Page 29 of Eternal
I’ve shadowed her every day for a week now, and there’s something primal in the amusement she brings. She wakes at dawn, rising at 5 a.m. and returning home at 2 a.m. I doubt she sleeps much, but she never looks tired or weak. She always runs for an hour before spending her day in Bratva’s basement, either training or working on something.
Yesterday I perched on a hill with my sniper rifle, watching her as she played with dogs. Two dobermans. The hot July sunlight glinting over her dark hair and olive skin.
Through the lens, I saw her sitting on the floor, laughter blending with the dog's barks. But then, I noticed something deeper in her eyes, an emptiness that clawed at my gut.
No tears, just raw, unfiltered loneliness.
I was trained to see it, to recognize the scars buried beneath bravado.
I watched her jaw clench as she closed the journal she had been reading for a few minutes, a flash of sorrow crossed her face before Viktor Rogov and his sister, Katarina Rogov, appeared, handing her a note.
Viktor took over in Vegas a few years back after his father’s death. The current pakhan, Elijah, named him to command this city.
Voron kissed Katarina’s cheek and hugged Viktor briefly before heading out, on her bike. I quickly put away my rifle and grabbed my bike to follow her. But she sped up, like she could sense I was there, or maybe she’s only reckless. Either way, she looked damn good in that helmet.
What kind of twisted man am I to see blood and chaos intertwined with a pretty face and think, Mmm, she might look good kissing me.
I could ask her things while she’s under me. What’s your name? Why are you doing this? Why do you look so pretty, and why the hell are you so curiously interesting? Should I kill you?
I’m going insane.
It’s only been a week of watching her, and she’s already started to hypnotize me.
After her fight today, she slid back onto her bike and I watched from afar, puffing on a cigarette, my mask pulled tight against the upper half of my face.
She sauntered into a shop, taking her time, and I waited.
My sweet target emerged with bags of food.
She immediately returned to the bratva complex without a glance back, slipping inside like a phantom.
No hellos for her friend, only a quick feed for the dog and then straight to her apartment.
I could see her from where I lingered, smoking and thumbing through that journal again. It seemed like she was stuck on the same page for days, lost in a world only she could understand.
What was hidden in those pages? What thoughts consumed her? What made her who she is now? And why the fuck do I even care?
Maybe it's because this gaze is familiar to me. I recognized that rage, that anger. The notion that blood was the only balm for the scars etched on her soul resonates deep within me.
I craved it, embraced it, just as she did.
Hurting others made them mirrors of my own pain.
It might be egotistical, but why should we be the only ones suffering in this stupid world? If everyone endured the same anguish, pain would lose its meaning.
The thought of meeting her excites me,a lot.But I need to get ready for that. I need new tattoos, a fresh identity for this mission, I guess.
My reflection grins back at me when I decide to cut all my hair off. I should be following her home, studying her movements, the way she fights, the way she senses danger.
Fuck, she gave me hell simply by stalking her today.
I had to be extra careful because her fucking instincts are sharp.
But now, I need to focus on reinventing myself. I’ll keep my real name, Damir.
How ironic that it means giver of peace when chaos is my only offering.
Damir.It’s been years since I’ve used it. Most know me asViperor Commandant.
