Chapter 43
Vanya
Day 7
I pulled the hoodie over my head, the faded black fabric swallowing my wild, uneven hair. The mirror offered no comfort—only the reflection of a girl who didn’t look like Vanya anymore. Not the one he remembered. Not the one he wanted. I had cuts on my face, bruises from last week’s training, and the sharp angles of someone who hadn’t slept or eaten properly in days. If he didn’t find the version of Vanya he’d been chasing… I was as good as dead.
I stepped out of the bathroom, masking my panic with a blank expression.
Kross was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers tightly clasped. His head was bowed like he was praying—or plotting. His jaw clenched once. Then again. My pulse skipped. He looked lethal even in stillness, like a storm bottl
