𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑺 - 𝑹.𝑵𝑰𝑲𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑰

chapter 35

THIRTY FIVE

The next day, you sat quietly with the main group in the Decay of Angels' base. The atmosphere was as intense as ever—dark undertones masked by casual chatter, dangerous minds hidden behind lazy smiles. Your wings hung a little heavier today, slightly drooped, their usual elegance dimmed by the weight you carried in your chest.

You didn't speak. You barely moved, your eyes scanning nothing in particular while your thoughts swirled. No one said anything at first—perhaps out of respect, or maybe just indifference.

Nikolai, on the other hand, was his usual theatrical self. He twirled a pen between his fingers as he balanced himself sideways on the armrest of a worn-out chair, humming a song that likely only made sense in his head. His energy was infectious, bright even in this bleak place.

Fyodor, however, watched you carefully from across the room. His sharp gaze followed the droop in your posture, the subtle wince when you adjusted your seat, the way your hands remained clasped a little too tightly in your lap.

He cleared his throat, the sound quiet but deliberate.

Nikolai turned his head like a cat sensing movement.

"Hm~? Yes, dear commander?" he chimed, with a lazy grin.

Fyodor didn't return the smile. His gaze lingered on you, then back to Nikolai.

"Have you ever noticed something... off with Y/N lately?" he asked, voice low and calm, like he already knew the answer and was only testing the waters.

Nikolai blinked, his grin faltering slightly. His eyes flickered toward you, and you could feel it—the way his gaze softened for a split second, the way his body stiffened as if the question struck something real.

"...Off?" he echoed, feigning ignorance with a sing-song lilt, but his tone lacked its usual mischief.

Fyodor's eyes didn't leave his. "She's quieter. Withdrawn. Even her wings—" his gaze slid back to you, "—they're not as sharp as usual."

You shifted slightly, still not saying a word, still trying to keep your expression unreadable. But Nikolai... he was staring now. Not playfully. Not dramatically. Just watching. Thinking.

His smile returned, but it didn't reach his eyes this time.

"I thought maybe she was just tired. You know how birds can get when they molt," he said, deflecting with a chuckle, but it felt hollow.

Fyodor didn't respond right away. He simply gave him a long, lingering look, then turned away, as if he had gathered what he needed.

Nikolai's knee bounced anxiously. You still didn't speak. But in your chest, your heart pounded. If Fyodor noticed, it wouldn't be long before the others did too.

And you weren't sure what was more terrifying—being found out, or the possibility that the one person you loved most already knew, and just didn't want to admit it yet.

"At least go talk to the woman, Kolya," Fyodor hummed, his voice calm, nonchalant, as he took a sip of his ever-present tea. The clink of porcelain echoed softly through the room, almost mocking in its casual tone.

Nikolai's head jerked toward him, a twitch forming at the corner of his mouth. The eye not covered by his patch narrowed slightly, the grin on his face trying hard to hide the sudden churn in his chest.

"Fine!" he huffed, dramatically flinging his arms up as if the suggestion offended him. "But it's not because you told me to!" he added quickly, his voice higher, almost petulant. His finger wagged in Fyodor's direction, who only responded with a faint, knowing smile.