I was right. The classroom seemed to breathe again as soon as the discussion turned to the novel's characters, those who had faced the tension between individuality and the collective. Listening to my classmates' arguments, my thoughts wandered to the present day. How would these same people, with whom I shared a roof and daily routines, react if they glimpsed the hidden side of Kserton? A world concealed from ordinary eyes, yet harboring dangers that defied imagination. Even I hadn't yet grasped the full extent of my own abilities—or those of the Smirnovs. Born vampires, weak-bloods, werewolves, the fractured Kserton coven… all the threads of this secret tapestry that had taken root in my mind condensed into a hazy awareness: the fragility of human life and the brilliance of a power capable of ending it in a single swift motion. No obvious transformations had yet manifested, nothing I needed to hide from the oblivious. My body grew stronger, my senses subtly sharper, yet to any ordinary observer, these changes were barely perceptible. But I sensed there was more to come.
"I didn't like the novel," a boy in the front row announced, loud enough for the whole class to hear. "Its ending feels vague. Half-finished, even. They don't conclude the thought, only hinting at the horrors of life under Zamyatin's society."
"In the past," the teacher replied patiently, "it was considered good form to leave space for the reader's reflection and interpretation."
"But it seems lazy to me," the boy persisted. "As if the author didn't know the idea he wanted to express—or lacked the skill to make it clear."
The literature teacher gave a crooked smile. "Ah, Golubev. I was ready to reward your participation with a five today, but of course, that spoiled it all."
"Whatever," the boy muttered, leaning back like a petulant child.
The conversation absorbed me entirely, and I lost track of time. Soon, the bell rang, dragging me back to reality. As I left the classroom, my gaze instinctively scanned the hallway for Nick—but I stopped myself. Even if he were there, waiting to walk me to the next class, nothing could undo what had already happened.
My fleeting good mood evaporated.
For the next two lessons, the teachers' words barely reached me. School continued around me, relentless and intimate, yet I felt like I was observing it through a transparent dome—close enough to touch but untouchable, unable to merge with its flow. How I longed to move in harmony with the others, to enjoy the carefree final month of senior year. But even that had been stolen from me, irretrievable, and no amount of money could buy it back.
At lunch, I skipped the cafeteria. I didn't want to hover among the students like a shadow, dimming the fragile light that still lingered in the sterile white walls. Dasha, quiet all day, seemed to absorb my mood, and I left without a word, heading toward the edge of the forest beyond the parking lot.
Galina's trailer sat abandoned, a silent reminder of the disco evening. My legs carried me forward automatically, until I reached the familiar clearing surrounded by tall firs and scattered bushes. The snow lay undisturbed, a flawless white sheet concealing the gnarled roots beneath. Standing in the center, I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply, savoring the crisp air.
The frost burned my lungs and the delicate membranes in my nose, sharpening my thoughts and offering a fragile, fleeting peace to a soul that no longer knew rest.
Maybe I should have gone home, stayed away from everyone, given myself more time to process this upside-down world where I could barely recognize my place. Who was I now, and who were the Smirnovs? Diana and Stas had known from birth the nature of their powers, while I, like a blind kitten, had only recently discovered that I was different from the stork that raised me—and couldn't fly. Living among humans now, as a werewolf, seemed almost impossible: attending school, studying, eventually finding a job, building a personal life—all likely requiring a double existence, just as my father had done.
What if I fell in love with a fragile human one day, as Kostya had once loved Maria?
More than anything, I longed to go to Rostov and talk to my mother. To understand how Maria had found the courage not only to accept my father as he truly was but to dare to build a family with him. Their "happily ever after" had not endured, yet they had taken the risk—and I was living proof of that courage.
How could I reconcile the extremes of my life—the ordinary high school girl who loved literature, and the werewolf who, by necessity, could transform into a predatory beast, hunting bloodthirsty vampires?
I could not imagine harming anyone. Even contemplating it made my stomach churn. If I ever allowed myself to harbor hatred, even for a moment, there might be no turning back. Life's value had always been sacred to me, an inalienable right. Yet the wolf inside demanded indifference, a cold precision to fulfill what fate had decreed—both guardian and reaper, all in one.
How simple it would have been if hope still lived in my heart. To believe there was a loophole, a way to navigate this world safely, might have kept me afloat. Instead, I crumbled, and tears flowed unbidden. Kostya had been right—I had gone back to school too soon.
I lingered in the snowy clearing, letting the tears run, grateful that no one could see. At home, in front of friends, in a world full of concerned gazes, I would have had to hide them, pretend strength. Here, I could release everything.
Unlike everyone else, I did not know whether it was worth seeking out the spirit within me. Perhaps the connection I felt was not consequence, but residue—venom left by a vampire bite. Had anyone truly studied it? I doubted it, for neither my father nor Dr. Smirnov could provide certainty.
I thought on this, letting the frost and the snow anchor me. Slowly, the icy grip on my heart loosened, and the tension that had seized my muscles—and with it, my pain—relaxed.
Where tears had streamed, only two thin lines remained, stinging my skin. I rubbed at them with my sleeve, only to make the irritation worse. Realizing only washing my face could help, I finally turned back toward school.