He stopped at the lab door, frozen mid-step, the storm inside him warring with the silence around. He remembered her trembling when he'd left earlier — her wide eyes, the fear in her voice as she'd begged him not to go. He had promised to return. He hadn't promised to come back like this.
When the door opened with a low hiss, the hum of machines barely masked the crackle of his own breath. Scarlett sat curled on the edge of the console, his jacket draped loosely over her shoulders. She looked small. Fragile. Angry. Her fingers twisted in the fabric like she was holding herself together.
Then she saw his hands.
The blood. The reality.
Scarlett's breath caught, her chest rising sharply. For a heartbeat, nothing moved. The storm outside growled in distant thunder, its echo vibrating through the underground walls.
"You shouldn't be here," Nicolas said, voice low, raw from anger he didn't know how to bury. "Go find Matteo. He'll take you somewhere safe."
But she didn't move. Didn't even blink. "You're hurt," she whispered.
"It's not my blood." The words came out sharp, slicing the air in half. He regretted it the moment they left his lips.
Her eyes flinched, but her body didn't. She rose slowly, barefoot, her shadow stretching toward him in the flickering lab light.
He turned his back, shame crawling under his skin. He didn't want to see her fear — didn't want her to see the monster in him. He had killed again, and this time his soul felt heavier than it ever had before.
But then she spoke, broken at first, trembling. "Why are you acting like I'm the one who did something wrong?"
He froze.
"I was terrified, Nicolas," she said, voice cracking. "I thought you'd never come back. And when you did — covered in blood, shutting me out — I thought it was me. That you didn't want me around. That maybe I'm just… something you regret."
"Scarlett…" he started, but she shook her head, tears spilling hot and fast.
"No! You think I don't see it? Every time you disappear into your darkness, I see it eating you alive. You push everyone away, you tell yourself you're protecting them — protecting me — but you're not. You're just alone."
Her small hands curled into fists, trembling. "And I can't stand it anymore!" she screamed, voice breaking. "I can't stand watching you destroy yourself because of what you've done!"
Then she hit him.
It wasn't a strike of hate — it was desperation. Her fists landed weakly against his chest. Once. Twice. Again. "You think I'm fragile?" she cried. "You think I'll run? You think I can't handle you?"
Her voice cracked as she hit him again, tears pouring freely now. "But I won't run, Nicolas! I'm here — even if it hurts!"
And then she collapsed against him, her tiny frame shaking as sobs tore through her. "I was so scared," she whispered into his chest. "But not of you. Of losing you."
Something inside him uncoiled. Her tears soaked into his shirt, into the same hands that had carried a man's blood minutes ago. He wanted to pull away — but he couldn't. Instead, he held her. Gently. Carefully. Like holding something that could make or break him.
"I didn't want you to see this side of me," he said quietly against her hair. "The things I've done… the things I'll still have to do… they stain everything I touch."
"I don't care," Scarlett breathed, looking up at him — eyes red, wet, but burning with her own storm. "Whatever happens, I'll stay. Even if you hide. Even if you push me away. I'm not leaving."
Nicolas stared at her, every wall he'd built crumbling under the weight of her defiance. Her trembling hands rested over his heart, and when she whispered, "You're not alone anymore," he felt the first real ache of surrender.
Outside, thunder cracked — fierce, unrelenting. Inside, beneath the sterile hum of the lab's light, the blood on his hands began to dry.
He cupped her cheek, voice barely a whisper. "You're going to ruin me, Scarlett."
"Then let me," she said, her voice trembling but resolute. "I'll bear the storm with you."
And for the first time in years, Nicolas Volkov didn't fight the pull. As the storm howled across the coastline, he held her — the only calm in the chaos, the only thing that made him feel alive.
He knew then, with terrifying certainty, that his greatest battle would no longer be fought on the battlefield.
It would be fought in his heart — and she had already won.