A Twist
A Twist
The train window is fogged slightly from the early morning chill, but I still try to watch the trees pass by in a blur of green and gold. Everything feels like it’s moving too fast, and yet not fast enough. My fingers are curled around Leomord’s, resting quietly on his lap. Neither of us has spoken in a while.
We’ve left the village.
The moment we stepped out with our bags, leaving behind Grandma’s soft goodbye and Maria’s teary wave, it felt real. The life we tried to build there—the peace, the stillness, it’s behind us now.
Leomord hasn’t said much since we boarded. His eyes are alert, scanning every corner, every person. He’s trying to stay calm, but I feel the tension in his grip.
“Do you think they’ll follow us?” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just gives my hand a squeeze. “We’ll be careful. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I believe him. But fear still flickers at the edges of my heart. Because men like the one who hurt Leomord… they don’t just disappear.
We arrive in a small town by late afternoon. It’s unfamiliar, surrounded by hills, rivers, and winding roads. Nothing like where we came from. Leomord chooses a quiet inn at the far edge of town—tiny, cozy, and tucked beneath a ridge of pine trees.
Once we settle in, I sit on the bed and watch him place a small knife in the drawer beside the lamp. A chill moves down my spine.
“We’re safe here,” he says. “For now.”
~
The days pass slowly. We don’t talk about the gang. We don’t talk about danger. But it lingers—like the hum of a storm just beyond the hills.
To distract ourselves, we try to find normalcy.
One morning, Leomord surprises me with a walk by the riverside. The air is crisp, and for once, we smile without pretending. He tosses pebbles into the current, and I laugh when one of them bounces twice.
“You're getting better,” I tease.
He smirks. “Took me ten years in prison to master that.”
I hit him lightly on the shoulder, and he grins wider than I’ve seen in days. That night, we cook dinner together in the small shared kitchen. Pasta. Burnt garlic. Too much salt. But we laugh, and for a few hours, we’re not fugitives or survivors, we’re just us.
Later, we lie on the bed, the lights dim. I curl into him, feeling his breath steady against mine.
Then, he whispers, “Anastasia?”
“Mm?”
“I think we should change our names.”
I blink. “What?”
“If we’re going to start over... we can’t stay who we were.”
I pull away slightly, looking at him in the dark. “Do you really think we’ll have to run forever?”
He doesn’t answer. And in that silence, I realize, maybe we will.
But before I can speak, he leans in and kisses me. Softly. Desperately.
“I don’t care where we go,” I murmur. “As long as it’s with you.”
He kisses me again, and this time it feels like a promise.
But just outside the window, across the ridge, I swear I see movement in the trees.
Something or someone, is watching us.
The room is quiet now, save for the sound of his breathing—steady, but heavy, like each breath costs him something.
I don’t move from his embrace. Not yet.
There’s a part of me that wants to forget everything, to bury my face into his chest and let it all fade away. But I can’t. We’ve done that too many times. Hidden behind love to avoid the truth. It doesn’t work anymore.
So I ask gently, “What happens now?”
He blinks. “Now?”
“Yeah.” I shift just enough to look at him. “That man—your boss. The gang. If they’re still after you… after us… do we just keep hiding?”
A flicker of guilt crosses his eyes, like he knows he should’ve had a plan but didn’t. “I don’t want to run,” he says after a beat. “But staying here puts you, Maria, and Grandma in danger.”
My chest tightens at the mention of them.
“We can’t just wait around for something worse to happen,” I say quietly. “Last time, they beat you. What if next time, they find me? Or Maria?”
His jaw tenses. I can see the war behind his eyes—pride, fear, helplessness all tangled together.
“I’ve already failed once,” he murmurs.
I reach for his hand. “Then don’t fail again. Let’s go before they come back. Start over somewhere far.”
He doesn’t answer right away, but his grip on my hand tightens. “Will you still want me… if we have to live like ghosts for a while?”
I smile faintly. “I’d rather live in the shadows with you than shine alone.”
A faint chuckle escapes him, low and rough. “You always say the right thing.”
“No. I just mean it.”
We sit in silence for a few more minutes, listening to the wind rattle softly against the window. There’s a strange peace in the quiet—maybe it’s the calm before the storm, or maybe it’s the calm that follows a decision finally made.
Later that evening, we sit at the dinner table. Grandma’s making lentil soup, humming an old song under her breath. Maria plays with the hem of her sleeve, eyes darting between us.
She knows something’s changed.
“I have something to say,” Leomord says suddenly, his voice steady but low.
Both Grandma and Maria look up.
“We’re leaving,” he says. “Soon. It’s not safe here anymore.”
Grandma stops stirring.
Maria straightens in her seat. “You mean all of us?”
Leomord nods. “I won’t go without you.”
There’s a pause. Then Grandma sighs softly, as if she’s been waiting for this moment. “I always knew the past wouldn’t stay buried.”
Maria’s eyes well up. “I just got used to this school…”
“I know,” I whisper. “But we’ll find somewhere better. Safer. Together.”
Leomord squeezes my hand beneath the table. “We’ll leave in two days. I’ve saved some money. I’ll figure the rest out.”
That night, as I pack quietly in our room, I glance at the man sitting on the edge of the bed. His back is turned, but he isn’t distant anymore.
He’s present. Real. Trying.
“I love you,” I say suddenly.
He turns, slowly.
“What?”
“I said,” I repeat, smiling, “I love you.”
His eyes soften, breaking through the shadows that have haunted them for weeks.
“I love you too, Anastasia.”
I walk to him, place my forehead against his. “Then let’s run together. Not from the past, but toward something better.”
He nods.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I believe we might just make it.