Viktor Riddles
1878 Words
Aurora’s apartment felt wrong the moment she stepped inside.
The air was still—still in a way that didn’t match the usual hum of her fridge or the whisper of traffic outside her window.
Still in a way that made her chest tighten.
She stood in the doorway, her keys in her hand, breath shallow.
It’s fine.
You’re tired.
You’re imagining it.
She closed the door behind her and locked it, but her body didn’t relax.
Not even a little.
Her mind flashed—Viktor’s eyes, Viktor’s voice, Viktor’s warning.
The way he said her name without saying it.
The way he looked at her like he had been waiting.
She hated how her stomach fluttered at the memory.
Hated that she could still hear him.
You’re not here to interview me. You’re here for the truth.
Her throat tightened.
“Stop thinking about him,” she whispered to herself.
But she was lying.
She couldn’t stop.
Aurora dropped her bag on the counter and turned on the kitchen light.
It flickered once before stabilizing, and she let out a breath—too shaky to ignore.
That was when she saw it.
A chair—slightly pulled out from the table.
Just an inch.
Maybe two.
But she knew exactly how she’d left it that morning.
Pushed in.
Neat.
Correct.
Her heart stopped.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
“Okay,” she whispered, taking a slow, careful breath. “Maybe you just didn’t notice it earlier. Maybe you—”
But she froze mid-sentence.
Her bedroom door was cracked open.
She never left it open.
Not once.
Her fingers tingled.
Her vision sharpened around the edges.
Someone had been here.
Or they still were.
She backed away slowly, reaching into her bag for the small pepper spray she always kept. Her hand shook violently, the metal cold and slippery in her grip. She forced herself to breathe—slow, controlled, quiet.
She took two steps toward the bedroom.
Then stopped.
Because the silence changed.
It didn’t get louder.
It didn’t get quieter.
It got aware.
Her breath caught sharply in her throat.
“Is someone here?” she whispered—barely audible.
The air didn’t answer.
But something else did.
A soft creak came from inside her bedroom.
Aurora’s blood turned to ice.
She took a step back.
And another.
Her chest tightened, breath coming in shallow bursts as she slowly reached into her pocket for her phone.
Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped it.
She dialed—
No.
She froze before pressing call.
Because if she called Kellen…
He’d take her off the assignment.
He’d tell her Viktor was manipulating her.
He’d treat her like a victim.
She wasn’t a victim.
Not anymore.
Her jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.
She took a deeper breath and forced herself to step forward.
The floor creaked under her weight.
She stopped moving, heart slamming against her ribs.
Then—
Tap.
A faint sound.
Inside the bedroom.
Her hand tightened around the pepper spray.
“Come out,” she said, voice too steady for the fear clawing inside her. “I know you’re there.”
Nothing.
Her breath trembled.
She took the final steps and pushed the door wide open.
Her bedroom was empty.
Silent.
Untouched.
Except—
Her drawer was open.
Not wide.
Not messy.
Just a half-inch.
Just far enough for someone to have looked inside.
Her knees weakened.
Her vision blurred.
Then the breakdown hit—fast and brutal.
Her breath cracked, then shattered, as she stepped back from the drawer.
A sob escaped her—sharp, unbidden, breaking from the very center of her chest.
She covered her mouth with her hand as tears filled her eyes.
She hated crying.
She hated feeling exposed.
She hated that someone had been here.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, chest heaving, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Everything inside her felt too loud.
Too sharp.
Too raw.
She bent forward, elbows on her knees, hands in her hair, letting the sobs come in quiet, broken waves.
For a moment—just a moment—she let herself fall apart.
Then she did what she always did.
She rebuilt herself.
Aurora wiped her face with the back of her hand, forcing her breathing to steady. She stood up slowly, spine straightening, jaw setting hard.
If someone was trying to scare her…
They chose the wrong girl.
She scanned her room again—this time not with fear, but with precision.
Nothing missing.
Nothing broken.
Nothing out of place except the drawer.
She walked to it and pulled it all the way open.
Inside was her old photo album—one she hadn’t touched in years.
One from before everything fell apart.
One from when she was fifteen.
Her heart stopped.
Someone opened the drawer.
Someone looked at the album.
Someone wanted her to see it.
Her phone buzzed suddenly, loud in the silence.
She flinched and grabbed it.
A new message from the same unknown number as before.
Unknown: Did you get home safely?
Her breath hitched.
Another message came before she could answer:
Unknown: Don’t panic.
But you weren’t alone in there.
Aurora’s knees nearly buckled.
Her shaking fingers typed:
“What do you mean?! Who was here?!”
Three dots appeared.
Then—
Unknown: Someone looking for the same thing Viktor is.
Aurora stared at the message, heart racing.
Her voice broke into the silence.
“What is Viktor looking for…?”
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown: You.
Aurora’s breath stopped.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
The room felt smaller.
Darker.
Tighter.
And the truth she had been running from—the attraction she didn’t want, the fear she didn’t want, the curiosity she didn’t want—
crashed down on her all at once.
Viktor was tied to her.
To her past.
To the danger in her apartment.
To something she didn’t understand.
Something she needed to understand.
No matter how terrifying it was.
No matter what it cost.
Aurora didn’t realize she had stopped breathing until her lungs ached.
She stared at her phone, Viktor’s name—his presence—pressing like a weight against her skin even though he wasn’t here. He was locked miles away behind bulletproof glass and steel bars, yet somehow he felt closer than the walls around her apartment.
Closer than whoever had been inside her room.
Closer than the stranger texting her.
Her fingers trembled as she typed:
Aurora: Why me? What does he want with me?
The reply came instantly, as if the person had been waiting for her fear to peak.
Unknown: Everything.
Her pulse stuttered.
Everything?
A chill rippled up her spine, slow and calculated, the kind that came when something finally made sense—and terrified her even more because of it.
She turned again, scanning the room. Her eyes darted from corner to corner, landing on shadows with too much weight, too much shape. She checked the closet, the bathroom, under the bed, even behind the curtains.
Empty.
Still wrong, but empty.
She sat on the edge of her mattress, the old springs creaking beneath her, gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles whitened.
“What do you mean ‘everything’?” she whispered, typing the words with shaking hands.
Another buzz.
Unknown: You shouldn’t have gone to see him.
Unknown: And he shouldn’t have reacted the way he did.
Her breath caught.
Her mind flashed back to Viktor slamming his palms against the table, standing so fast the shackles snapped taut against his wrists. The way the guards rushed in, shouting. The way Aurora felt—frozen, breathless, caught in the center of something enormous.
But the warmest of Viktor’s words echoed louder:
You should walk away now, Aurora… before someone else decides you’re worth chasing.
She swallowed hard.
And typed:
Aurora: Did Viktor send you?
A pause.
Longer this time.
Long enough to make her heart pound a little harder.
Then—
Unknown: You think he has a phone in prison?
Unknown: Cute.
A shiver ran up her arms.
Aurora: Then who ARE you?
Another pause.
Unknown: Someone who knows what he’s capable of.
Unknown: And what you are—unknowingly—walking back into.
Aurora’s skin prickled.
She stood abruptly, pacing across the room, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. The fear was there, sharp and stinging, but something else rose up with it: anger.
Anger at the intrusion.
Anger at the secrets.
Anger at the past clawing its way back to life.
She typed again:
Aurora: What happened when I was fifteen? What does Viktor know?
This time, the typing bubbles appeared… and stayed.
And stayed.
Her heart hammered violently.
Then they vanished.
Her breath hitched.
And—
Unknown: You should ask Viktor that yourself.
Aurora froze.
Her pulse slammed hard against her ribs.
The message continued:
Unknown: But if you do… it will change everything you think you know about your life.
Her hands shook.
Her heart tightened, fear twisting into something else—something heavier, darker, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to feel.
Then the final message hit:
Unknown: And he will not let you walk away again.
Aurora lowered the phone slowly, the words ringing in her head like a threat—
and a promise.
She let herself sink onto the bed again, holding the phone against her chest, breathing hard. Her thoughts spun, impossible to catch, impossible to steady.
Viktor.
Fifteen.
Someone in her apartment.
Someone watching.
Someone warning her.
Someone searching for the same truth Viktor had.
She pressed her palms against her eyes, a deep tremor rolling through her.
For years she had survived by controlling her world—
controlling her emotions,
controlling her story,
controlling what parts of her past she allowed to exist.
But tonight, control slipped through her fingers like water.
She felt cracked.
Exposed.
Cornered.
And the worst part wasn’t the fear.
It was the pull.
Toward him.
Toward Viktor.
Toward the truth he held in his hands like a detonator.
Aurora swallowed hard.
“No,” she whispered to herself. “You can’t go back. You can’t.”
But the words felt weak, empty, already defeated.
Because deep down—
beneath the fear, beneath the anger, beneath the trembling—
she already knew what she was going to do.
She was going back to that prison.
Not because she trusted Viktor.
Not because she wanted to see him again.
But because the truth had cornered her, and he was the only one who could open the door.
Her resolve steadied, slow but firm.
She wiped her face, stood up straight, and exhaled.
“Fine,” she whispered into the empty room.
Her own voice came back to her, steady now.
Determined.
Unyielding.
“If Viktor wants to tell me the truth…”
She grabbed her jacket.
“…he’s going to do it tomorrow.”
But as she turned toward the door—
A soft tap echoed from the living room window.
Aurora froze.
Her heart stopped.
Another tap.
Gentle.
Intentional.
Her breath trembled.
Something… or someone… was outside.
Watching.
Waiting.
And she wasn’t sure if it was the stranger—
or Viktor’s reach stretching further than the prison walls.
- Writer
