𝑅𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑃ℎ𝑜𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑥 ✔︎ || 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑑

30

~ phoenix ~

When my eyes flickered open, I was staring up at a dark ceiling.

Immediately, I shut them again. The intense light struck a pounding behind my temples. I groaned.

Then, suddenly, I heard movement.

I dared to open my eyes again, blinking several times to adjust to the uncomfortable brightness. A familiar face entered my line of sight.

"Katarina?" I croaked in disbelief.

The tall blonde grinned at me. "Welcome home, birdie," Katarina cackled in her thick accent.

After several futile attempts to sit up, I fell back into the bed with a huff. There was a stinging sensation on my hip, and even worse, a migraine.

Nonetheless, I narrowed my eyes at the Russian woman, remembering how our last encounter went and how she'd suddenly snapped at me.

Katarina read my expression. "What?" she demanded.

I wanted to shout at her but even saying her name hurt. So instead, I looked around before gesturing at the pitcher of water on the bedside.

The blonde groaned but complied.

As she poured the drink, my eyes wandered around the room. Why was everything so familiar? These dark blue sheets, the ginormous flat screen, the black furniture....

Wait. This was Ilya's room. How did we...?

"Here," Katarina said, helpfully guiding the glass to my lips.

I took three long gulps before pushing her hand away.

"What," I began, with a sore throat, "am I doing here?"

She sighed before shrugging, "Like I said, Phoenix, welcome home."

I glared at her. "Katarina."

"What?" she whined, "don't look at me like that! Ilya said I was supposed to call him when you woke up."

I huffed, frustratedly before raising a brow. "So why didn't you?"

"Because," she replied, with a mischievous smirk, "we need to catch up."

"No."

Her expression morphed into incredulity. "No?" she repeated.

"Nope."

After shooting daggers at me, she resolved to begging. "Please!"

"No, Katarina," I refused, "last time we talked, you blew up, so no."

"You didn't have the oath then," she explained, dismissively.

"So what's different now?" I scoffed.

"Everything!" she squealed, excitedly.

I raised a sceptical brow.

"Look!" she demanded, ripping the sheets off my body.

Immediately, a rush of cold air enveloped my limbs. I shivered. But nonetheless, I followed her gaze to my painful hip where there was a small square plaster.

My mind returned to my last memories of the fight. I wondered how the injury happened, and how bad it was.

I bit my lip, anxiously. "How did it happen?"

"Ilya had our best artist do it when you were sleep." She stared at it wistfully.

"Had what?" I demanded with an edge of panic.

"Your mark of loyalty, you American dumbhead," she scolded.

I suddenly remembered her mark, which she said had belonged to Ilya. No way... he wouldn't have dared...

Recklessly, I leaned forward to rip the bandage off my new 'mark'.

Katarina gasped. "What are you doing, ты глупая девочка?" [you stupid girl]

I ignored her and stared in disbelief at the unmissable tattoo right above my hip bone. The familiar emblem of the gun and rose was inked permanently onto my red, angry skin. Though it looked smaller than my palm, I was still in shock. There were small Russian words but my rage had overpowered my curiosity.

"Who did this?" I seethed.

Katarina looked taken aback. "What do you mean, 'who did this'," she mocked, defensively. "You should be honoured that he trusts you."

I suspected Katarina was employed by my side so a certain someone wouldn't have to face my wrath. Ignoring her words, I demanded, "Where is he?"

She shrugged, looking carelessly at her nails. "I do not keep track of his whereabouts."

I swallowed my anger and took a sharp breath. "W-what about my friends?"

There was silence.

Glaring at the sheets, with a blurry vision, I remembered the blood, the cries, the pain...

Before I could repeat my question, Katarina suddenly stood.

I looked up at her to see her gaze was not fixed on me but at the door. I followed her eyes to find him standing there, sporting his usual angry scowl.

"You're awake," he stated. His glare moved to Katarina, accusingly.

She laughed uncomfortably, muttering something in Russian before fleeing the room.

His intense silver eyes returned their focus on me, more specifically my expose hip. "What did you-"

"My friends, Ilya."

𝑥𝑜
𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖆𝖛𝖎