The living room felt like a pressure cooker after Boris's unexpected arrival, the air thick with unspoken accusations and the faint, metallic tang of his opened beer bottle lingering on the coffee table. Lilly's nervousness radiated off her like heat from a fire—her sleek black cat ears pinned so flat against her dark hair they were almost invisible, her tail held rigid and close to her body, golden eyes constantly flicking between Boris's broad back and the nearest window or door, as if calculating escape routes. Miko stood rigid beside me, her own black cat ears twitching with barely contained irritation, golden eyes narrowed into slits at her long-absent mother. Akira clutched the twins tighter on her lap, Caz's wide-eyed stare fixed on the adults while Ava fidgeted with the tip of her tiny tail, oblivious to the tension but sensing something off in the way babies always do.
Boris shifted uncomfortably on the couch, the old cushions groaning and sinking deeper under his massive frame. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with one meaty hand. "Ъъъ… извинете ме. Банята. Твърде много бира." (Uh… excuse me. Bathroom. Too much beer.) His voice was gruff, the words tumbling out in rapid Bulgarian as he stood abruptly, flashing that wide, bearded grin that now seemed strained at the edges, like a mask slipping. He lumbered down the narrow hallway toward the guest bathroom, his heavy footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor until the door clicked shut with a soft, final snap.
The instant the latch engaged, Lilly leaned forward on the couch, her claws digging deep gouges into the worn armrest fabric, voice dropping to a frantic, hushed whisper that carried the weight of years on the run. "That man—he's one of them. One of the hunters tracking me down. I recognized him the second he walked through the door. His face was in the files, in the warnings from old contacts back in the activist days. He was part of an Interpol task force that raided our safehouses in Eastern Europe years ago. He's not some friendly neighbor or boyfriend—he's not who he pretends to be."
Miko's tail lashed through the air with a sharp whoosh, her claws flexing involuntarily as she crossed her arms over her chest. "What? Boris? You've got to be kidding. No way in hell. He's been our friend for months now—Elena's boyfriend, the guy who shows up with tools to fix the leaky faucet or grill meat at barbecues. He stood right next to us at our wedding yesterday as best man, for Christ's sake. You're just paranoid from all the running."
I nodded, stepping closer to the couch, my legs still a bit unsteady from the morning's exhausting romp in the bedroom, but adrenaline sharpening my focus now. "Yeah, Lilly, pump the brakes. Boris is solid. He's helped out around the house more times than I can count, even watched the twins a couple of afternoons when we were slammed. If he was really hunting you, why play the long game? Why integrate into our lives like this? It doesn't add up—he's just a big, loud guy from the construction sites downtown."
Akira's black cat ears flicked back and forth uncertainly, her golden eyes darting between us, Lilly, and the hallway where Boris had disappeared. She shifted the twins in her lap, one arm wrapping protectively around their small bodies as Caz leaned into her side and Ava tugged at her shirt. "But… Mom wouldn't lie about something like this. She's our mother. Why would she make up a story that drags us all into danger? If she says he's involved, maybe we should listen—"
"Because she's been on the run for God knows how long," Miko interrupted, her voice edged with frustration, tail still swishing agitatedly. "Paranoia is part of the package when you've lived like that. Boris barely speaks English half the time—he's always rattling off in Bulgarian about football or work. He's harmless, just a lug with a big heart. Elena's head over heels for him; she wouldn't date a monster."
Lilly shook her head frantically, her tail curling even tighter around her legs, fingers twisting in her lap as if to anchor herself. "You don't get it. I've seen his type—his face—in grainy photos from briefings, in urgent messages from the underground network. He's not here by coincidence. He's been closing in, waiting for the right moment. Trust me, please."
Akira bit her lower lip, ears drooping slightly as conflict played across her face, but she nodded firmly toward Lilly, siding with the woman who'd given her life despite the years of absence. "I… I believe her. She's family. Mom wouldn't pull us into this if it wasn't real. We have to be careful."
The argument simmered there, unresolved and crackling with tension, the room heavy with doubt and defensiveness. Minutes ticked by, marked only by the distant hum of traffic outside and Ava's soft, innocent babbling. Then, the bathroom door creaked open down the hall, followed by those same heavy, deliberate footsteps approaching—thud, thud, thud—like a countdown.
Everyone fell deathly silent as Boris reentered the living room, wiping his large hands on the thighs of his jeans, that same bearded grin plastered across his face. But now, in the charged atmosphere, it looked different—sharper around the edges, less warm and more predatory, his dark eyes scanning the room with a calculating glint that hadn't been there before. The energy shifted palpably; Miko's claws dug into her palms, ears pinning flat against her skull; Akira's tail wrapped even tighter around the twins, her body tensing like a coiled spring; Lilly shrank deeper into the cushions, her breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts.
Boris paused in the doorway for a beat, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he took in our frozen expressions. "Всички изглеждате… напрегнати. Добре ли сте всички?" (Everyone looks… tense. Everyone okay?) His voice was casual, rolling out in smooth Bulgarian, but there was a new undercurrent to it—wary, probing. He switched to halting English midway through, as if testing the waters. "Do… everyone know the truth now?"
The question exploded into the silence like a grenade pin pulled. No one moved. No one dared breathe. Miko's golden eyes widened, her tail going still; Akira froze mid-shift; Lilly's breath hitched audibly. Even the twins seemed to sense it—Caz staring up at Boris with unblinking intensity, Ava burying her face in Akira's side.
Boris sighed deeply, the grin fading entirely now, replaced by a cold, resigned expression that made my stomach drop. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket—slowly, deliberately, his movements unhurried but unmistakable—and pulled out a compact pistol, its matte black barrel gleaming dully in the sunlight filtering through the blinds. The gun swept the room in a lazy, threatening arc, the muzzle pointing briefly at each of us in turn—Miko, Akira, Lilly, even lingering for a split second on the twins.
I felt my heart slam against my ribs, adrenaline flooding my veins. "Boris—what the fuck? Put that down. Why? You were my best man at the wedding yesterday. My friend. We've shared beers, fixed the roof together, laughed about stupid shit. What the hell is this?"
He shrugged, the pistol steady in his grip, not a tremor in his massive hand. "Парите са пари, братле." (Money is money, brother.) His reply came in Bulgarian, flat and unemotional, eyes locked on mine without a hint of remorse.
Miko's voice trembled with a mix of rage and betrayal, her claws fully extended now as she stepped half in front of Akira and the twins. "And Elena? Was any of that real? The relationship, the dates, the way she lights up when she talks about you—all of it?"
Boris's laugh was short and bitter, still in Bulgarian, the words clipped. "Не. Беше просто начин да се доближа до Лили." (No. It was just a way to get close to Lilly.) He jerked his head toward Lilly, who flinched visibly, her ears flattening further.
Akira snarled, a low growl rumbling from her throat as she gently set the twins down on the couch beside her and stood, claws unsheathing. "You bastard—let her go!"
Boris moved with surprising speed for a man his size. His free hand shot out like a vice, grabbing Lilly's upper arm in an iron grip and yanking her roughly to her feet. She struggled weakly, tail thrashing in panic, a whimper escaping her lips, but he was far too strong, his fingers bruising her skin. Akira lunged forward, claws extended, trying to shove him away or slash at his arm—anything to break his hold.
He swung the pistol butt in a vicious, precise arc, the metal cracking against Akira's temple with a sickening thud. She crumpled to the floor instantly, a pained yelp escaping her as blood welled up from a jagged gash above her eye, trickling down her cheek in dark rivulets.
"Стой долу." (Stay down.) Boris growled in Bulgarian, his voice low and menacing, before turning back to Lilly. He dragged her toward the front door, her feet scrambling for purchase on the rug, tail whipping wildly. She clawed at his arm, but it was futile—he hauled her outside like a ragdoll, shoving her roughly into the passenger seat of his battered truck parked at the curb. He climbed into the driver's side, slammed the door, and gunned the engine. Tires screeched against the pavement as the truck peeled away, exhaust fumes lingering in the air like a bad omen.
Miko dropped to her knees beside Akira in a flash, pressing her hand to the bleeding wound, her voice urgent and shaky. "Akira—hey, stay with me. It's okay, we'll get help. Just hold on."
I spun on my heel, adrenaline surging through me like fire, scanning the room wildly—the couch cushions scattered, the coffee table askew, gift wrappers from yesterday still crumpled on the floor. But something was wrong. Horribly wrong. The play mat in the corner was empty. No tiny figures toddling around. "The twins—where are the twins? Caz? Ava!"
They were gone. Vanished in the blur of chaos, as if the betrayal had swallowed them whole.
The house felt suddenly, terrifyingly empty, the silence broken only by Akira's labored breathing and the distant wail of a siren somewhere in the neighborhood.