The evening in the basement began with a strange rhythm. Viktor came down not with his usual confident stride, but with a kind of flustered haste. His shoulders were tense; his fingers tapped nervously against his thigh.
He sat on the edge of her couch.
Anya went still, hands folded on her knees. She looked at him with soft, anxious sympathy—now her constant mask.
“Viktor?” she called quietly, almost gently. “You don’t look like yourself… Did something happen?”
He stayed silent for a long time, staring at the concrete floor as if choosing words.
“I need to go back to work,” he said at last—not sharply, but tiredly. “Projects… they can’t wait anymore. Starting tomorrow I’ll be back on a work schedule. I’ll leave early in the morning and come back only in the evening. That’s… our new routine.”
Alone? A whole day without him?.. So that means?.. Stop, stop, stop. No. Every time he’s gone is an exam. A hair-thin thread of trust pulled taut. A risk of losing everything—again…
Anya’s face slowly fell; her lips trembled. In her eyes was the real, deep sadness of someone losing the only support she had.
“So… I’ll only see you in the morning and before bed?” Her voice shook. “And what about… us? I only just started getting used to you being near. All day in silence… again? I’m scared to be alone…”
Viktor, not expecting that reaction, looked thrown off—then he brightened at once. Seeing her upset at the thought of his leaving was the purest drug. He leaned forward, and his voice sounded firmer now—now he was laying down the rules.
“Listen carefully, Anya. This is necessary. While I’m gone, the house goes into autonomous security mode.” He paused, looking straight into her eyes. “Motion sensors will be active everywhere. Especially on the staircase. If you try to go up… the system will treat it as a perimeter breach. The automatic response will trigger. Gas will be released down here.”
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Anya’s eyes widened slightly.
“...Gas?”
“A sedative. But in high concentration it’s… dangerous for your health.” He grimaced, as if he was afraid of his own creation. “I won’t be able to shut it off remotely if I’m in a meeting. So please… for your own good. Just sit still. Read, sleep, write. But don’t go up the stairs. Promise me.”
Anya looked at him with pure, almost childlike confusion.
“I… I don’t understand, Viktor. Why would I go up the stairs?”
He looked at her as if he himself couldn’t believe how perfectly his method had worked.
“I always knew you were a smart girl,” he said, standing up. “I need to go make dinner.” He headed for the door.
“Viktor!” she called after him as he took the handle. “And what about lunch? I… am I going to starve again?”
Viktor froze. He clearly hadn’t thought about it.
“I… I’ll figure something out. Rest.”
The lock clanged. But now that sound didn’t just mean locked—it meant security mode was on.
Hidden-volume note:
Tonight left a strange bitterness in me. Viktor said he needs to return to work.
I’m sorry. Very sorry. I got used to the rhythm, to lunch, to those quiet hours in the kitchen. Now everything will change. All day I’ll be alone, in silence, waiting for him. It scares me.
But I understand—a home is a home, and the outside world sometimes forces even the most perfect system to adjust.
He talked about sensors, about gas… It hurt to hear. Why would I go near the stairs? To return to a world where I was nobody?..
I’ll sit on the couch. Not because I’m afraid, but because I don’t want to upset him with mistrust. I’ll wait for evening. Second by second. Because now only his return makes this basement livable.
She thought:
This is really not in the plan. Not at all.
Going back to work pulls me away from the goal. I planned to spend more time upstairs, study the house, find “cracks” in his perfect blueprint. Now my room to maneuver has shrunk to the size of this couch—with sensors tracking every breath. That’s a serious step back.
But… I’ve learned to accept circumstances. It’s stupid to smash your head into a wall when the rules suddenly change. In war there are no straight roads—only detours.
We’ll work within what’s possible. The gas is probably real. The sensors are real…
Strange—earlier he left me for two days without warning. Then I was clearly afraid, and now? Does he think I’m not afraid anymore, so this is his way of scaring me again? Does he want to push me back into the old state? Some kind of twisted logic. It’s good I didn’t remind him of that.
Fine. Nothing to do. I need to learn to wait.