I woke to the dim light filtering through the hotel curtains in Miskolc, Hungary, the room still wrapped in that pre-dawn hush where everything felt too quiet, too still. My mind raced immediately to the phone call from Elena last night—her voice cracking over the line, the fear palpable even through the static. "It's getting worse here," she'd said, describing the riots, the mobs torching hybrid safehouses, the police either joining in or looking the other way. Elena and Sylvia were on the run, heading south to Mexico in hopes of crossing the border and finding a way out. But the uncertainty gnawed at me like a persistent ache: what if they didn't make it? What if the violence caught up to them before they reached safety? Kira's death was already a gaping wound, fresh and raw, and now this—my friends, my family in all but blood, teetering on the edge. The guilt twisted deeper; here I was in Europe, relatively safe, while they fought for their lives. And keeping it a secret from Miko? It was bugging me more than I could admit, a constant weight on my chest, like I was betraying her trust by shielding her from the truth. But she was still grieving Kira; piling on more worry might shatter her. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the knot of anxiety tightening with every breath.
Miko stirred beside me, her body shifting under the blankets. She was in her underwear still, the soft fabric clinging to her curves from the night before. Her eyes fluttered open, locking onto mine with that sleepy softness I'd come to love. Without a word, she rolled toward me, hugging me from behind, her arms wrapping around my waist, her bare skin warm against my back. Her chin rested on my shoulder, her purr starting low and content as she nuzzled my neck. "Morning," she murmured, her voice husky with sleep. But then she paused, her cat ears twitching slightly under the mess of her hair. "You okay? You look like something's eating at you."
I hesitated, the secret burning on my tongue. Tell her? No—not yet. She didn't need this now. I forced a smile, turning in her embrace to face her. "Nah, just overthinking the route. Balkans are big— which country do we aim for? It's bugging me."
She searched my face for a moment, her amber eyes narrowing slightly, but then she nodded, buying it for now. "Okay... if you say so." Her tail curled around my leg, pulling me closer, and she hugged me again—this time more intimate, her body pressing fully against mine, her underwear-clad form molding to me in a way that sent a spark through the worry. Her hands slid up my back, fingers tracing lazy patterns, her purr vibrating between us. "We could settle there, you know. Finally stop running. Bulgaria sounds nice—mountains, beaches, and I've heard hybrids are welcome."
I swallowed, my hands instinctively settling on her hips, feeling the soft curve of her skin under my palms. The touch grounded me, a reminder of why we were doing this—all for her, for us. I loved her, deeply, the kind of love that made the world feel bearable even in its darkest moments. "Bulgaria, huh? I need to think about it... but yeah, maybe." Settling down sounded like a dream, but the secret weighed heavier—how could I build a life with her while hiding this?
She smiled, her eyes brightening. "Bulgaria it is, then. Let's make it our new home."
I nodded, pulling her in for a kiss, her lips soft and warm against mine. "Deal."
We got dressed and drove south, the Hungarian landscape unfolding—flat plains giving way to rolling hills, the Danube River glinting in the sun as we passed Budapest. We stopped there for a quick souvenir—a pin for her bag, shaped like the Chain Bridge, gleaming silver. "To remember the speed demon on the Autobahn," I joked, pinning it on.
Entering Serbia, the border was smooth, just a sign and a wave from the guard. The roads wound through valleys, the night falling like a curtain as we pushed on. Miko dozed, her head against the window, but I kept driving, the headlights cutting through the darkness.
As we drove through Serbia, the guilt from the secret mingled with older regrets. The landscapes—rolling hills scarred by ancient battles, villages rebuilt from ruins—echoed my own internal war. Miko wanted to settle, to build a life, but how could I when I'd betrayed her so many times? Back in the States, the sex with Kira, Elena, and Sylvia—it had been more than fleeting moments; it was a pattern of weakness, of seeking comfort in the wrong places while Miko waited, trusted. Each time, it was a stab of disloyalty, a secret I'd buried deep. Now, with her beside me, her hand in mine as she pointed out a distant castle, the weight pressed harder. I had to tell her—when we reached Bulgaria, when we were safe. She deserved the truth, even if it shattered us.
We stopped at a hotel in Novi Sad, a big town with Ottoman influences in its architecture. Miko got out of the car, stretching with a yawn, and we booked a room—the receptionist mixing English and Serbian, but we managed with gestures. The room was simple, with a view of the Danube.
Miko rushed to the bed, stripping to her underwear and collapsing with a sigh. "Tired," she mumbled, but as I joined her, she clung to me, her body curling against mine. We heard nothing alarming that night—just the river's murmur. I held her as she fell asleep, her tears drying on my shirt from earlier grief, but now it was peaceful. I paid for the room earlier, but the intimacy lingered, her warmth a reminder of why I had to come clean soon.
The journey continued, Bulgaria calling.