BLOODLİNE

⚜ CLASSIFIED PROTOCOL ⚜

The moment you open this file, you are no longer just a reader.

Every protocol hides a new secret, and every secret demands a new price.

In this world, innocence never survives for long.

Before you begin this story, remember one thing:

Blood never forgets.

Author’s Note:

Bloodline is the English translation of my original Turkish novel, Kan Bağı. I’ve worked hard to make the translation as natural as possible. Thank you for joining me on this journey.

✦ “Everyone who enters this world can breathe, but not everyone gets to live.”

📍 Russia

Rain was falling.

Sometimes, people believed even the sky was capable of grieving.

Today was one of those days.

Dark gray clouds hung low over the cemetery, making the weight on everyone’s shoulders feel even heavier. The scent of rain-soaked earth filled my lungs as I lowered my gaze to the black roses in my hands.

My father had always loved black roses.

I used to think it was strange.

Now, I understood exactly what they meant.

Death.

Silence.

Loss.

My eyes drifted to the dark wooden coffin resting before me.

My father was inside.

Even allowing myself to think those words made it difficult to breathe.

Just last week, we’d shared breakfast together.

As always, he’d complained about how busy work had been.

And, as always, I hadn’t really listened.

Now...

If someone offered me those moments back, I would give up everything I had without hesitation.

But life didn’t work that way.

People left.

And all they left behind were memories.

“Mila...”

I turned my head.

Alisa stood beside me, her warm brown eyes filled with concern. Strands of her long brown hair clung to her face, dampened by the rain.

She wore the same expression everyone else had today...

The expression of someone trying to keep me strong.

But I didn’t want to be strong.

I was tired.

So incredibly tired.

“Are you okay?” Alisa asked.

A hollow laugh escaped my lips.

“We just buried my father, Alisa.”

She fell silent.

Because there was nothing she could say that would make any of this better.

The priest’s voice echoed faintly in the distance as my eyes drifted back to the grave.

A handful of earth landed on the coffin.

My chest tightened.

This was it.

He was truly gone.

Hours after the funeral, I found myself standing in front of the Sokolov Mansion.

The place where I’d spent my entire childhood.

The stone walls that had always made me feel safe now looked cold and unfamiliar.

I pushed the front door open.

Silence.

For the first time in my life, the house was completely silent.

There was no sound of my father’s laughter.

No stern voice echoing through the halls as he argued over the phone.

Nothing.

As I climbed the stairs, my footsteps echoed through the empty corridors.

I walked into my bedroom and sat down on the edge of my bed.

And for the first time...

I cried.

For hours.

Where no one could see me.

Where no one could hear me.

Because sometimes...

People fall apart the most when they’re completely alone.

By midnight, sleep still refused to come.

As I wandered through the hallway, my eyes stopped at my father’s study.

The door was closed.

Just as it had always been.

My father never liked me going inside.

“Work documents,” he would always say.

“Nothing but boring paperwork.”

But now...

There was no one left to stop me.

I reached for the handle and slowly opened the door.

The room smelled of old books and freshly brewed coffee.

My gaze fell on the framed family photograph resting on the desk.

I was about ten years old in that picture.

My father was smiling.

I picked up the frame.

Just as I was about to put it back, something caught my eye.

One of the desk drawers was slightly open.

I frowned.

My father never left his drawers open.

Never.

I knelt down and pulled it open.

It was empty.

Almost.

Tucked against the back was a small black key.

I picked it up, staring at it in confusion.

What did it unlock?

I’d never seen it before.

Then—

A loud noise came from downstairs.

I froze.

Something had fallen.

My heartbeat quickened.

I was alone in the house...

Or at least, I thought I was.

Another sound echoed through the silence.

This time it was louder.

Clearer.

Someone was downstairs.

My fingers tightened around the black key.

My breathing grew heavier as I stared into the darkness of the hallway.

A terrible feeling settled deep inside me.

And in that moment...

For the first time...

I wondered if my father’s death had never been an accident.

Someone was hiding something.

And somehow...

I felt as though I was about to be pulled straight into the heart of that secret.

For several long seconds, I didn’t move.

Maybe I’d imagined it.

I hadn’t slept properly in two days.

Maybe exhaustion was playing tricks on my mind.

But then I heard it again.

A sharp crash.

Something had been knocked over.

My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.

Still clutching the black key, I slowly made my way toward the staircase.

The dim lights along the corridor cast eerie shadows across the walls.

I’d walked this hallway hundreds of times before.

Yet tonight...

It felt like a place I’d never seen.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I looked down.

Dark.

Silent.

Empty.

I swallowed hard.

“Mila...” I whispered to myself.

“Calm down.”

One step.

Two steps.

Three.

With every step, my heart pounded harder against my ribs.

By the time I reached the bottom of the staircase, I noticed the living room door was open.

I was sure I’d closed it before I went upstairs.

Holding my breath, I inched closer.

The room was shrouded in darkness. Only the pale moonlight spilling through the tall windows illuminated the furniture.

My eyes scanned every corner.

No one.

But a shattered vase lay on the floor, its pieces scattered across the carpet.

I frowned.

That vase had stood in the same place for years.

There was no way it could have fallen on its own.

Then...

A faint clatter came from the kitchen.

This time, I was truly frightened.

I pulled out my phone.

Should I call the police?

The thought flashed through my mind as I slowly made my way toward the kitchen.

When I reached the doorway, I held my breath...

...and switched on the light.

For a brief moment, I simply blinked.

Then I let out a long sigh.

The culprit was a cat.

A small gray stray cat.

It must have slipped in through the open window.

The overturned fruit bowl on the table explained the noise.

I closed my eyes and let out a quiet laugh at myself.

I’d spent the last few hours wandering around my own house like the main character in a horror movie.

The cat looked at me for a second...

Then, as if nothing had happened, it leaped onto the windowsill and disappeared into the night.

“Wonderful...” I muttered.

“Just... wonderful.”

But the uneasiness inside me refused to fade.

Because I was still holding that key...

...and I had no idea why my father had hidden it.

🍃

The next morning, I woke up early.

Although, saying I had actually slept would have been a lie.

My eyes had been closed, but my mind had never stopped racing.

The key.

My father.

Death.

Those three words had circled relentlessly through my thoughts all night.

When I went downstairs, Alisa was already there, sitting quietly in the kitchen.

She stood up the moment she saw me.

“You don’t look well.”

“Neither do you.”

Alisa rolled her eyes.

“My father isn’t the one who died.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected.

Because she was right.

Silence settled between us for a few long seconds.

Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out the black key.

Alisa’s eyes widened.

“What’s this?”

“I found it in my father’s study.”

She took the key from my hand and examined it carefully.

A small emblem was engraved into the metal.

An eagle with its wings spread wide.

Beneath it...

A single number.

“This isn’t an ordinary key,” she said.

“I noticed that too.”

“So... what does it open? "

I slowly shook my head.

“I don’t know.”

But I was going to find out.

Something deep inside me kept insisting that this was no ordinary key.

Maybe the answer to my father’s death was hidden within this small piece of metal.

And no matter what it cost me...

I was going to uncover the truth.

What I didn’t know...

...was that the truth would drag me into a world I was never prepared to enter.

I turned the key over in the palm of my hand.

The cold metal pressed against my skin.

It almost felt as though it was trying to tell me something.

I walked over to the window and looked outside.

The sky was still gray.

The rain had stopped, yet the air remained heavy and bleak.

Lately...

So had I.

Gloomy.

Exhausted.

Broken.

Maybe...

I should start by telling you about myself.

My name is Mila Sokolov.

I’m twenty-one years old.

I have dark brown hair and eyes so deep they almost look black.

People usually think I’m quiet when they first meet me.

They’re right.

I don’t speak easily.

I don’t trust easily.

And I certainly don’t love easily.

But when I do love someone...

I love them with everything I have.

If I consider someone family, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them.

That’s what my father taught me.

Ever since I was a child.

While other kids spent their weekends at shopping malls, I was learning very different things.

How to stay calm.

How to run.

How to protect myself.

Discipline meant everything to my father.

When I was twelve, he started teaching me self-defense.

Back then, I thought it was just a game.

Now...

I’m not so sure.

Maybe my father knew something.

Maybe he had foreseen what was waiting for me.

“You’re thinking again.”

Alisa’s voice pulled me back to the present.

I turned toward her.

She stood with her arms crossed, watching me.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Very.”

She set her coffee mug down on the table before walking over to me.

Suddenly, memories of our childhood flooded my mind.

Alisa and I.

Two little girls.

Covered in mud.

Skinned knees.

Always finding ourselves in trouble.

My father had trained us together from the very beginning.

Morning runs.

Balance exercises.

Self-defense lessons.

Back then, we hated every second of it.

Especially Alisa.

“I want to be a princess!” she’d shout.

My father would simply laugh.

“Even princesses should know how to protect themselves.”

Thinking about it now...

My chest ached.

Maybe he wasn’t trying to make us stronger.

Maybe...

He was trying to keep us alive.

Maybe he knew there would come a day when we’d have no one left but ourselves.

Alisa lowered herself onto the couch.

“You’re thinking again.”

Alisa’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I turned toward her.

She was standing with her arms crossed, watching me.

The corner of my lips lifted into a faint smile.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Very.”

She set her coffee mug down on the table before walking over to me.

Memories of our childhood flashed through my mind.

Alisa and I.

Two little girls.

Clothes covered in mud.

Skinned knees.

And an endless talent for getting ourselves into trouble.

My father always trained us together.

Morning runs.

Balance exercises.

Self-defense lessons.

Back then, we hated every minute of it.

Especially Alisa.

“I want to be a princess!” she would complain.

My father would only laugh.

“Even princesses should know how to protect themselves.”

Looking back now, the memory made my chest ache.