IRYNA
I woke to the smell of something warm and rich — butter, onions, spices. For a moment, I lay still, confused. Mom had left early for work. The house should have been quiet. Empty.
But the aroma drifting into my room said otherwise. I pushed myself up slowly, my body still heavy from sleep — and from everything else — then dragged my feet toward the kitchen. Voices floated down the hallway.
Laughter. I froze at the entrance.
Mom and Ciara stood side by side like two chefs preparing for a royal banquet. Pots simmered. Oil sizzled. The counter was crowded with chopped vegetables, bowls of flour, trays of marinated meat. It looked like they were cooking for an entire neighborhood.
"What is going on?" I asked, squinting at them.
Mom turned first, her face lighting up as if she hadn't seen me in years instead of hours. "Good morning to you too, sweetheart."
She crossed the room and kissed my forehead.
I sighed, but a smile escaped me anyway. "Good morning, Mom."
Then I looked at Ciara, who was aggressively chopping onions like they had personally offended her.
"And to you too, dear best friend," I said. "What are you doing in my house this early? Shouldn't you be at work?"
Ciara chuckled. "The hotel can survive one day without me."
She worked as a hostess at one of the most well-known hotels in the state — the kind that prided itself on perfection.
I narrowed my eyes and shifted my gaze to Mom. "And you? Why aren't you at the restaurant?"
She shrugged lightly. "It can be closed for a day. It's no big deal."
It was a big deal. They never missed work. My chest tightened. They were here because of me. Because they thought I didn't have much time. The realization sat between us, unspoken but loud. I swallowed the ache rising in my throat and stepped forward, wrapping my arms around both of them.
They hugged me back immediately — tightly. Mom pulled back first, her eyes scanning my face with quiet worry.
"How are you feeling? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I said with a soft smile. "Please don't worry."
She nodded slowly, though I knew she didn't believe me.
"I'm coming with you to your next hospital appointment," she added.
I hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Okay."
I looked around at the explosion of food again. "Isn't this too much?"
"No," Ciara said immediately. "It's perfect. We're going to eat, dance, take pictures, videos — everything."
I let out a small laugh. "Then I'm helping."
Mom turned sharply. "No. You'll rest."
"If I'm not allowed to do anything," I said quietly, "I'll end up depressed."
She studied me for a moment… then sighed in defeat. "Fine. But don't overdo it."
"I won't."
I brushed my teeth quickly and returned to the kitchen.
And for a few hours, we forgot. We forgot hospital rooms and scans and words like deterioration. We threw flour at each other. Ciara smeared tomato sauce across my cheek. Mom pretended to scold us before joining in. By the time we were done cooking, we were covered in flour and oil and laughter.
We had to shower before we could even eat. We sat together afterward, eating far more than we should have, teasing each other, telling old embarrassing stories. Ciara recorded videos. Mom took too many pictures. I memorized everything. The sound of their laughter. The way Mom's eyes crinkled when she smiled. The warmth of being wanted.
After cleaning up, Ciara followed me to my room. The moment the door closed behind us, her expression changed. Serious.
"Iryna," she began carefully, "I met someone last night."
I sat on my bed, raising a brow. "You said you were going to talk to your grandmother."
"I did," she said quickly. "But on my way back, I met someone else."
"Someone else?" I repeated.
She nodded. "He said he's from… a powerful realm. And that he can cure you."
I stared at her.
"Ciara."
"He can," she insisted. "I saw something. He proved it."
"Proved what?" I asked slowly.
"That he has powers."
I blinked.
"Powers?" I echoed.
She hesitated. "I can't explain it. It's something you have to see for yourself."
I stood up. "Ciara, you can't just believe everything a stranger tells you. What if he's dangerous? What if he's an organ harvester or something?"
"He's not!" she said firmly. "I would never put you in danger."
I searched her face. She believed this. Wholeheartedly.
"He might even be more powerful than the witches my grandmother talks about," she added quietly.
I exhaled sharply. "This is absurd. I've never seen or heard anything like this. And I have a bad feeling about it."
"Or maybe," she said softly, stepping closer, "this is the answer we've been praying for."
Silence filled the room. I thought about my mother. About her forced smiles. About the way she took the day off just to cook with me. I didn't want to leave her. I didn't want to leave at all.
After a long moment, I nodded weakly.
"Okay," I whispered. "We'll try."
Because even if it sounded insane… I wanted to live. Ciara pulled out her phone and typed quickly. I couldn't see the name she sent the message to.
Then she looked up at me. "Get dressed."
I blinked. "Right now?"
She nodded. "Yes. We have to go now. And we have to be smart about it."
"Smart?"
She lowered her voice. "Your mom can't know where we're really going. She'll insist on coming. And that won't… work."
"Why can't she come?" I asked.
Ciara hesitated. "You know how mothers are. She'll panic. She'll question everything. And this man said too many people would complicate things."
Complicate things. That didn't comfort me at all.
Still… I sighed and stood up. "Fine."
I changed into a simple pair of jeans and a sweater, my hands slightly trembling as I pulled it over my head.
"Where exactly are we meeting him?" I asked.
Ciara shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. "At a library."
I froze.
"A library?"
"Yeah."
"Why the library?"
She swallowed. "He said the library holds a passage. A passage to the realm."
My stomach dropped.
"Realm?" I repeated slowly.
My best friend had officially lost her mind. But I followed her anyway. Before leaving, I stepped back into the kitchen.
"Mom, I'm going to grab coffee with Ciara," I said, trying to sound casual. "I'll escort her home from there and come back quickly."
Mom walked over and kissed my forehead. "Okay. Don't stay out too long."
"We won't," Ciara replied brightly.
"Be careful," Mom called after us.
Guilt twisted inside me as we stepped outside.
I turned to Ciara once we were out of earshot. "I'm only agreeing to this because I know you want the best for me. Otherwise, this is insane."
She smiled softly. "Trust me."
That didn't help either. We hailed a taxi and rode mostly in silence. The closer we got to the city library, the tighter my chest felt — and not from my illness.
When we arrived, the building stood unusually still. Quiet. Too quiet. The doors were shut, as if it wasn't open for the day.
"Ciara…" I began.
"Relax," she said.
She walked up to the large wooden doors and placed her palm flat against the surface. For a second, nothing happened.
Then—
The doors creaked open slowly on their own.
I stumbled back. "What did you do?"
She glanced at her hand like she was just as surprised. "He told me to place my palm on the door when we arrived."
"Is there some kind of hidden scanner I'm not seeing?"
She gave a small nervous laugh. "Maybe."
That was not reassuring. We stepped inside. The air felt colder than it should have. Rows and rows of books stretched endlessly before us. The smell of old paper and dust filled the air. But there was no librarian. No visitors. No sound.
"Where is he?" I whispered.
"Just wait," Ciara murmured.
And then— Footsteps. Slow. Measured. A figure emerged from between the shelves. Dressed entirely in black. A long cloak draped over his body, the hood pulled low enough to shadow his face. The fabric moved slightly as he walked, almost like smoke. He stopped a few feet in front of us, hands resting casually in his pockets. My breath caught. For reasons I couldn't explain, something inside me stirred. Recognition. A pull. Like I had seen him before. Like I had stood in front of him somewhere far away.
"Is she the one?" his voice was low, calm — almost detached.
"Yes," Ciara said quickly. "She is."
He stepped closer. The air shifted. My heart pounded — not painfully, but heavily.
"I am going to touch your chest," he said. "Is that acceptable?"
I instinctively took a step back.
"I can't even see your face," I said. "Can we at least know who you are? You can remove the hood."
He tilted his head slightly.
"It would be pointless," he replied. "Even if you saw my face, you would forget it the moment you leave."
A chill ran down my spine.
"Forget?" I repeated.
"Yes."
My eyes widened. Ciara hadn't exaggerated. The energy around him felt… different. Dense. Powerful. Almost electric. And yet— It didn't feel entirely dangerous. It felt familiar. Like a memory just out of reach. Like standing a
t the edge of a dream I couldn't fully recall.
I swallowed.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
His head lifted slightly.
"I am not your enemy, Iryna."
My heart stopped. I hadn't told him my name. Oh... I guess Ciara did.