"You're doing it again," I whispered, hoping only Stas would hear.
"Doing what?" His swallow was oddly nervous, and he kept staring at me with wide-open eyes, as if he'd forgotten how to blink. His pupils were swallowing the light, expanding as though a new universe were forming on the other side.
The thought that my strength now matched Stas's filled me with elation. He—no, all of them—needed to start seeing me as an equal, not a damsel in distress who always needed saving.
"You're deciding for me."
"Asya, how am I supposed to tell when you're in control and when you're not? Just a few hours ago, you were hitting Arthur in the face without a second thought. After that, you can't expect me to lower my guard while there's still a threat to the family."
"Come now, Stanislav. There's no hint of a threat while Anastasia remains within these walls," Vladimir said, turning his palm upward and tapping his knuckles on the table a few times.
The sound of my full name echoed sharply in my head, and I shot the doctor a displeased look. From my angle, I could see little more than Vladimir's expression, but it was enough to understand how much he enjoyed throwing barbed remarks my way, savoring every flash of irritation, every negative reaction, as if they were a dessert he couldn't get enough of. I felt like anything that provoked me brought him pleasure.
Time to wipe that smug smile off his face.
"And how long have you been hypnotizing my father?"
I held his gaze, throwing down my challenge and hoping he wouldn't be able to sidestep it. Only after asking did I start to doubt—did Kostya and I have any allies in this gaudy, suffocatingly perfect hall? Vladimir was not only on his own turf, but surrounded by his family members, each of them possessing power.
My doubts were scattered by a chorus of voices, all saying the same short "What?" in disbelief. Since Stas seemed just as surprised, I decided to loosen my hold, hoping the lesson had sunk in. Once I let go, Stanislav winced slightly and began rubbing his wrists. Where my fingers had been, faint pink marks remained.
"My God… Was that because of me?"
"Don't give it a second thought," he said softly, adding with a half-smile, "You misjudged. It happens with newbies."
My father stepped forward and held out his hands to help me up, and then Stas as well.
"What makes you think Vladimir's capable of that?" Kostya chuckled. "Listen to you—it's like you're saying a real villain has turned up in Xertoni."
"He has. You just don't want to see it."
"Asya, Vladimir and I have worked side by side for years. Yes, I don't approve of what happened with Galina, but at the time there was no choice."
"Did he tell you that, or did you decide it yourself?" I nodded toward the doctor, who had gone suspiciously quiet and was edging closer to the door.
My father blinked slowly, as if his mind had bumped into a blank space on the shelf where the memory should have been.
"You don't remember, do you? How about the scene that unfolded in the dining hall barely ten minutes ago? Do you remember how you got angry and grabbed the doctor by the collar?"
Like a rag doll, Kostya stood before me with a bewildered expression. His gaze wandered, as if scanning a ticker of hints and a chronicle of events where he played the lead role—but he had entirely forgotten the script.
"Dad," I said gently, touching his shoulder, "you were shouting just now and ready to tear the place apart. You said you wouldn't let the doctor hurt me."
"But Vladimir has never wished you harm."
"Do you think that, or did he tell you to think it? Remember how you felt. Remember. I know you can do it, Dad. I remember every shift in my emotions when Nik touched me, every word. Those weren't my thoughts—they were someone else's, dropped onto my shoulders. Look for something like that in yourself."
"Father," Stanislav said, "what are they talking about?"
There was no answer. Vladimir's whole posture seemed tense, and a vein bulged on his temple. He clenched his jaw so tightly, burning me with his stare, that there was no doubt left: all these years, the wolf in sheep's clothing had been controlling Kostya, replacing reality with what he wanted it to be for purposes known only to the puppeteer entrenched in a small, defenseless town. Bastard.
"Father, don't stay silent," Stas slowly moved toward Vladimir, oddly holding his arms out to the sides. What was he planning? While Kostya wrestled with his own memories, constantly pausing to mull over the new food for thought I tried to give him in small, deliberate doses, the other Smirnov children also began to move. Only Diana stayed on the sidelines, nervously biting her lip, not daring to follow her brothers' lead. Moving with quiet steps, Artur, Max, and Stas approached from different angles, cutting off Vladimir's escape route, and there was something ominous in that sight that unsettled me. I felt a creeping anxiety, as if I were watching two predators hunt from the safety of a television screen and trembling at the plight of the roe deer cornered against the wall.
"I don't understand," Father paled as the flood of realization crashed down on him, piecing together the long history of a false friendship into a single damning picture. "All this time… you!"
Kostya pointed a finger at Vladimir, and I could see the anger washing over him in waves, settling inside like grains of sand that would eventually grow into a boundless desert once fully awakened. He squared his shoulders and twisted his neck with a crack, first to one side, then to the other, as if loosening himself from invisible shackles, before moving toward the enemy — now ours to face together.