Page 11 of Last Hand
Back then, my father was the spider, a playful predator chasing his little firefly through the night. The spider in my life has changed over time. Milo became the spider who watched in the dark.
“Through the silence creeps a fright,
A spider stalks in the dead of night,
Its fangs so sharp, its timing right,
Trapping prey in webs spun tight.”
Leone became the spider who kept me locked away, who tried to protect me and ended up trapping me instead. His love was a web, one that bound me to him, kept me safe, and also kept me from flying free.
“Little firefly, don’t you stray,
The spider’s web blocks your way,
Wings once free, now caught, bound tight,
Little firefly ceases flight,”
Mikhail. Mikhail is the spider that will bite. He’s the one who will sink his fangs into me and watch as the light fades from my wings.
“Fading fast, she’s lost her fight,
The spider looms with shadowed might,
A single bite and out goes her light.”
My voice wavers, the last word hanging in the air like a final breath. The darkness seems to press in closer, suffocating me, but I keep going, even as my voice fades to a whisper.
I barely finish the last line when the door creaks open, a sliver of light cutting through the dark. I stop singing, my breath catching in my throat as I squint against the sudden brightness. A figure steps into the doorway, and even before my eyes adjust, I know who it is.
Mikhail.
His silhouette is a dark shadow against the light, his presence filling the room with the promise of violence. He doesn’t speak at first, just stands there, watching me with cold, calculating eyes.
Finally, he steps forward, the door closing behind him with a soft click. “I see your song has changed,” he says, his voice low, almost mocking. “From a creeping spider to one that bites. How fitting.”
I don’t respond, my throat too tight with fear and anger to form words. Instead, I hold his gaze, refusing to show him the terror that’s threatening to swallow me whole.
“Leone wants proof you’re still alive. He wants to hear your voice,” he tells me.
My heart pounds. Each beat a drum of impending doom. Mikhail’s words hang in the air, a promise of the suffering to come, and I know there’s no escape from this. Not for me. Not for Leone.
“So it’s time I make you scream firefly.”
His words curl through the air violently, and I fight back the urge to shrink under his gaze.
He doesn’t move right away. He just stares at me, letting the silence stretch, letting it press on my chest until I feel like I might choke on it.
I force myself to my feet.
I don’t stumble. I don’t shake.
If he wants a scream, he’ll have to earn it.
He steps closer, slow and predatory. The air in the cell thickens with his presence.
Each footfall lands like a warning—measured, assured, in complete control. The cell seems smaller with him inside it, the walls pressing in like they’re in on whatever he’s about to do.
