"Ash?!" Rory exclaimed, shoving the door open and rushing outside the moment he realized someone else was in the yard. "Ash, are you alright?"
He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of the glinting cross-shaped earring. No other piece of steel gleamed quite like that.
"Vitaly?" he muttered, suspicion creeping into his voice.
The young man smirked, cigarette smoke curling around his face. He took one last drag before flicking the butt to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of his boot.
"How's it going?" he asked casually.
Rory could hardly believe it. That was the first thing he had to say after nearly two years?
"How did you find us?" He took a step closer. "You never wrote to ask for our address."
"Wasn't hard. Actually, I waited a good while for you to come home so I could catch you all together. Figured I'd climb the tree and give you a surprise."
Rory sighed.
"Just when I thought we were finally used to your entrances..."
The door swung open again, this time revealing Margaret Gilbert in all her chaotic glory—headscarf askew, hair damp and sticking to her face from the kitchen steam.
She stood there for a few moments, studying the visitor, and then finally said:
"You're just in time for dinner."
Vitaly gave a small, almost hesitant smile—something Rory wasn't used to seeing. He ran a hand through his unruly blond hair, uneven from a careless cut.
"I'm home, Mom."
There were only two rules when it came to Vitaly Strain: trust him, and don't ask questions.
He had stumbled into their lives by chance as a child, and ever since, he had been an unofficial son and brother. He never stayed in one place for long, always leaving without warning, only to return a couple of times a year.
This family was the only home he acknowledged in the world, but not even they had the power to make him stay.
He never offered explanations. They had no idea how he survived or what he did while he was away. The only clues were the subtle changes they noticed each time he came back—sometimes a new scar, sometimes another tattoo inked onto his skin, sometimes a different accent slipping into his speech, depending on where he had been.
His striking amber eyes and sun-kissed skin made him undeniably handsome, but his restless nature kept him from forming attachments. Not that it stopped him from carrying the weight of shadows he refused to share.
They knew nothing about him.
And, in the end, they had accepted that.
He was one of them, and they would always wait for his return.
"That doesn't mean you should go around scaring Ash like that," Rory scolded, rubbing his hair dry with a towel.
With Vitaly's sudden arrival, he hadn't even had time to shower.
Vitaly shrugged off his leather jacket, tossing it onto the couch beside Rory's uniform.
"So, they accepted you as a recruit in that Guard of yours." He nodded toward the military jacket, then gave him an amused once-over. "Looks like the training's working—you've gotten bigger."
Rory scoffed.
"If you're trying to say I'll never catch up to you, just say it."
There had been a time when Rory believed in miracles. But eventually, he had resigned himself to reality.
Vitaly was well over six feet tall, with abs that seemed to defy logic. And yet, whenever he was home, all he did was eat whatever their mother cooked and sleep most of the day. At night, he would wander through the house, keeping odd hours.
Ashling had called him Stupid Owl for years because he always ended up waking her up.
He had single-handedly caused her insomnia.
Vitaly leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed. The soft clinking of the chain on his jeans was louder than his laughter.
Not that anyone would have guessed he was laughing—Vitaly rarely ever did.
But then, as his gaze shifted from Rory to the girl setting the table, his smirk faded.
Ash had taken off her oversized hat, her movements slow and careful as she arranged the dishes.
"No matter how much time passes, she still gets scared," Vitaly murmured, watching her. "She'll never have a normal life if she doesn't get past this irrational fear."
Rory followed his gaze.
Ash was attempting to carry all the glasses and silverware at once, likely to avoid having to make another trip.
He couldn't help but smile.
"Here we go again," Vitaly sighed. "Siblings aren't supposed to get along this well, you know. I read somewhere that it's illegal in some places."
Rory shot him an incredulous look.
"You're hardly the one to lecture me on laws and morals," he retorted. "I bet there's a cocktail named after you at some shady strip club."
"Gotta have fun somehow," Vitaly said with a dramatic shrug. "But come on—don't you two ever argue? Not even over the last slice of pie?"
"Whenever you grace us with your presence, you're the one who always eats the last piece. And when you're not here, we share it."
"Her passive attitude and your overprotectiveness—how does that even work?"
"I don't see anything wrong with wanting to protect the only two people I have in this world," Rory said, his voice dropping a little. "After all, you're never around."
He left it at that. He didn't want to argue with him—not on his first night back. The fights always came later.
And they always had to resolve them before Vitaly disappeared again, just in case this time he never came back.
Dinner was served, laughter filled the house, and—for a while—things felt normal.
Later that night, Rory and Vitaly stepped out onto the porch.
There were wooden chairs by the windows, but they opted for the floor instead, sitting on the sturdy beams that held up the structure.
"How long are you staying?" Rory asked. "Mom won't ask, but she wants to know just as much as we do."
"Not long," Vitaly admitted, resting an arm on his knee. "I need to disappear before anyone realizes I'm here. I'm not like you—I don't have an identification code or a legal existence in this place."
"You could have one. You're the one who told us about this country. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have even known a place like this existed. You were here before we were, but still..." Rory's voice dropped. "You never wanted to stay. Not then, and not now. Even with us here."
Vitaly tilted his head back, gazing at the night sky.
"There's still a lot I need to see and do before it's time."
"There it is again!" Rory groaned. "You're not sick, and I doubt you're stupid enough to get yourself killed. Unless you can see the future, how the hell are you so sure you're going to die young? Wait—" He narrowed his eyes. "Did that fortune-teller from the fair tell you that?"
Vitaly turned to him.
"You remember that?"
"Remember? That's not the point! You never tell us anything! Not even if you need help! You gave us a way out, but you won't let us do anything for you!"
Vitaly exhaled a slow stream of smoke.
"You wanted a new life. You chose this. I just helped."
They sat in silence for a while before Rory finally murmured:
"We're happy here. We wouldn't want to be anywhere else."
Vitaly nodded, flicking the ash from his cigarette.
"Well?" he asked through barely parted lips. "How's training going? Think you're going to make it?"
"I'm confident I'll move on to the second stage. The theory lessons started today."
"You don't sound too thrilled about that. Eager to get back into the action?"
"It's not that," he shook his head. "I don't know what to think. The tutor I was assigned isn't helping. Apparently, I'll have all eyes on me because of her."
"What's the deal with her?"
"She's the prince's fiancée."
A look of surprise crossed the usually calm face of his friend.
"That must be weird for you."
"You have no idea," he muttered, clearly annoyed.
Vitaly held the cigarette between his fingers, exhaling smoke slowly.
"Have you seen him?"
"Who?"
"The prince."
"No. On the first day of training we were greeted by an emissary from the royal family, but we haven't seen him—not even at the celebrations. They say he's a private person, spends a lot of time abroad or with his mother, who has a degenerative illness and has to stay in the palace."
"Maybe that's for the best," he heard Vitaly say.
"Why?"
Vitaly just looked at him in silence—he never answered questions.
"We should get some sleep," he said at last.
A few hours later, Rory would hear his footsteps in the hallway.
And just before drifting off to sleep, a voice would cut through the thin walls.
"Stupid owl!"