more than that—
She didn't want anyone.
She wanted Giny.
Ginevra held her gaze.
She'd never stayed overnight at someone else's house. Never crossed that line.
But Jayna's eyes—
Hopeful, vulnerable, still shaken—
Ginevra couldn't say no.
"Okay," she said. "I'll stay."
Jayna's chest loosened like a knot being untied by invisible hands.
In Ginevra's calm eyes, she felt something she hadn't been able to find anywhere else:
The feeling of being held—even without arms.
-
Back inside the house, Jaynara began picking up the broken pieces left from the blackout and the panic—shards of a cup, scattered items, the small signs of fear made physical.
Ginevra helped in silence, restoring the room to order as if order itself could be stitched back into Jaynara's mind.
Jayna glanced at her while sweeping debris into a bag.
"If one day I can't live without you…" Jayna said, trying to sound teasing, trying to cover the ache beneath it, "what am I supposed to do? I feel like I'm getting more and more dependent on you. And I'm supposedly three years older than you."
Ginevra's hands paused.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Her eyes lowered, gaze fixed on the corner of the floor as if it held the answer.
If you can't live without me…
Then don't leave.
The thought rose cleanly—simple, certain—so certain it almost frightened her.
But she didn't say it.
She just resumed putting things back where they belonged.
Jayna watched her back and smiled—soft, grateful, unaware of what Ginevra had almost admitted.
Mr. Carter, exhausted from the night's driving and the shock of everything, fell asleep in the downstairs guest room. His snores rumbled through the hall like a comforting engine.
Jayna quietly closed his door.
Then—
"Guuuu—"
Her stomach betrayed her with a loud, mortifying growl.
Jayna froze, cheeks heating.
She hadn't eaten a single bite since she got home—everything that happened had shoved hunger into the background until it became pain.
She opened the fridge.
No prepared food. No warm leftovers plated and covered.
Ms. Rose had left in a hurry. And Mr. Carter was asleep.
Jayna rummaged through the pantry and finally emerged holding two cups of instant noodles like they were treasure.
"Giny," she called, lifting them with forced cheer, "you want ramen?"
"You're hungry?" Ginevra stood.
Jayna nodded, rubbing her stomach. "I'm starving. My stomach actually hurts."
Ginevra's brows tightened. She took the noodles out of Jayna's hands and put them back in the cabinet like they were contraband.
"No."
Jayna blinked. "What? Why?"
"It's not healthy," Ginevra said bluntly.
Then she opened the fridge again.
And contrary to Jaynara's dramatic claim, the fridge was full: vegetables, meat, eggs, a bowl of leftover rice, soaked black fungus—ingredients waiting for someone who knew what to do with them.
"I'll cook," Ginevra said, already rolling up her sleeves.
Jayna stared, stunned.
"Wait— you can cook?"
Ginevra nodded once, as if it were obvious.
"When my parents weren't home, I cooked."
Jayna immediately lunged toward the sink. "Nope. Not with your hands like that. You just put ointment on. I'll wash."
Ginevra was gently but firmly "evicted" to the side.
She watched Jayna wash vegetables with exaggerated seriousness—careful, thorough, as if doing it right could redeem the night.
A small smile touched Ginevra's mouth.
Jayna laid the clean vegetables on the cutting board, then stared as Ginevra peeled a carrot and began slicing it—thin, even shapes, the knife moving like it had its own rhythm.
Jayna picked up one slice, eyes wide.
"How are you cutting these so perfectly? This is insane."
Ginevra's smile deepened, barely there.
"Waiting to eat for free?" she asked.
Jayna snapped the slice back down and leaned in with a bright, obedient grin.
"No, no, no. I'm your assistant. What do you need?"
"Two eggs," Ginevra said.
Jayna rushed to the fridge and grabbed them, then… froze at the bowl.
She stared at the eggs like they were explosives.
Ginevra looked over, sighed, and took one from her.
"Tap lightly," she instructed, demonstrating with effortless ease. "Then split."
The egg opened perfectly.
Jayna gasped. "It's a double yolk! That's lucky as hell!"
Ginevra gave a small huff of amusement and handed her chopsticks.
Jayna held them, confused. "Uh?"
"Beat the eggs," Ginevra said patiently. "One direction."
Jayna nodded furiously and began whisking with great seriousness.
While she worked, she noticed a small bowl of marinating meat.
"Huh? When did you slice that?"
"Just now," Ginevra replied.
She put on a disposable glove, mixed the meat once more, waited a beat, then heated the pan—oil, sizzle, the first burst of aroma.
Jayna's "good nose" activated immediately. She swallowed so loudly Ginevra definitely heard it.
Jayna rummaged in a drawer and found something, then circled behind Ginevra with suspicious intention.
Ginevra felt hands at her waist—an instinctive jolt shot through her spine. She started to turn—
A hand pressed her still.
"Don't move," Jayna whispered, voice warm against her ear. "I'm tying your apron."
The words were simple.
The situation wasn't.
Jayna's chest brushed against Ginevra's back as she leaned in. The tie slid around Ginevra's waist. Jayna's fingers moved slowly, almost carefully—lingering just long enough to make Ginevra's breathing forget its rhythm.
Ginevra's lashes fluttered rapidly—an unconscious attempt to stay calm.
Finally, a neat bow appeared.
Jayna stepped back, pleased with herself.
"So your clothes don't get splattered," she announced proudly. "See how good I am to you?"
Ginevra didn't answer.
Because if she opened her mouth right now, she didn't trust what might come out.
"Chef Giny," Jayna asked, eyes shining as she stared into the pan, "what are you making?"
"Olivier Salad with Shashlik," Ginevra said.
"Oh! Mrs. Rose used to make that for me," Jayna said, voice lifting. "It's so good."
Jayna hovered, practically vibrating.
"I can taste-test!" she offered immediately. "I'll check if it's too salty!"
Ginevra didn't need the help—but she still used the spatula to lift a small piece and bring it toward Jaynara's lips.
Jayna bit it without waiting for it to cool.
"It's soooo good," she mumbled happily.
Ginevra turned off the heat, plated the dish, and warmed the leftover rice.
When the food hit the table, Jayna appeared with two sets of bowls and chopsticks like a summoned spirit—already seated, already ready.
If Ginevra had to compare her to an animal, she'd pick the puppy at home—Rainy—tail wagging so fast it looked like it might take off.
"Bon appétit," Ginevra said.
"Yes!" Jayna chirped when Ginevra wish her enjoy the meal , then stuffed her mouth, eyes nearly rolling back in bliss. "Mmmm—perfect!"
She also placed a piece of meat into Ginevra's bowl, as if feeding her was part of the ritual.
Ginevra ate neatly, quietly—while Jayna ate like the world might end again if she didn't.
"Ginevra," Jayna said between bites, eyes full of admiration, "how are you so good at everything? You're not even human."
Ginevra chewed once, then reminded flatly:
"Don't talk while eating."
Jayna put her chopsticks down, smile turning wicked.
She leaned closer, voice low and sweet.
"Oh? You're 'sleeping without speaking' too now?"
Ginevra's gaze flicked up.
Jayna's eyes glittered mischievously.
"But tonight…" Jayna murmured, lips curling. "We're sleeping in the same house."
She paused, watching Ginevra's face with obvious satisfaction.
"You gonna gag me too?"
Ginevra stared at her.
At Jayna's lips—still glossy from oil, still moving with dangerous confidence—
And for the first time in a long time, Ginevra had absolutely no words.