The Broken Branch (BOOK IV)

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--Katya POV--

In a world surrounded by predators, I was the prey. An injured rabbit among hungry wolves.

But I was smart, so I learned things quickly, and I adapted to live amongst the wolves.

That is why I do not run. Because it only makes everything worse.

But tonight, my body betrayed me before my mind could catch up. For the first time in years, I moved on instinct instead of thought, all for the sake of surviving. Something that should have come naturally by now.

“Katya...” He called my name as though it were the most fragile thing to exist. Perhaps he believed I was exactly that, fragile, and perhaps that’s where this obsession stemmed from.

But I knew better than to respond to him. If he catches me now, it would be over for me.

That’s why I currently found myself hidden in the back of a wardrobe in one of the many rooms of this extravagant mansion.

My breath came in shallow, uneven pulls, tired from the running but still not willing to accept defeat, and as if to confirm, I pressed myself even further into the wardrobe, fingers curling into the fabric of one of the coats as if it could somehow make me disappear.

The space was suffocating. It was too small. Too quiet. And it only got that much more stifling when I heard his footsteps approaching. Not rushing or frantic, but measured, unhurried, and above all, certain.

The door to the room opened, and his footsteps grew louder, spanning the expanse of the room as he hummed a quiet tune. A familiar tune, but one that has always done little to comfort me.

“Hush-a-bye, don’t lie on the edge...”

I had complimented his voice once. It was deep, but it had a softness that could not be mirrored, and when he sang, he sounded like a saint. It was even more ironic though because the world truly believed him to be a saint, and there was a time when I had been fooled along with the rest of the world.

“...or a little grey wolf will come and bite you.”I had nowhere left to run.

That reality hit me hard as the wardrobe doors swung open.

My body reacted as I flinched involuntarily, but I remained silent, swallowing my breath and forcing myself not to make a sound. As if there was still a chance that I could survive.

He stood there, hands leaning on both open doors, a perfect picture of a beautiful cage, one I had already stepped into. Especially as he remained smiling at me, calm and composed, like the world was in his palm. It might just have been.

Had the situation been any different, I would have found myself being awestruck by his beauty. Wavy blonde hair that was styled perfectly, sharp features that I could spend hours painting, and bright green eyes that looked like jewels; he had managed to fool everyone else with these angelic looks.

But that’s not the case with me. Perhaps that’s exactly the problem.

“Found you, little rabbit.”

I asked myself why.

Why did I let this game come so far? Why did I meet him in the first place? Why did I like him? And why, just why, did I end up in this situation?

The world is ravaged by monsters. I was fully prepared to become one myself to escape the torment, but I realised too late that a rabbit could never become a predator. Because a girl who has only ever survived can never truly live.

And while I may have escaped one monster, it simply meant that there was another patiently waiting for me.

To understand how I came to be in this situation, we’ll need to go right back to the start of this pathetic and miserable life. To the day I was born into a life that was never meant to be mine.

To the day when my survival began.

St. Petersburg, RussiaEighteen years earlier

I was born into a cold world.

My mother died giving me life, leaving behind nothing but a crying infant and a body that had already given everything it had to give. I do not remember her, of course, I only know the story the way all orphans learn such things; through whispers, and the pitying looks of strangers.

After that, I grew up in the shadows of an orphanage where I learned that survival meant silence. The quieter I was, the easier it was to be forgotten. And for a long time, that was my life.

Until the day Viktoria Petrova walked through the orphanage doors.

She was a grieving woman, dressed in black and carrying a sorrow so heavy it seemed to bend the air around her. Her daughter had died not long before, a tragedy that left a hollow space in her life which she was desperate to fill.

And I just so happened to resemble that daughter.

And because of that small, cruel coincidence, Viktoria Petrova chose to adopt me.

The Petrova name was not an ordinary one. Even in the orphanage, it carried weight. It was spoken in hushed voices, with something akin to reverence as though they were not just a family, but something far greater, making them untouchable.

I thought myself lucky that out of everyone, they had chosen me. I thought that meant I would finally be safe. Because for the first time in my life, someone had looked at me and seen something worth keeping.

I truly believed that was the day my life would finally begin.

“This is Ekaterina. But to us, she will simply be Katya.” My new mother introduced. Her husband, Mikhail Viktorovich Petrov, my new father, was the first to greet me.

He stood beside his three sons in the grand foyer where they had all been waiting for my arrival. Despite his stern appearance, his voice was gentle as he stepped forward and lowered himself to my level.

“Hello Katya. It’s nice to finally meet you, Viktoria has told me a great deal about you.” He didn’t smile, but he didn’t need to. There was a quiet, steady warmth in his voice, and when his hand came to rest on my head, ruffling my hair, I felt something in my chest loosen for the first time.

“Now that you are part of this family, you will carry my name. You are no longer just Ekaterina. Your name is Ekaterina Mikhailovna Petrova.” The name settled over me like something heavy. Ekaterina, daughter of Mikhail, from the Petrov family; I wondered if I’d ever get used to it.

“But as Viktoria has already said; to us, you will simply be Katya.” He added, voice softening.

Despite appearances, he was a kind man.

But I was the fool to believe that his children would be the same.

“She will be your new sister, so treat her well.” He said, turning to the three boys as he stood up straight. And just like that, the attention shifted to them, the warmth instantly fading, although I was the only one that seemed to notice.

I clutched the fabric of my new mother’s skirt, my small fingers tightening as I glanced over them. Before we arrived, I had even asked one of the volunteers at the orphanage to do my hair; to make me look nice and presentable so that I’d be worthy.

“Hello.” I greeted, offering them the smile which I had practised so carefully.

But the warmth was not returned.

“Are you sure she’s safe to be around?” Ilya, the youngest of the three brothers was the first to speak. “What if she’s infected with a disease or something? I don’t want to catch anything.”

My smile faltered. The words didn’t fully make sense to me, but the way he looked at me did. Like I was something dirty.

“Hush, Ilya. You are being rude. I had our Katya thoroughly examined, and other than being a little underweight, she is perfectly healthy.” Our Katya. The words should have comforted me, but instead they felt strange.

Her hands rested on my shoulders as she nudged me forward, closer to the three boys who stood in a neat line from youngest to oldest.

“I don’t think we need a new sister...” Alexei, the second son, spoke next with crossed arms as his eyes flicked between me and his mother. “But it’s a bit creepy how she looks exactly like you, mama.”

She laughed softly, brushing it off as though it were nothing. “It seems that Katya was always meant to be a part of our family, isn’t that right?” I wanted to believe her.

Since, more than anything, I wanted to be happy; I thought this was my chance, so I told myself that they just needed time. That everything would be okay. Eventually.

But then the eldest spoke. And I realised how wrong I had been.

“Hello, Katya.” His voice was calm, polite, perfect. Too perfect. “It’s nice to meet you.” He stepped forward slightly, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

He was beautiful.

Even at that age, there was something striking about him, something composed, something deliberate. His dark eyes settled on me with a focus that made my skin feel tight and exposed, and suddenly, I had the overwhelming feeling that I had done something wrong. I didn’t know what, and I didn’t know why, but it all felt the same.

My fingers tightened in the fabric of my dress as I stared back at him, unable to look away. The room had gone quiet, and somehow, it felt like it was just the two of us.

“Hello.” I managed to whisper back.

His smile softened. But his eyes didn’t. If anything, they darkened, looking at me as though he had already decided something, but before I could pinpoint what, he blinked, and that odd glint disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

“Don’t be scared, I’ll make sure we have lots of fun together, so there’s nothing to be frightened of.” His smile widened. To anyone else, he may have looked like an excited child, but I knew better; there was nothing innocent about it.

And the worst part? He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“That’s my child.” My mother spoke with pride. “Alexei and Ilya may need some time to warm up, but Nikolai is the oldest for a reason; he will make you feel right at home. Right, Nikolai?” She ruffled his hair as he chuckled, and the whole time his eyes remained on me. Studying me.

“Yes, mama. There’s nothing to worry about... I’ll look after Katyusha.”

And that was the moment I understood I wasn’t safe. Not here. Not with him. Because I had been wrong about what it meant to belong; I may not have understood it immediately, but children learn quickly when they have to. And I’ve always been a fast learner.

The first few months in the Petrova household taught me everything I needed to know.

Everything had its place. Every object in every room was always perfectly arranged and untouched, as though the house existed only to be admired, never lived in. The same could be said for the people within it.

Ilya was the youngest, the same age as me. Alexei was seven. Nikolai was nine. Each of them fit their role perfectly. And I learnt very quickly that if I wanted to survive, I had to do the same.

“Orphan.” Ilya said it like it was my name. He never called me anything else, not unless our parents were present, but I didn’t mind. If anything, I was grateful; words were easy to endure.

Alexei was different. He didn’t waste time on words.

“Move, brat.” A shove to the shoulder. Fingers pulling my hair. A foot placed just slightly too far into my path so I would trip. I learnt to expect it, to recover before I hit the ground, and most importantly, to not react. It became routine faster than it should have, but there was a strange kind of comfort in it.

Because I was never afraid of them.

They were easy to understand; the more their parents showed me affection, the more they resented me. It was simple, predictable, and safe, in its own way. I knew where the lines were, and more importantly, how not to cross them.

But Nikolai? He was different.

I could never understand him. And that terrified me more than anything his brothers ever did. Because with Nikolai, there were no lines. Or if there were, they were so faint that I could never tell when I crossed them.

He never called me names. Never raised his voice. Never once treated me with anything that could be called cruelty. If anything, he was kind. But there was poison in his kindness that only I could sense, so I avoided him like any prey avoids its predators. But that intrigued him.

It was on one of those days where I made a mistake. I let my guard down.

The library had felt safe; it was silent, and I thought I was secluded, hidden between rows of towering shelves that were filled with more books than I could count. The mistake was believing, foolishly, that I was alone.

Because I wasn’t.

“What are you reading, Katyusha?” Instantly, I tensed up. But I knew by now not to react.

“The catcher in the Rye.” I answered, voice quieter, more vulnerable, than I intended.

He hummed softly, and a moment later, I felt him behind me, leaning over my shoulder until his presence was pressing into my space, and I felt his gaze drop to the open pages in my hands.

“And what do you think of it?” I wondered what game he was playing this time, I could never tell. But whether I wanted to or not, I always had to play along.

“I like it.” I made another mistake to have answered honestly.

“Really? So, these are the kinds of books that my Katyusha likes...” He took the book from my hands with ease, stepping back only slightly as he leaned against the shelf beside me, flipping through the pages with idle curiosity.

“What do you think the story is trying to tell us?” His eyes lowered to mine, that familiar glint returning. And I hesitated, but he was watching me. Waiting.

“Grief is difficult to deal with, but avoiding it only makes it worse... You stop yourself from healing, and therefore, growing.” I spoke slowly, swallowing.

“And? Do you agree?” His head cocked to the side.

“I don’t know. I’ve never properly dealt with grief.” Because I was born with nothing, so I never had anything to lose.

“Shall I tell you how to deal with grief, Katyusha?” It didn’t matter whether I would say yes or no, but I nodded anyway. Because he expected me to.

“You replace them... So, it’s as if they never left. And then, you’ll never have to grieve.” He pushed himself off the shelf, causing me to instinctively step back. But he only stepped forward, closing the distance just as easily, and casting me in his shadow.

“You understand, Katyusha?” I wanted to say yes to simply end the conversation, but I knew he didn’t want that. He wanted the truth from me, and this boy was always able to tell when I lied.

“I don’t.... Because no two people are the same. You can’t replace someone with someone that doesn’t exist.” The games he played with me always had consequences for the loser, and unfortunately, I was always the loser.

This was just one of those many times.

He moved before I could react.

His hand shot up, fingers tangling into my hair at the back of my head before he pulled me forward. Pain burned through my scalp, but I quickly bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to make a sound.

“Exactly.” His voice didn’t change. It was still calm, still soft and caring.

“There is no replacement... So, why are you here?” His grip tightened, pulling me closer as my breath hitched, eyes squeezing shut.

“You’re here, calling me your brother, calling them your parents. As if you’re my sister... But my sister is dead, Katya.” His fingers curled deeper into my hair.

“Yet you remain here... Why?” The room grew cold and unbelievably small until all I could feel was his breath hitting me.

“I...” I started, eyes slowly opening to meet his waiting black ones. “I’m not your sister.”

You see, when you’re dedicated to avoiding someone, you quickly start to learn more about them than you would with anyone else for one main reason; avoiding death is more important than pursuing life.

Right now, Nikolai was angry. But not because he thought I was trying to replace his sister, rather because he thought I thought of myself as his sister. And he didn’t like that.

That is why I never called him my brother.

“Then what are you, Katya?” His grip loosened ever so slightly, but he remained close, daring me to try and back away.

“I will be whatever you want me to be... Just not your family.” Silence followed suit for what felt like an eternity until I felt his fingers loosen, slipping from my hair. A quiet breath left my lips as realisation that I had survived another encounter dawned on me.

He stepped back, the smile returning to his lips as if it never left while his hand went to gently smoothen my hair back into place.

“Good.” He said softly. “And don’t you ever forget that, little one.”

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