Page 98 of Unbroken

The sharp trill of my phone breaks through the calm. I glance at the screen, my stomach tightening. It’s Rafail.

I swipe to answer. “Rafail,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

Sometimes, words hit you with the knowledge that this… this is the moment that will change everything. I know it when I hear him. I know this is the moment that could threaten the entire annihilation of my family, the brotherhood.

“Vadka,” Rafail says quickly, his tone low. “I need you. It’s happening.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My fingers tighten around the phone, the calm I had just found with Ruthie slipping through my grip like sand. The reality of the situation crashes down on me.

The momentary peace we’d carved out was never meant to last. It was only the windswept calm before the storm, clearing the path for utter destruction. The war, the violence, the constant fight for survival… it all comes rushing back in a tidal wave.

I don’t have time to process everything. Rafail’s tone tells me that whatever is unfolding right now, it’s urgent. It’s already in motion, and I’m needed.

I have to keep Ruthie and Luka safe.

No matter what it takes.

No matterwhat.

I don’t say anything immediately. My mind races, but I can already feel the shift in the room.

Ruthie and I are on the same wavelength. I glance at her, and her expression flickers, the calm demeanor she was holding onto faltering just a bit. But there’s no panic. No fear. Just that steady resolve that she’s always had when it’s time to act.

“Come to the mansion. We’re here now. Together, we can assess if it’s time to assemble at the safe house.”

The urgency in his voice is unmistakable. It’s not just a call to action—it's a command. The weight of it presses down on me, suffocating the peaceful moment we had been stealing.

I hate running. I hate hiding. I want to come out with guns blazing and hose every motherfucker down who threatens the safety of Ruthie and Luka, but I know I have to act rationally.

So I’ll do what Rafail says, and if I have to take them to the fucking safe house, I’ll do it.

Ruthie’s expression shifts subtly, though she tries to hold onto the calm. She exhales softly, her body language shifting like a wave rolling in, her spine straightening as if she’s already stepping into a different role. There’s no hesitation in her eyes, no questioning. She’s ready.

Without a word, she meets my gaze, her silent resolve speaking volumes. She doesn’t need to say anything. I see it in the way her shoulders square, in the quiet way she lookstoward the door as though the reality of what’s coming is already settling in.

I don’t speak much either, the gravity of the situation pulling me into action. The leader. The protector. That’s who I need to be. In the space between breaths, I rise, moving with purpose but still mindful of her injury. Gently, I help Ruthie to her feet, careful not to jar her ankle. She winces slightly but doesn’t make a sound, as though any pain she feels is secondary to the urgency of the mission.

For a split second, before the chaos of the world outside intrudes again, Ruthie touches my arm—just a soft, fleeting contact, a silent reminder that in this madness, there is still something between us. Her fingers brush against my skin, and I catch her eyes—quiet, unspoken words hanging in the air.

It’s a brief, precious moment where the world is on pause. A moment where we’re not soldiers or leaders or anything but two people trying to hold on to whatever scraps of peace we can before everything crumbles again.

I can feel the warmth of her hand, the tenderness, and for just that brief instant, it’s enough. This—us—is enough.

I don’t waste any more time and move into the role I’ve trained myself to assume. The leader. The protector. Ruthie follows me with her eyes, her readiness clear in the way she subtly shifts her weight, preparing for what’s next.

For a moment, we don’t say anything. But that silence speaks volumes. It’s a shared understanding between us.

It’s time to go.

Ruthie’s steps are purposeful, though softened by her injury. She’s determined. I can see it in the set of her jaw, the way she holds herself. But in her eyes, there’s something else—something fragile that we don’t talk about, something that won’t make it past this moment of quiet.

I glance at her one last time before we step into the unknown. Her expression is soft yet fierce, a balance of vulnerability and strength. It reminds me, for a fleeting moment, why I fight.

The mission calls, but this—this moment—will carry us through whatever comes next.

“We have to go,” I whisper. “Come with me? Come withus, Ruthie.” The question feels symbolic.

Her eyes are sharp but trusting when she nods. “Always.”

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