A Man
A Man
The rain begins just as I step outside.
It’s soft at first, a gentle drizzle tapping against the leaves. I pull the hood of my sweater over my head, but I don’t go back inside. Something about the rain calms me lately. It feels like the world is trying to wash everything away.
Leomord’s been quieter than usual again. After everything, the escape, the gang, the bruises, he’s been distracted. Present, but not quite here. And though he holds me every night like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded, his eyes sometimes drift to places I can’t follow. I just want him close to me, physically and mentally, by soul.
I walk down the dirt path that leads to the old wooden bridge near the edge of town. It’s our secret spot. Or it used to be. We haven’t come here in weeks.
I pause at the railing, staring down at the river below. The water is high, restless. Like me.
“You always liked the rain.”
The voice behind me makes me jump.
I turn sharply, and find a stranger standing a few feet away.
He’s holding a dark green umbrella, dressed neatly in a black coat. Mid-thirties, maybe older. His smile is polite but unsettling, like he knows too much.
“Do I__ know you?” I ask, taking a cautious step back.
He chuckles. “Not personally. But I’ve heard of you, Anastasia.”
My heart skips. I glance behind me. No one.
“How do you know my name?” I ask sharply.
He lifts his free hand in peace. “Relax. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just here to talk. About Leomord.”
That name. Spoken by this stranger. I freeze.
“I don’t know what you want,” I say quietly, “but if you’re part of the gang__”
“I’m not,” he cuts in. “I left that life. Long ago. But I knew him. Back then. Knew what he did, what he risked. What he sacrificed.”
My hands tremble at my sides. “Then why are you here?”
The man’s expression softens, surprisingly. “Because he’s in danger again. And so are you.”
The rain picks up.
And just like that, my quiet walk becomes something else entirely.
~
I should run.
Everything inside me says 'turn around, go back to Leomord' , but my feet don’t move. They’re heavy with fear. With curiosity. With the weight of too many unanswered questions.
The man steps closer, umbrella shielding us both now. His voice is low.
“You don’t know the full story, do you?”
“I know enough,” I whisper.
He studies me for a moment, then reaches into his coat and pulls out a folded photograph.
It’s old. Faded at the edges. I take it with trembling fingers.
It’s Leomord. Younger, thinner. His eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them. In the photo, he’s standing next to a body—face turned away, covered with a sheet. There’s blood on Leomord’s hands.
“I didn’t bring this to scare you,” the man says softly. “But you need to understand what he was pulled into. And why walking away is harder than just saying no.”
I clutch the photo, heart pounding. “Why now? Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because he’s being watched again. Closely. They don’t let people go. Not really. And him trying to build a new life with you?” He sighs. “It threatens everything they stand for.”
I step back. “You said you left. Why do you care?”
The man smiles faintly. “Because once, I had someone I loved too. I stayed quiet, thought I could protect her by hiding everything. She died anyway.”
The rain is heavier now. Cold water clings to my lashes.
“I don’t want that for you,” he says. “Or for him.”
“What’s your name?” I ask, voice shaky.
He hesitates. “Call me, Callum.”
I nod slowly, trying to memorize every detail of his face. Just in case.
“I’ll go now,” he says, stepping back. “You should get home before he worries.”
I turn to leave. But before I do, I ask, “Will they come for him again?”
Callum’s face darkens. “They already are.”
By the time I return, Leomord is pacing near the front door.
His eyes widen when he sees me soaked. “Where the hell were you?”
“I went for a walk.”
“In the storm?”
I hand him the photo. “You should sit.”
He stares at it. His jaw clenches. He doesn’t speak for a long time.
“I met someone,” I say quietly. “He said his name was Callum.”
Something shifts in Leomord’s face. Pain. Memory. Maybe guilt.
He finally meets my eyes. “He’s alive?”
I nod. “He told me the truth. Or part of it. Enough.”
He sinks onto the couch, rubbing his face. “I never wanted you to see that part of me.”
“But I did,” I say gently, sitting beside him. “And I’m still here.”
He laughs bitterly. “You shouldn’t be.”
“Well, I am.”
Silence stretches between us.
Then I reach for his hand. “We need to leave.”
His eyes snap to mine.
“They’re coming,” I whisper. “And this time, I want us to be ahead. Not running from shadows.”
He nods slowly. “We’ll pack tonight.”
I press my forehead to his. “Wherever we go, just don’t leave me behind.”
“Never.”
~
That night, we don’t sleep.
Leomord moves through the house like a ghost, packing quietly, carefully. I help where I can—folding clothes, wrapping Maria’s photo frame in a scarf, slipping Grandma’s necklace into a side pocket.
At one point, he pauses by the kitchen table, staring at the coffee mug Grandma always used. His hand hovers over it like he wants to take it too, but then he steps back.
“I thought we’d be safe here,” he murmurs.
“You gave me peace, even if it was short,” I say gently. “That means something.”
His eyes meet mine, heavy with regret. “I’m scared, Ana. Not of them. But of losing this—us.”
I wrap my arms around him from behind. “Then fight for it. With me.”
His hands cover mine, trembling slightly.
The storm outside fades, but inside us, something stronger grows—something defiant, sacred, and still full of hope.
We’re leaving. Together.