Viktor lifted her into his arms—she weighed no more than an armful of dry branches. He didn’t say a word, just held her tight, breathing hard.
His steps up the stairs felt endless to Anya, and then—
Then reality exploded.
When Viktor flung open the heavy oak back door, Anya squeezed her eyes shut on instinct. The first thing that hit her was the smell. Not stale concrete and not the chemical vanilla of air fresheners, but a living, complex, almost aggressive scent of blooming linden, wet earth, and cut grass.
The air was so cold and fresh compared to the basement that her lungs—only just saved from the noose—burned from within. She coughed, clutching Viktor’s shirt.
He lowered her carefully onto a wicker sofa on a terrace hidden behind thick lilac bushes. It was June. The evening sun, already touching the horizon, flooded the garden with thick honeyed light.
Anya sat perfectly still. She was in shock. Her gaze darted across things her dazed mind refused to process:
Grass. Too green, almost glowing.
Sky. Huge, boundless, shifting from pale blue to violet. It didn’t press down like a ceiling—it seemed to pull her soul upward.
Birds. Somewhere deep in the garden a thrush was singing, and the sound felt deafening to Anya, like a bell.
She didn’t try to run. Even if the gate had been open, she couldn’t have taken a single step—her legs felt like cotton, her will burned to ash. She just breathed this air, and every molecule of oxygen felt like a miracle.
Viktor crouched beside her. He draped a soft wool blanket over her shoulders, covering the livid mark on her neck. His hands moved carefully, almost reverently.
“Breathe, Anya. Just breathe,” he said quietly, looking up at her. “Look—it’s June. Do you see? The world didn’t disappear.”
“Is it… real?” Her voice was barely a whisper; she couldn’t take her eyes off the linden tree.
“Real. Everything here is for you. I just wanted you to be safe while out there, outside, there’s all that noise and bustle. But I… I didn’t want it to come to this.”
Anya slowly reached out and touched a lilac leaf hanging down near the sofa. The leaf was cool, leathery, alive. From that simple sensation tears began to spill—soundless, bitter. She didn’t scream, didn’t call for help. She was at the stage of despair where freedom no longer felt like a chance to escape, but like an unbearable weight.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“Why didn’t you let me…” She broke off, unable to say the word die.
“Because this garden means nothing without you,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I’ll be your protector, Anya. Like you asked. I’ll heal you—don’t worry.”
He moved away and sat down on the terrace steps a little to the side, giving her space, but not taking his eyes off her. He looked exhausted, but there was a fanatical resolve in his gaze.
“Yes, Anya. Now everything will be different. I’ll heal you. I’ll watch your diet myself, find foods your body can tolerate. You’ll recover. You’ll become strong again, healthy… the way you’re supposed to be. We’ll just start over.”
Anya turned her head toward him slowly. She looked at him not like a kidnapper, but like the only support in this huge, frightening world—where her place had already been taken by an AI double.
“You’ll bring me out here?” she asked quietly. “Every day?”
Viktor froze, listening to her voice. There was no defiance in it—only a weak, childlike request.
“I need this air. And the sky. Please… If I know that in the evening I’ll see the garden, it’ll be easier. I’ll try to eat. I’ll do whatever you say. Just promise I’ll see this… every day.”
Viktor stood and came over to her. He carefully touched her hand on top of the blanket. His fingers were trembling.
“I promise. Every evening, Anya. As long as you want to see this garden—you’ll see it. I’ll protect you from everything, even from your own thoughts.”
“Thank you…” She smiled faintly, almost translucent.
She closed her eyes, turning her face to the last rays of the setting sun. She didn’t see the triumphant glint flare in Viktor’s eyes. He’d gotten what he couldn’t get by force, logic, or threats. He’d gotten her sincere dependence, born of absolute despair.
It was the most terrible defeat: she had found meaning—but that meaning was now entirely in the hands of her captor. The whole vast June world beyond the fence frightened her. Out there were deepfakes, threats to her mother, emptiness.
And here… here was air. And here was the “Protector,” the one giving it to her.
Hidden-volume note:
The air was sweet today. I didn’t know air could have a taste. It smelled of linden and something dusty and warm. That’s enough.
My neck burns where the rope was, but when I breathed in that cold June evening, the pain quieted. I used to think freedom was being able to go anywhere. But I looked at the fence and understood it was just a boundary. Beyond it—noise, people, and that other ‘Anya.’ She’s doing fine. She laughs on the phone with Mom, she drinks coffee in the capital. She’s handling my life better than I ever did.
If she exists out there, then I don’t need to be there.
Here, on this sofa, it’s quiet. The blanket is soft. His hands are warm. It’s strange, but that’s all I care about right now—that I’m warm, and I’m not nauseous. The world beyond the fence feels unnecessary, exhausting. Out there you have to decide things, go somewhere, live up to someone. Here you just have to breathe.
A cage and freedom are the same thing. What difference does it make where you watch the stars from if the sky is the same? What matters is that I’m not alone. Being alone in the basement was scarier than that lock on the gate.
I wanted this evening not to end. For the linden to keep smelling this strong. For no one to demand anything from me. Being just decoration isn’t so bad if it keeps you from the noose.
I just want to sleep. For the first time in a long time—not to black out, but simply to fall asleep knowing I’m safe.