A Crime

A Crime
Anastasia’s POV

I haven’t slept.

The house is too quiet. Too still.

Every creak sounds like footsteps. Every shadow feels like it’s watching me. My fingers tremble as I clutch the blanket tighter around my body, still wearing the same clothes from earlier, too shaken to change.

Leomord is pacing outside the bedroom. I can hear the heaviness in his steps. The weight of rage and fear dragging behind him like chains. He hasn’t said much since it happened. Just held me tight when he found me and whispered, “You’re safe now.”
But I’m not. Not really.

I keep replaying it in my head.

The alley.
The van.
The hands grabbing me.
The man’s voice— "Tell Leomord this is his price for betrayal.”

If Maria hadn’t forgotten her notebook and turned back to find me… if she hadn’t screamed for help… if Leomord hadn’t come running like a wild storm...

I don’t finish the thought. I can’t.

The door opens softly. I glance up. Leomord steps in, shirt damp from sweat, jaw clenched so hard it looks painful.

“I made some tea,” he says quietly. “Chamomile. For your nerves.”

I nod. My voice doesn’t come out.

He sits beside me on the bed, placing the cup on the nightstand. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should’ve told you everything earlier.”

I look at him, really look at him. His eyes are red from lack of sleep. There’s a small cut on his knuckle. His fists must’ve collided with someone’s face.

“They said it was your fault,” I murmur.

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice cracks. “Why didn’t you let me in before it got this far?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Because I didn’t want you to live in fear. I thought if I handled it quietly, we could still have our peace.”

“You can’t protect me by keeping me in the dark,” I say, voice steadier now. “That’s not peace. That’s pretending.”

He nods, his shoulders slumping. “You’re right. And I was wrong.”

I lean into him, resting my head against his chest. His arms wrap around me instantly. For a moment, we don’t say anything.

“I need you to tell me everything,” I say. “No more lies.”

His hand runs slowly down my back. “I will.”

I sit still in his arms, heart beating just a little slower now. The fear hasn’t gone, but there’s something softer settling beside it—maybe trust, maybe exhaustion.

“I think we should leave,” Leomord says suddenly.

I pull back to look at him. “What?”

“Leave the village. Disappear. For real this time.”

He says it like he’s been thinking about it for days. And maybe he has.

“We just got here,” I whisper. “Your grandma, Maria_”

“They can come too,” he says, quickly. “I’ll talk to them. I just__ I don’t want this place to become your trauma. You were supposed to heal here. Not get hunted again.”

The word hunted lands heavy.

I tuck my legs up beneath me and hug my knees. “Running feels like losing.”

“No,” he says gently. “Running from danger isn’t losing. It’s surviving.”

“But what if they follow us again?”

He hesitates. Then: “Then I’ll make sure they don’t.”

There’s something final in his voice. Like he’s already made up his mind to do whatever it takes.

I glance at the tea he brought me—untouched, going cold. “What will we do? Where will we go?”

He gives a tired smile. “There’s a place up north. A friend I can trust. A job. A small apartment. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s safe.”

It sounds like he’s been planning this. Maybe since the night he was attacked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wasn’t sure I could really do it. I thought maybe… maybe if I waited long enough, they’d forget about me. About us.”

We both know that’s not true.

I lay my head back on his chest. “Will you really be okay, walking away from this life again?”

“I’d walk away from everything,” he says, “if it means keeping you safe.”

The next morning, I wake before the sun.

Leomord is already up, standing by the window, arms crossed over his chest. I walk over, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind.

“Did you sleep at all?” I ask.

“A little.”

His voice is distant, like he’s still somewhere else.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Maria,” he says after a pause. “And Grandma. How to explain everything without making them afraid.”

“They’re strong,” I remind him. “And they love you.”

His hands close over mine. “I don’t deserve them.”

“Yes, you do,” I whisper fiercely. “You do.”

He turns and kisses my forehead. “Then I’ll do it right this time. No more running alone.”

Later that day, we all sit around the table—me, Leomord, Maria, and Grandma. The curtains are drawn. The windows locked. Leomord explains everything. Not every bloody detail, but enough.

Maria holds my hand tightly under the table the whole time. Grandma doesn’t interrupt, just listens with eyes far older than her face.

When he’s finished, there’s silence.

Then Grandma says softly, “We should start packing.”

I blink. “You’re… coming with us?”

She looks at Leomord. “You’re my boy. And this girl_” she turns to me, “_has brought light back into this house. Wherever you go, I go.”

Maria wipes her eyes. “That makes three of us.”

Leomord looks like he might cry. But he just nods and says, “Thank you.”

~

That night, we begin to pack.

Clothes. Photos. Grandma’s spices. Maria’s sketchbooks. My old journals. Leomord’s favorite jacket.

We leave behind the broken pieces.

I know this isn’t the end of our story. It’s just a turn. A sharp one. And maybe the road will still be rough. We don't know our destination. Where do we go?

But for the first time in a long time, we’re not walking it alone. Even though the destination is unsure, we're together, and we love each other, that's all it matters.