"Where did you get it?" I stared at the diary—the one that had stayed in my room. Apparently, until now.
Tatiana looked at me with open contempt and shook the book in the air, right in front of my face."What, recognize it?"
With a swift movement, Stas snatched the diary from her hands and hissed through clenched teeth, barely restraining his anger,"How far did you get?"
She smiled smugly."Far enough to understand how you used me. It's amazing how much a person is willing to confess when they think no one will ever read it. Though I am surprised the diary ended up in Asya's room. What—couldn't wait to write down your impressions right after you slept with her?"
She raised her voice deliberately, practically announcing it. Heads turned. People on the bleachers began to look our way. The school's reigning queen knew exactly how to draw attention, and now her solo performance had begun—with all of us unwillingly cast as the backdrop.
I looked at Stas, but he kept his gaze locked on Tatiana.
"This diary was never meant for you."
"Then who was it meant for?" She tilted her head toward me. "Her? She guards your secrets well—considering the first thing I stumbled upon when I let the repairmen into the room was your precious little journal. You know, there's so much interesting stuff in there."
Tears continued to stream down her cheeks, yet her lips twisted into a venomous smile, one that seemed to poison the air around her.
"I thought I'd expose Asya. Tear the mask off this exotic newcomer to Xertonia—so sweet to everyone on the surface, yet secretly despising us all."
"That's not true!" I protested, but Tatiana didn't even glance my way.
"I wanted to tear down the farce. Show everyone who she really is—scheming, deceitful. A breaker of other people's hearts. She couldn't even break up with Nikita like a decent human being—just sent a pathetic text."
"Don't drag him into this."
"And when I opened the first page, I just couldn't stop," she let out a hysterical little laugh. "I might've thought they were Asya's wet fantasies, if I didn't know your handwriting so well after all those note exchanges during class. I never would've guessed you were such a stalker."
I glanced at Stas, searching for some explanation, some denial—but he kept staring at Rostova in silence. He didn't interrupt. Didn't defend himself. He simply listened. Viola shot him a confused look and started to rise from the bench, but Stas jerked her back down.
"Let her talk."
Viola clearly didn't understand, but she stayed seated. Tatiana went on.
"Following her through the woods. Watching her carefully at school. Always one step behind—why? Obsession? Or love at first sight? Such a twisted kind of love, too."
"I was protecting her."
"From whom?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Wouldn't I?" Her smile sharpened.
She opened the diary and flipped through the pages, running her finger along the lines until she found what she was looking for.
"'It's a pity she isn't one of us,'" Tatiana quoted, arching her brows theatrically. "So what is it, Stas—keeping things in the family? If she's not your sister, it's just not the same?"
That was when Viola sprang up so fast Stas didn't have time to stop her. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, and to anyone else it might have looked like a purely verbal threat—but I saw her fingers tense, ready to unleash a spell at any second.
"What did you just say?" Viola advanced on Tatiana, clearly prepared to tear her apart.
"Sit," Tatiana said casually, flicking her hand and pointing downward.
Viola dropped back onto the bench as if shoved by an invisible force. She jerked her shoulders, trying to rise again—once, twice—but couldn't.
"What the—"
"Oh no," Tatiana wagged her index finger. "I'm not finished yet."
Viola's lips pressed into a tight line, confusion frozen in her eyes. Neither she nor I understood what was happening, and I was ready to swear this was anything but normal.
"Let my sister go," Stas said evenly and coldly, each word deliberate. Tatiana didn't care.
"And ruin all the fun? Oh no," she replied lightly, then glanced down again and nodded in satisfaction. "Here's another delightful passage: 'I tried to drown my attraction to her by letting other women get close, but it was useless. So I decided that if I couldn't even provoke jealousy in her, I would leave Xertonia for good. I have to know her. I have to. But how? Perhaps I should make her jealous. Start showing up with someone she knows well—someone from school, maybe. That blonde with the great ass?' That's me, I assume? How sweet, Stas. I always knew that was your favorite thing about me."
"Stop."
She didn't."'Tatiana agreed to an open relationship without hesitation. That's exactly what I needed. To be fair, she's fun in her own way—if you ignore her fixation on money. There's only one problem: Tanya isn't her, and I'll never find the courage to tell the truth. Konstantin says she's just human, even though I initially sensed otherwise. I won't drag her into our world. I won't be the one to take away her normal, carefree life. If she ever uncovered our secret, I'd have a chance. But that will never happen. Even if Asya ever sees something strange, Arthur will take care of it.'"
"Tanya, please, stop," Dasha pleaded.
I had no words. I cursed myself for never reading the diary when I had the chance—now I was forced to hear only the fragments Rostova had carefully selected, the ones meant to wound when spoken aloud. I blamed myself for not hiding the diary better once it ended up in my room, for not protecting Stas. He had trusted me with something so intimate, and I'd stood my ground like a stubborn fool, insisting on hearing the truth face to face. Worse still was realizing that I'd simply been afraid—afraid to truly touch what Stas had once thought and written down.
I studied his unreadable face and marveled at his strength. It stood like a living shield, deflecting Tatiana's mockery and the curious stares of the onlookers.
"'Today in the cafeteria I noticed she moved away from her friends and sat by the window with a book. When she turned the page, she started twirling a strand of hair around her finger, and I came up with a theory that she does this every time a passage truly captivates her.'"
I knew exactly which book he meant.
I remembered how, shortly before Halloween, a package from Maria had arrived in the mail. Inside were six new books—and inside me, an all-consuming hunger. A hunger that made me run from reality, from people, but most of all from myself. I drowned in printed pages, surrendering completely to other people's stories, searching for even a moment of peace for a soul torn apart by funerals and by my breakup with Nikita. I needed new emotions—anything strong enough to muffle the throbbing in my temples and the hollow emptiness inside.
One book managed it, if only briefly: I Am the Messenger by Markus Zusak. A story about a boy who accidentally stops a bank robbery and later that night finds a mysterious envelope in his mailbox—with only one thing inside: the ace of diamonds. On the back are three addresses and a time written next to each. As he visits them, he realizes the people there need help. That's how his mission begins—a mission where he changes other people's lives, and in doing so, slowly changes his own.
Tatiana's voice didn't affect me. Recognizing Stas in every line—in the rhythm of his words, in the way he thought—I felt only tenderness. Even when I did everything I could to push him away, he stayed close, ready to offer his shoulder if I ever needed it. Only now did I understand why, after Galina and her accomplice had kidnapped me, Stas had told me about vampires. He had been unbearably drawn to knowing me, and at the same time he understood perfectly well that we were impossible. I was too far removed from Xertonia's dark underside, where vampires, werewolves, and witches secretly coexisted with humans, guarding them from the shadows.
I was never meant to become one of them. Kostya and Maria had done everything in their power to make sure of that—and yet they had miscalculated. Thoughtlessly, without expecting anything in return, Stas had been the first to tell me about vampires. Recklessly, with no real hope, he had allowed himself that confession, knowing full well that once the conversation ended, Arthur would simply edit my memory as if none of it had ever happened. How unbearably lonely he must have been in all his suffering, if even the faintest chance had driven him to a conversation he expected only himself to remember.
Only then did I notice how cold it had become. Clouds had gathered out of nowhere, swallowing the summer sun, and a wind rose, sharp and sudden.
"I'm done pretending. Toys like Tatiana are convenient, but they're just as empty as those who choose to play with them. I don't want to be empty anymore. Something new has appeared in my life—something with meaning. I'd give anything to truly know her, even if it leads nowhere in the end."
Tatiana laughed hysterically.
A jagged flash of lightning split the sky, followed by thunder rolling across the clearing. Then the rain came—sudden, violent, relentless. The spectators leapt to their feet as one and rushed down the steps, seeking shelter beneath the stands. Stas took my hand and signaled to his sister. Viola hooked her arm through Dasha's and hurried after us.
Tatiana didn't care about the weather. Fat drops splattered onto the open diary, smearing the ink, but she paid no attention. She kept reading aloud, line after line. As we passed her, Stas snatched the diary from her hands with a swift, practiced motion and flung it aside. Viola snapped her fingers, and the pages burst into flame.
"The show's over," Stas said, looking at Tatiana as though she were nothing more than empty space. "That's your real problem. You're artificial from your fingertips to the crown of your head. There's nothing real in you. Everything you show the world is just a performance—a spoiled girl's farce, played by someone who's never known responsibility or pain."
"Never known pain?" she hissed through her laughter.
The air crackled with electricity, but Stas didn't slow down. He kept walking, pulling me with him, not letting me stop. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the burning pages—pages that, now that I'd heard some of their words, felt more precious to me than anything in the world. What an idiot I'd been.
"The show is only just beginning, Stas," she called after us as we reached the bottom of the stands.
At that moment, Dasha turned back, her voice breaking as she pleaded, "Tanya, come with us. You're soaked—you'll catch a cold!"
Tatiana only shook her head. She looked at Dasha more gently than she had at us, and yet it was impossible to believe that Tanya had a heart at all.