The car ride was brief, yet every mile seemed to unravel threads of memory Elias had long tucked away. The forest canopy above filtered the light, casting dappled shadows across the road as it curved toward the town. Then, through the thinning trees, the bell tower came into view. Its iron cross, tarnished and rusting from decades of salty air, stood as a steadfast sentinel, weathered but unbowed.

The road spiraled down toward the town, revealing cobblestone streets and limestone facades that bore the weight of age. The buildings, though charming in their simplicity, were in desperate need of care—fresh paint, new life, something to mask the years of neglect. Elias’s eyes swept across the scene: the elderly sitting on benches, exchanging stories in hushed tones; a few children darting between alleys, their laughter echoing faintly. This was a place where time moved slower, where the world beyond felt like a distant whisper.

He slowed the car as he passed the corner store, its faded sign still hanging above the entrance like an artifact. Beside it, the kiosk remained shuttered, its windows grimy and still bearing a sun-bleached “For Rent” sign that flapped limply in the breeze. Elias almost smiled at its stubborn persistence—it had been abandoned even before he left.

The town square came into view, dominated by the Church of Saint Mary Magdalene. Its stone walls and stained glass shimmered in the afternoon light, a beacon of beauty amidst the weariness. It looked as pristine as he remembered, lovingly cared for in a way the rest of the town wasn’t. Stopping briefly at a red light, he found himself wondering if the old priest still presided over the parish or if time had replaced him too. The thought lingered for a moment before the light changed, and he pressed forward.

The road began to narrow as it carried him deeper into the heart of his childhood. His old school flashed by—a building that seemed smaller than it once had, its cracked walls and overgrown yard betraying its age. Beyond it, the town gave way to an open valley that seemed to exhale, the dense forest easing into tall, sunlit grass that swayed lazily in the Adriatic breeze. The sea sparkled in the distance, a vast expanse of blue that hugged the horizon.

At the end of the valley, a gravel road branched off, winding toward a cluster of houses. His destination stood apart, a modest two-story home with whitewashed walls and a slanted red roof. The garden was surrounded by a low wrought-iron gate, its paint peeling in places but still sturdy. White sheets flapped gently on a clothesline in the sun, their edges catching the breeze as if waving him home.

Elias pulled the car to a stop just outside the gate, the crunch of gravel beneath the tires breaking the quiet. For a moment, he simply sat there, his hands resting on the wheel as he stared at the house. The sight was achingly familiar—the open windows, the faint hum of the sea, the subtle sway of the tall grass—but it all felt distant, like a memory he was peering into rather than living.

He stepped out of the car, the warm air wrapping around him. The scent of salt and sun-dried linen filled his lungs as he approached the gate. It creaked softly as he pushed it open, and for the first time in years, Elias took a step back into the life he had left behind.

The front doors stood wide open, the sea wind curling through the entryway and filling the house with the scent of salt and damp earth. The old white walls, once a fortress of comfort and safety, now seemed frail, their paint cracked and faded. Time had stripped them of their strength, leaving them with the solemn dignity of ruins.

Elias hesitated on the threshold, the weight of the moment pressing against his chest. The linoleum floors stretched before him, their patterns dulled by years of footsteps, while the hallway was lined with memories—a series of framed photographs chronicling a childhood that now felt impossibly distant. His younger self stared back at him from faded prints, frozen in moments of joy and innocence.

The silence in the house was unnerving, broken only by the faint crackle of radio static emanating from deeper within. The stillness wrapped around him like a fog, making each step feel heavier than the last. As he moved toward the kitchen, he noticed the faint scent of stew lingering in the air, mingling with the musty aroma of an unused stove.

The kitchen was a snapshot of life paused. A pot sat on the stovetop, its contents congealed and cold. Fresh bread rested in the box, untouched, while a half-empty glass of wine stood at the center of the table, its contents smudged by faint fingerprints. The scene was both intimate and hollow, as though someone had simply stepped away and forgotten to return.

Elias eased into one of the wooden chairs at the table. It creaked under his weight, a small sound swallowed by the house’s emptiness. He set his bag down and rubbed his face, trying to anchor himself. The house felt foreign yet familiar, a strange purgatory of memory and displacement.

He pulled out his wallet, fingers brushing against the cold, smooth surface of the card. The metallic edge glinted faintly in the dim afternoon light, its engraved initials catching his eye—E.M. The card felt heavier than it had any right to, its presence an unrelenting reminder of what he had brought with him, of what he could now wield. Wealth without limit. A power so absolute it felt like a curse.

The sound of the front door startled him, and he turned to see his mother standing in the doorway, her arms weighed down by bags from the market. Her eyes widened in disbelief as the bags slipped from her hands, the thud barely registering before she crossed the room in a blur.

“Ilija?” she said, her voice trembling with equal parts shock and joy. She threw her arms around him before he could rise, the force of her embrace nearly knocking him back into the chair.

“Mama,” he managed, his voice muffled by her shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” she demanded, pulling back to look at him but keeping her hands firmly on his shoulders. Tears shimmered in her eyes, and her voice broke as she spoke. “You scared me half to death!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Elias said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, you succeeded, you little jackass,” she said, swatting his shoulder affectionately before pulling him into another hug. “When did you get here?”

“Today. Took the ferry from Split.”

She gasped and stepped back, her hands on her hips. “And you didn’t think to call me? I could’ve made something. You must be starving—”

“You don’t have to, Mama.” Elias bent to pick up the bags she had dropped. “I’ll order something. Is Plima still open?”

Her face fell slightly, the joy in her eyes dimming. “Plima’s been closed for a year now,” she said, her voice quieter.

“Oh,” Elias muttered, setting the bags on the counter. He hadn’t expected that. Plima had been a constant, the kind of place you assumed would always be there.

His mother waved a hand, brushing the moment aside. “It doesn’t matter. Sit, I’ll make something quick.”

Elias started to protest, but she was already bustling around the kitchen, pulling ingredients from cupboards and humming softly to herself. He sat back down, watching her move with practiced ease, and for the first time since stepping off the ferry, the weight in his chest eased.

But as he glanced at the card still in his hand, the ease was fleeting. Its cold gleam caught the fading light, a reminder that while he might be home, he wasn’t free.

The blade of her knife sliced cleanly through the bread, each movement sharp and deliberate. Her voice, however, carried an undercurrent of irritation that was all too familiar. “Why are you even here?!” she muttered, slapping slices of panceta onto a platter. “You have a phone, don’t you? Lord forgive me, you should’ve called!”

Elias leaned back in his chair, the guilt gnawing at him but not enough to stifle a grin. “I told you, Mama, I wanted it to be a surprise.”

She snorted, shaking her head as she reached for a block of cheese. “Surprise? You and your surprises. You scurry off to New York, and then you just waltz back in like you’ve been out fetching groceries.”

“I might as well have been,” Elias quipped, his tone light.

Her hand stilled, and she jabbed the knife in his direction, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t pull my tongue, boy. You may be my son, but you can test my patience faster than anyone. You’re just like your father.”

They both chuckled, a shared memory softening the tension. She set the knife down and placed a platter of freshly sliced meats and cheese on the table, gesturing for him to eat. “Come on, eat! You’ve gotten skinny.”

Elias obliged, picking up a slice of panceta, the saltiness a welcome distraction from his wandering thoughts. “How is everyone?” he asked between bites.

She shrugged, settling into the chair opposite him. “The same as always. This place never changes. I thought that Flat in the driveway belonged to someone needing to park here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Elias said, swallowing a bite. “An old woman at the rent-a-car in Vis told me to say hi. Said she used to go to the market with you.”

His mother paused, her brows furrowing in thought before recognition lit her face. “Ah!” she exclaimed, smacking the table lightly. “That old hag still runs the rent-a-car? Who would’ve thought.”

“You live half an hour away from her, Mama. You talk like she’s on another continent.”

“I don’t have a car, smartass.” She waved him off with a laugh and took a bite of bread. “Did you see Jana?”

Elias shook his head. “No, I came straight here.”

“Mama’s boy,” she teased, the corners of her mouth twitching with amusement.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She chuckled to herself, pouring a glass of water. “You should’ve called her, though. She would’ve loved to meet you at the harbor.”

“I’ll see her tomorrow,” Elias said, brushing it off. “I have time.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Until Monday. I have a flight to catch.”

His mother’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, Elias felt her gaze press into him, searching for something. “Oh, so you’re working still?” she asked casually, but the question landed like a stone in his chest.

He faltered, the truth clawing at the back of his throat. Fired. Displaced. A lie forming almost reflexively. “I… I have a meeting on Monday. Important one,” he said, forcing the words out.

Her eyes widened, and she sat up straighter. “A meeting? What, you some big shot now?”

“Not exactly—” Elias began, but her excitement bulldozed through him.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, clasping her hands together. “You’ve got your own firm, don’t you?”

“What?” He blinked, thrown by her sudden enthusiasm.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Her voice climbed higher, her face lighting up. “My son, a big shot on Wall Street!”

“Mama, I—”

“Don’t even try to deny it!” she exclaimed, laughing now. “You always were clever, Ilija. I knew you’d do something big.”

Elias froze, the warmth of her joy washing over him like sunlight cutting through storm clouds. She was laughing, genuinely happy, her eyes glistening with pride. He wanted to correct her, to say something, but the words died in his throat. What good would the truth do now?

Instead, he smiled weakly, reaching for another piece of bread. “You always said I’d surprise you,” he murmured.

“And you did,” she replied, her voice brimming with satisfaction. “Oh, Ilija, you’ve made me so proud.”

As she continued to chatter about her plans to tell everyone in town, Elias forced himself to eat, the food turning to ash in his mouth. The card in his pocket felt heavier than ever, a cold reminder that the life she imagined for him was still a lie. For now.

The room greeted Elias like a ghost of himself, unchanged and frozen in time. The bed was neatly made, its corners tucked with the precision of someone who cared too much, his mother, undoubtedly. No cobwebs lingered in the corners, and the air felt fresh, carried in by the open window that framed the soft shimmer of the Adriatic in the distance. Yet there was an emptiness to it all, a staged scene of a life that had moved on while he was away.

His eyes fell on the desk beneath the window. Books from high school were stacked in neat rows, their spines cracked from years of wear, his name scribbled in the corners like the signature of a stranger. He lowered himself into the old chair, the familiar creak of the wood filling the silence. His bag hung on the hook by the door, as if he’d just returned home from school and was about to tackle algebra or history, not wrestle with the weight of decisions he didn’t yet understand.

The sea, visible from the window, seemed impossibly calm. Waves lapped against the shore, muted in the distance. The horizon blurred into a hazy blue, infinite and unyielding. He stared at it, the surreal contrast between its serenity and the chaos in his chest tightening like a vice. This room, this town—it felt like a relic of a simpler time, yet it pressed against him with the heavy reminder of what he’d left behind.

The silence wrapped around him like a shroud, broken suddenly by a soft scratching at the door. Elias flinched, his pulse spiking as though the house itself were alive, responding to the tension clawing at his edges. Rising cautiously, he opened the door, and a white blur darted past his feet.

Bela.

The cat was unchanged, a small cloud of fur and silent judgment. Her eyes, deep and knowing, locked on his with a recognition that tugged at something deep inside him. She meowed once, a sound so casual and dismissive it almost made him laugh, then leapt onto the desk. From her perch, she gazed out the window as if the world beyond were hers to survey.

Elias stood there, rooted, before letting the door drift shut. A small smile found its way to his lips, unbidden but genuine. Bela had always been an anchor, indifferent to his chaos but present nonetheless. He returned to the chair, his hand finding her fur, and for a moment, everything softened. The weight on his shoulders, the card in his pocket, the gnawing whispers of ambition and dread—they all dulled under the rhythmic hum of her purring.

The fur beneath his fingers was impossibly soft, a tactile reminder of something real, something good. After four years, he was home. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to feel safe. The illusion might shatter tomorrow, but for tonight, he let the quiet hold him.

The card felt heavier in his wallet than it had before, its presence an insistent pulse Elias couldn’t ignore. Even now, with the simple warmth of Bela’s purring against his lap and the faint rustle of wind slipping through the open window, the weight of it seemed to twist reality, an unseen thread pulling taut. His hand hovered near his pocket, unconsciously brushing the outline of its edges, before retreating to stroke Bela’s soft fur again.

The cat’s ears twitched, pink and alert under the fading light, and she lifted her head with a slow, deliberate grace. The sudden knock at the door startled both of them, the creak of its old hinges cutting through the silence. Elias looked up, finding his mother standing in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the last golden hues of the sunset.

“Ilija,” she said, her voice warm, yet carrying the subtle authority he’d never been able to shake, “Jana just came home. You should visit.” She stepped further into the room, holding a ceramic bowl wrapped in a dishtowel, steam curling lazily from it and carrying the scent of something familiar—comforting. “Take this with you. And don’t forget to share with her parents. Be polite.”

“Mama, please,” Elias muttered, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Bela leapt from his lap to the floor, landing with the dignity of a creature who believed herself to be queen of the world. Elias rose, the bowl already in his hands, its warmth seeping into his skin. “I’ll go give her my greetings, then.”

“‘Give her my greetings,’” his mother repeated, her tone teasing as she leaned against the doorframe. “Are you Nosferatu? Dracula? No, wait—” She paused dramatically, her eyes narrowing in mock thought. “Lestat?”

“Lestat? Really?” Elias raised an eyebrow, already halfway to the door.

“What?” she said with a mischievous shrug. “I liked the new show.”

Elias couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him as he slipped past her, shaking his head. “You’re impossible,” he called over his shoulder, the bowl balanced carefully in his hands.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“And don’t you forget it!” she retorted, her voice trailing off into a chuckle as Elias closed the door behind him.

Outside, the air was cooler, kissed by the lingering salt of the nearby sea. The gravel crunched beneath his boots as he made his way down the road, the warm hues of sunset casting long shadows over the fields. He let the breeze guide him, its gentle push against his back carrying him forward.

Taking a shortcut through the tall grass, Elias could just make out the shape of Jana’s house ahead, its silhouette softened by the approaching twilight. The small valley between their homes seemed larger than it had in his childhood, the space an echo of years spent apart. Each step forward felt like an unraveling, the past and present intertwining with the quiet tension that always accompanied his return.

The weight of the bowl in his hands grounded him, but the card’s pull in his pocket refused to be ignored. Its presence whispered, just beneath his thoughts, as if challenging him to explain himself—to her, to anyone. As he approached the familiar door of Jana’s home, he exhaled deeply, his breath mixing with the cool air.

He raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. The sunset burned low on the horizon behind him, a fading ember casting its final glow. For a brief moment, Elias let the stillness take him, the silence amplifying the sea’s distant roar and the soft rustle of the wind through the grass.

Then, resolutely, he knocked.

The sound of his knocks echoed hollowly through the heavy wooden door, reverberating into the silence beyond. For a moment, nothing. Then a muffled, sharp call from inside broke the stillness.

“Jana!” a man’s voice barked, impatient and commanding.

Elias shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the bowl in his hands a grounding contrast to the nerves creeping up his spine. Footsteps approached, quick and purposeful, until the door swung open with a reluctant creak.

She stood there, framed in the dim light of the entryway. Her expression froze, eyes widening as they met his, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them. The air between them was heavy, almost suffocating, like the calm before a storm. Elias opened his mouth, his mind scrambling for something—anything—to say.

“Hi,” he managed finally, the word flat, almost absurd in its simplicity.

“Hi,” Jana echoed, her voice softer but tinged with the same weight of unspoken history.

“Uh, Mom made some food,” Elias said, raising the bowl slightly, a weak offering. “Thought you might like some.”

The tension was palpable, thick enough to smother the easy rhythm of conversation they might’ve once had. Her lips pressed into a faint, unreadable line, and she nodded.

“Yes, yes, come in,” she said, stepping aside and gesturing him inside.

The shared entryway was a mixture of practicality and nostalgia, a snapshot of a home shaped by years of tradition. Jackets, hats, and umbrellas hung haphazardly on a wooden coat rack, the faint scent of lavender sachets lingering nearby. A well-worn bench sat beneath it, its surface scuffed from countless shoes being tugged on and off. Above it, a framed photograph from a village festival caught Elias’ eye—beaming faces frozen in time, their laughter eternal.

As Jana shut the door behind him, the latch clicking into place, she glanced over her shoulder. “When did you get back?”

“Today,” Elias replied, his voice quieter now. “Just a few hours ago.”

“Oh my God!” A familiar voice interrupted from the lower apartment door just off the shared hall. Jana’s mother, Mrs. Kovačević, appeared, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her face lit up with a mix of surprise and reprimand. “Ilija, for fuck’s sake—” She cut herself off with a quick, guilty sign of the cross. “Pardon me, Lord, but why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”

Before Elias could respond, she was gesturing him inside with a frantic wave, ignoring Jana’s attempt to interject. “Come in, come in! Don’t just stand there like a stranger.”

“It’s really fine,” Elias began, but Mrs. Kovačević’s energy was a whirlwind, impossible to resist.

“Marin!” she called toward the living room, where the muted sound of a television hummed. “Get up! Ilija’s here! Come greet him!”

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, Mr. Kovačević’s voice rumbled in response, a mix of irritation and amusement. Elias glanced toward Jana, whose face was a mix of exasperation and reluctant fondness.

“Mom, he doesn’t have to—” Jana started, but her mother waved her off with an impatient hand.

“Nonsense! This is family,” Mrs. Kovačević declared, the authority in her tone absolute. “Now, come in and sit, Ilija. You’ve been away too long, and you’ll eat whether you’re hungry or not.”

The house, once subdued, now hummed with life. Voices overlapped, Jana’s protests mingling with her mother’s insistence, and in the background, the steady rhythm of the television provided a grounding, mundane counterpoint to the chaos. It was as though time itself had collapsed, Elias stepping back into a world he had left behind but never quite forgotten.

And yet, through the clamor, the card in his pocket seemed to hum faintly, its presence a reminder that he no longer belonged fully to this place, this moment. It weighed heavily against him, a shadow in the light of this boisterous reunion.

The dinner felt like a whirlwind—a cacophony of voices, overlapping questions, and the clinking of glasses punctuated by bursts of laughter. Elias sat at the head of the table, an unspoken seat of honor he hadn’t sought but couldn’t reject. Plates were heaped with food, glasses filled before they were empty, and every corner of the room pulsed with warmth. The questions from Jana’s parents came fast, insistent but kind, probing into his life in New York. Elias answered skillfully, offering enough to satisfy their curiosity without revealing too much. A balancing act. Always a balancing act.

The warmth of the evening was strange, almost foreign. It dulled the sharp edges of his usual thoughts—bills, survival, the weight of that card in his pocket. For a fleeting moment, he let himself drift, buoyed by the comfort of something familiar yet distant. By the time the dinner ended, the moon had risen, its cold light stretching across the valley like a silent witness.

As they cleared the table, Mrs. Kovačević waved him off with a commanding shout. “Leave it to me! I’ll bring the bowl tomorrow. Jana, walk him home. It’s late.”

Elias tried to protest, but she cut him off with a look that brooked no argument. Jana rolled her eyes but didn’t fight it either, grabbing her coat and motioning for him to follow.

The valley was quiet under the moonlight, their footsteps crunching softly against the gravel road. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of salt from the nearby sea. They walked in unspoken rhythm, the silence between them thick with things left unsaid.

Jana broke it first. “How’s New York? Really?”

Elias hesitated. The question felt heavier than it should have. “It’s hell,” he said finally, his voice low.

“I figured,” she said, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve got less meat on your bones.” She paused, glancing at him sideways. “You working for someone?”

“Kind of,” Elias replied, his voice measured.

“Kind of?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“I work for myself now,” he clarified after a beat.

“Oh, so you’re a big-shot businessman now,” she teased, stepping ahead of him. “When you make it big, invite us to one of those fancy company retreats.”

“It’s not like that,” Elias said quickly. “I’m just starting out.”

“Straight out of college to your own company? How’d you pull that off?”

“I…” He searched for the right words, his mind scrambling. “I saved up.”

“In New York?” Her tone was skeptical, her smile knowing. “Sure, Ilija. You know you’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s not a lie,” he protested weakly.

“Uh-huh,” she said, her voice lilting with amusement. “Well, when your company’s up and running, I’ll expect a picture. Proof of your empire.”

“When it’s ready, I’ll send it to you,” Elias said, his nervous chuckle betraying him.

“Taking on Axion, are you, Mr. Big Shot?”

“What? No,” he said, laughing despite himself. “It’s just… a small refurbishing company.”

“Refurbishing?” She tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “What, like old furniture?”

“Something like that,” Elias murmured, hoping she wouldn’t press further.

“Bet. You’ll owe me all the details when you’re back,” she said, her grin wide.

“I’ll send you an invite to the grand opening,” he said, his voice lighter now.

“I’m holding you to that.”

The conversation drifted into easy banter, their words mingling with the night air until they reached the gate to Elias’ home. The house stood there, quiet and unassuming, yet it seemed to watch him, its windows dark but somehow aware.

“Well,” Elias said, turning to her. “I’m here. Thanks for walking me back. Though I feel like I should’ve been the one walking you.”

“Not like you to care about gender norms,” she shot back, smirking.

“Oh, piss off,” Elias replied with a laugh, the sound breaking the stillness around them.

They lingered for a moment, the silence between them now comfortable, the weight of the past momentarily set aside.

The moon hung high above them, a pale sentinel casting silvery light over the valley as they walked side by side. The quiet between them was heavy, layered with unspoken thoughts and years of distance. Elias glanced at Jana, her profile stark against the muted glow of the night. The way her hair caught the light, the faint line of her jaw—she looked like a relic from a life he’d left behind, a reminder of all that had stayed the same while he had changed. Or pretended to.

“A big businessman,” she said suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade, “and you’re driving a Flat?”

“Rented it. Back in Vis,” he replied, his tone defensive before he caught himself.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Figures.”

Elias shifted uncomfortably, the gravel crunching underfoot filling the pause. “When are you…” he hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it. “Leaving?”

She raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Didn’t want to say it outright, huh? Afraid I’ll bolt?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” she said, her voice softer now. “I don’t know when. Life’s different for us girls, you know. Men leave to chase dreams in the big world, and we… we stay behind to watch the paint peel.”

“That’s not fair,” Elias said quickly, though his words felt thin, unconvincing.

She shrugged. “It’s not about fair. It just is. But,” she added, her tone lighter, almost teasing, “I did get an offer. Axion subsidiary. Germany.”

“That’s incredible,” Elias said, genuine excitement cutting through his discomfort. “You always wanted to work for them. Back in college, wasn’t that the dream?”

“It was,” she admitted, a faint smile flickering across her face. “Definitely was.”

“But?”

Her smile faded. “Life throws curveballs, Ilija.”

His chest tightened at her words. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“No, you don’t,” she said, stopping to face him. Her eyes were sharp, piercing through the night. “You got to leave, to experience the city with your parents cheering you on. Me? I’ve been here. Holding it all together.”

“Your parents support you,” Elias began, but his words faltered under her gaze.

“They do, in their way,” she said, her voice steady. “But it’s not the same. You wouldn’t understand.”

He opened his mouth to argue but closed it again. She wasn’t wrong, and any attempt to refute her would feel hollow. His life had been far from perfect, but she didn’t know that. Couldn’t know. And how could he explain it? The crushing weight of failure, the sleepless nights, the way the card—always the card—pulled at him like a siren song?

“Life sucks,” she continued, her voice softening. “But it gets better. You’re proof of that, right?”

Elias didn’t respond. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth. That his life wasn’t better. That he wasn’t proof of anything except how desperation could twist a person into something unrecognizable.

Jana must have seen the flicker of pain in his eyes because she took a step back, her own resolve wavering. “Look, Ilija—” she started, but stopped herself. She shook her head, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I should go. Dad’s going to make a fuss if I’m out too late.”

“Yeah. Sure. It’s late,” Elias said, his voice distant. “It was nice seeing you.”

She smiled again, a small, sad thing. “Bye, Ilija.”

“Bye,” he whispered as she turned away, her silhouette dissolving into the shadows of the moonlit valley.

He stood there for a moment, watching until the night swallowed her whole. Then he turned back toward the house, his steps heavy, the weight of her words and the lies he’d told himself pressing against his chest.

Elias closed the door behind him, the old wood creaking faintly as if the house itself sighed at his return. The moonlight spilled through the open window of his childhood bedroom, pooling across the worn linoleum floor and stretching up the walls where faded posters clung, remnants of a simpler time. He crossed the room in a few hesitant steps, sitting on the edge of his bed—a mattress that groaned under his weight, just as it had years ago.

The card was already in his hands, its metallic surface catching the faint silver of the moonlight. It shimmered, unnervingly alive, as though the etchings on its face shifted imperceptibly under his gaze. He tilted it slightly, watching how the light played across the engraved initials, the faint hum of its presence a constant thrum beneath his skin. The weight of it in his palm was heavier than it should have been, like holding a promise made by something far greater—and far more dangerous—than himself.

Lying back on the bed, he let the card rest on his chest, staring up at the ceiling where cracks mapped a network of quiet neglect. The twilight bled through the open window, painting the room in hues of melancholy. The sea breeze carried with it the faint tang of salt and the whispers of waves crashing against the distant shore. For a fleeting moment, Elias let himself believe he was just Ilija again—the boy who stared out at this same moon, dreaming of a life far beyond the confines of this sleepy town.

But Ilija had never held power like this.

His thumb brushed the edge of the card absently as thoughts churned in his mind. The lies he’d told tonight—it wasn’t the first time he’d spun a tale, but here, in this house, they felt sharper, their edges digging into the fragile fabric of what little truth he still had left. His mother’s pride, Jana’s teasing hopefulness, even the warmth of the Kovačević family’s chaotic dinner—they clung to him like ghosts, reminders of a world he no longer belonged to but couldn’t bring himself to sever completely.

Could he make the lies real? Could he turn the phantom company he’d described into something tangible, something worthy of the faith they’d placed in him? Or was it all destined to crumble, dust scattered by the first breath of truth? The card pulsed faintly against his chest, as if answering his unspoken questions, its power whispering promises he wasn’t sure he could trust.

And yet, another thought wormed its way into his mind, coiling tightly around his doubt. What if he didn’t leave? What if he stayed here, in this small house with its familiar creaks and drafts, let the world beyond these shores dissolve into the haze of memory? The pull of the sea, the simplicity of it all—it felt safe, untouched by the insidious weight of ambition that pressed against his shoulders like iron chains.

But even as the thought formed, it was crushed under the reality of who he’d become. He couldn’t stay. Not now. Not with the card.

Elias closed his eyes, the hum of the card thrumming louder, vibrating through his chest and into the marrow of his bones. For a moment, the sound of the waves faded, replaced by something darker—a low, rhythmic pulse, like the heartbeat of something ancient and unknowable. He pressed the card against his forehead, its cool metal biting into his skin as he tried to silence the noise. But the question lingered, circling his mind like a predator waiting to strike.

Would the lies he told tonight grow roots, weaving themselves into truth? Or would they wither, leaving him to sift through the ashes of a life built on borrowed power?

The card offered no answers, only its unyielding, eldritch pull.