The car passed through the wrought-iron gates of the Edelweiss Garden and rolled slowly toward the main building. My hand rested on the gearshift, Stas's hand covering it from above. His thumb traced gentle circles over my skin, a gesture so natural it felt as though it had always been that way. He laced his fingers through mine, guiding my grip, and together we shifted gears.
"Dasha's sharing a room with Tanya, right?" he asked, checking the rearview mirror as he eased the car into a parking spot.
"Yes. Why?"
"Then maybe I shouldn't walk you upstairs," he said thoughtfully, and I felt a sharp prick of jealousy.
"What—afraid of upsetting your ex?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I scolded myself inwardly for attacking Stas again, after promising I wouldn't. I didn't want to push him away anymore or run, the way I always had out of fear of pain. Being an adult meant understanding that life rarely hands out the gifts you're hoping for.
Stas let out a long breath.
"Of course I don't want to upset her. Causing pain to someone else isn't much of a pleasure."
The car jerked slightly, and Stas muttered a curse under his breath, annoyed with himself. Only after the parking was finished and the engine turned off did he continue.
"But I don't intend to hide what's happening between you and me either."
His fingers reached for my face, and I leaned into his touch, aching for another moment of tenderness. You can't take a deep breath before death, the thought rang in my head like a verdict. I knew this would all end when Stas left for another city.
"Don't even try," I said softly, brushing my cheek against his palm and closing my eyes, surprised by how warm and safe such small gestures made me feel.
Stas leaned closer and brushed my lips with his. The kiss held no passion, but it carried a quiet confession of feelings long nurtured and finally given voice.
"I won't," he whispered, then lightly tapped the tip of my nose twice with his finger.
"Wait—have you read The Labyrinths of Echo too?" I asked, almost childishly hopeful, my inner voice already bracing itself to hear the cherished yes.
"Nope. Should I?"
My smile dimmed at once. Still—had I really expected everything to be that perfect? Not knowing one of my favorite book series was a tiny, temporary disappointment, easily remedied by placing the hefty first volume straight into the hands of the object of my affection.
"Absolutely! There was a Kettrian hunter, Sir Juffin Hully, and in his homeland this gesture—" I demonstratively tapped my own nose, "—meant a promise between two people. Though you're supposed to tap your own nose, not someone else's, because the vow is one you give yourself."
Stas watched me with fond amusement as I spoke with such enthusiasm. My favorite dimples reappeared in his cheeks when he smiled. I liked everything about him—but today, especially so.
"All right," he said seriously. "I'll read the series—but on one condition."
"Yes? What is it?" I replied playfully, expecting something involving kisses.
Instead, Stas met my gaze intently and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, as if it were keeping him from seeing me fully.
"You'll stop running away—like you always do whenever we get closer."
I blinked several times, trying to process his words.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Really? I think you do," he said softly, pressing a barely-there kiss to my cheek. "You think I haven't noticed how prickly you become every time we have an honest conversation? As if you suddenly come to your senses, pull back, and start pushing me away whenever I try to step closer again."
I looked away. What was there to say—that Stas was painfully right, and that I was nothing more than a wounded wolf curled in on itself, terrified of letting anyone close enough to strike again?
"You know, I can't just switch this off by pulling a lever."
"I understand. And I'm not judging you." Stas took my hands in his and then shifted back slightly, as if giving me space while still making it clear he was there to hold me if I needed it. "You've been through so much this past year."
"Exactly," I said quietly, my voice trembling under the weight of unspoken hurt and disappointment. "First Nick and his manipulations. Then my parents and their secrets. Everyone I've ever let close betrayed my trust. I still don't know how to forgive my mother—the woman I lived with for most of my life—because it turns out she was a stranger, playing the part of a gentle, easygoing person all along. Maybe she believed she was doing it for me, for my safety. But in the end, she was wrong. Terribly wrong. And now I'm the one who has to live with it."
With a careful, almost fragile motion, I withdrew my hands from his, and it felt as though he stopped breathing in that instant.
"You're asking me to lower my shields, but I honestly don't know how. And I don't know if I ever will."
"Time will tell," he said thoughtfully. "I'll earn your trust. You'll see."
I shook my head.
"Don't promise anything. You're leaving soon."
"Yes. And?" he replied. "That won't change how I feel about you."
I looked at him and saw nothing but determination in his eyes. Stas believed every word he said. But was momentary conviction enough to keep a promise? I wanted to deceive myself, if only briefly—to believe just as sincerely that the treasured and they lived happily ever after was possible. Yet if I had learned anything over these past months, it was how fragile dreams could be, and how easily the core of our desires shifted.
"That's how it feels now," I said softly. "But no one comes back the same person they once were. Travel, living somewhere else—it changes us irreversibly. And neither of us has met the Stas who will return to Xertony on holidays or school breaks."
Stas stared at his hands, clenched tightly around the car keys. His shoulders sagged, revealing how difficult this conversation was for him, yet he listened without interrupting. At least, that was how it seemed to me. I couldn't know what he was thinking in that moment—and, truthfully, it was a relief that neither of us could read the other's mind.
It is a dangerous illusion to believe that access to another person's thoughts would be a priceless gift. Fleeting, impulsive ideas are born in every mind, rarely reflecting who a person truly is. We are defined not by thoughts, but by the choices we make and the actions we take. Thought itself cannot be stopped—just as it cannot be consciously summoned. What matters is which fragment you grasp, which you develop into intention, filtering out what doesn't belong and adding what aligns with your chosen moral compass. In its earliest form, any idea can carry darkness. To overhear a passing thought is to risk misunderstanding the person entirely, because each of us, every single day, consciously chooses where we stand—and why—on the side of good or evil. Knowing how many small, insidious ideas sometimes surfaced in my own mind, I wished never to glimpse the inner currents of others. I could barely cope with my own.
"No city will change me so much that I'll stop wanting to see you."
I leaned toward him and kissed him again, fully aware of how mistaken he was. Stas wasn't lying—but neither of us could be certain even of tomorrow. Arguing was pointless. Trying to convince him by dragging him into the depths of my own fears would have been worse.
"I think it's time," I said quietly.
He looked at me from beneath lowered lashes.
"I agree."