Ch 35: Rumors and Gunfire
Seven days had passed since Kazimir left.
Elena sat on the edge of the bed, watching grey light seep through the curtains. The house was too quiet without him. She had spent the past week waiting.
She remembered that dawn clearly now: The warm press of his lips on her forehead. The low murmur of his voice—unexpected business, returning soon. She had been too sleepy to ask questions and drifted back to sleep, trusting that he would be there when she woke.
But he wasn't. And "soon" had stretched into a week.
Is he safe? Is he hurt? Would anyone even tell me if he was? The questions circled endlessly. She didn't know where he had gone or what he was facing. He had chosen to tell her nothing.
"Sister?" Greta's voice broke through.
Elena looked up.
The girl was moving around the room, tidying with her usual energy. She had been with Elena for a full week now—seven days of chatter and companionship. She talked constantly, filling silences Elena couldn't.
Elena watched Greta fold clothes at the foot of the bed. He gave me someone to focus on, she realized. Someone to take care of so I wouldn't fall apart while he was gone.
He's out there fighting. The least I can do is train. Get stronger. Be ready to help him when he gets back.
She rose from the bed and crossed to the small table. Kazimir's jacket hung over the chair—the one that still smelled faintly of cedar and him. She pulled it on. The sleeves swallowed her hands, but she didn't roll them up.
Greta looked up. "Sister? Where are we going?"
Elena didn't explain. She just waved for her to follow.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The shooting range was on the house's lower level, past the training rooms and the storage areas. The corridor grew darker as they descended, the walls changing from painted plaster to bare concrete, the air taking on the cool, metallic smell of gunpowder and oil. Elena walked the familiar path with Greta beside her, the girl's chatter filling the silence.
"—and Ophelia said the delivery from the coast was better than last week's, which is good because Cook was ready to—" Greta paused as Elena stopped in front of a steel door. "Sister? Is this where you wanted to go?"
Elena nodded and pushed open the door.
At least a dozen men stood at the firing line, their backs to her. The crack of gunfire echoing off concrete walls. Cigarette smoke curled toward the ceiling, mixing with the haze of gunpowder.
Nikolai stood at the center, his posture relaxed but commanding. His blond hair was damp at the temples, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. Beside him, Timothy had a rifle braced against his shoulder. Arlo stood slightly apart, his sharp eyes watching the targets. Others soldiers filled the space between.
Greta made a small gasp behind her, her hands found Elena's elbow.
Elena's heart pounded. She was nervous—she couldn't help that. But she was tired of hiding. Tired of the whispers that followed her through the halls.
This is my space too, she told herself. I belong here.
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She stepped forward, letting the heavy door click shut behind her.
One by one, heads turned. The firing line stuttered as attention shifted from targets to her. Their eyes swept over her—Kazimir's jacket, her small frame—then moved to Greta, then back.
Nikolai turned last. When his gaze found hers, something flickered in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or irritation. He lowered the pistol he had been cleaning and straightened from his casual lean. His eyes swept over her, slower than the others. He remembered the training room. She could see it in the way his jaw tightened.
"Lady Elena honors us with her presence." His voice carried across the range. He inclined his head slightly toward Greta. "And you brought company. How thoughtful of you to share."
The word share landed like a slap. Greta pressed closer behind Elena, trembling.
This is what he thinks of me, Elena realized. In the past week, she had pieced together the story that had spread through the mansion: a seductress who had lured four men to her bed, then used Kazimir to dispose of them. They had made her the villain of her own nightmare.
But their contempt for her also bled onto Kazimir. She had heard the whispers: A boss who can't control his wife. A leader whose judgment is clouded by a woman.
She stepped forward. Past the firing line. Her steady footsteps echoed on the concrete floor. The men shifted back instinctively, surprise flickering across their faces.
Nikolai held his ground, arms crossed. "What are you doing here? I don’t have men to spare for your private entertainment."
Elena felt her anger rise, but she held his gaze. She shaped words with her lips, slow and deliberate: ‘I'm here to train. Is that a problem?’
Nikolai's brow rose. "Train." His gaze swept over her again. "With us?"
She nodded.
He laughed—a short, disbelieving sound. He turned to the men behind him. "Did you hear that, boys? The lady wants to train with us." He glanced back at her. "Forgive me, but I've heard about your training methods. I think we'll pass."
Contemptuous laughter rippled through the men. Timothy's laugh was the loudest.
Elena stood at the center of their laughter and did not move. She had expected this. She waited for the laughter to die, her breathing slow and even. Then she stepped closer—close enough that Nikolai had to look down to meet her eyes.
‘You've never seen me shoot. You've never really met me. And yet you have so many preconceptions,’ she mouthed. ‘I'm not here for you or your men. I'm here because Kazimir trained me, and I won't let that training go to waste while he's gone.’
The mention of Kazimir landed. His jaw tightened.
‘You think I'm a seductress. You think I got good men killed. You think I'm making Kazimir weak. You're wrong, Nikolai.’ She paused, letting the words settle before continuing. ‘You're wrong about me. And you're wrong about what happened to those men. I'm not asking you to believe me immediately, but I want you to watch. Judge me by what you see, not by what you've heard.’
She held his gaze for a moment longer. Then she turned away. She walked to an empty lane at the far end of the range—the one Kazimir always used. Behind her, the silence stretched.
Greta scurried to join her, her face pale. "Sister, what are you trying to do?"
Elena didn't answer. She set down Kazimir's jacket and loaded her weapon with calm, practiced movements. The weight of the gun settled into her palms.
Behind her, the murmuring started. Some men returned to their practice. Others lingered, watching.
Then she heard footsteps coming towards her. She looked up.
Nikolai stood at the edge of her lane, his arms crossed. He watched her for a long moment.
"You want to train?" His voice was flat.
Elena held his gaze and nodded.
Nikolai studied her for a beat longer. Then he turned to the men behind him.
"Clear the line. Moving targets. Tim, you keep score."
The energy in the room shifted. This was a challenge.
Greta's voice cut through: "Sister, you can do it!"
Elena didn't turn, already settling into her stance—feet shoulder-width, weight balanced. She breathed in. Breathed out.
Beside her, Nikolai took his position at the adjacent lane.
Down the lane, targets clicked into launchers, ready for flight. The mechanism whirred, and behind her, she heard Timothy call out the first round.
She didn't listen. She didn't need to. She knew what she had to do.
She breathed in. Breathed out.
And waited for the first target to fly.
Last edited by Feiya Phia 5/11/26