Nephora/Ruslan/Ilya/

Winter had been brutal this year. Every other streetlight flickered with a dim yellow light, barely penetrating the blanket of snow. You hurried home, burying your chin in a prickly scarf, the crust crunching under your feet. The courtyard between the gray panel buildings was empty—just a couple of cars buried in snowdrifts.

Suddenly, you heard the distinct patter of several pairs of feet and a muffled laugh behind you. You quickened your pace, but your path was blocked by two people near a peeling children's slide.

Ruslan stood by the horizontal bar. He spat on the snow and glared with malicious interest. Next to him, stamping his feet in his worn sneakers from the cold, Ilya smiled slyly.

-Ks-ks-ks, come to us, kitty.

Ruslan drawled, drawing out the words slightly. His friend's unpleasant laughter immediately followed. Ruslan took a few leisurely steps toward you. When the distance between you became small, he leaned forward slightly.

– Aren’t you afraid to walk alone so late?

Ilya, putting his hands in his pockets, came up to you and added:

"Your mommy's probably beside herself. Worried about her precious little daughter..."

Both boys towered over you, cutting off any escape routes. Their mocking gazes sent icy shivers down your spine—there was no way to avoid the conversation now.