The Alchemist’s Inheritance

The air was a blade, slicing through our remaining resolve as we hauled the supplies onto the ATV. We didn't dare start the engine. In the suffocating silence of the Siberian night, the crunch of snow under our boots sounded like breaking glass. We pushed the heavy machine for a full mile, our breath hitching in frozen plumes, until Anya’s cabin was nothing more than a ghost in the rearview. Only then did I kick the engine over, the roar a defiant scream against the blizzard.

I drove in a numb, rhythmic trance, putting distance between us and the woman who had once saved my life. We were heading for the only person left on this side of the hemisphere I could trust: Valerie Eo-Theron.

Val was an enigma wrapped in a dark history, the great-great-granddaughter of Grigori Rasputin. She had left Russia years ago to escape the shadow of her family’s past, yet she possessed an uncanny, supernatural ability to sense when I was in trouble and where I was. No matter how deep I buried myself, Val always knew exactly where to show up and when to show up.

Forty miles in, I veered hard right, cutting across a frozen ridge for a few miles before killing the lights and the engine. The silence that rushed in was predatory.

"Check everything," I rasped, my voice cracking from the cold.

We tore into our belongings with desperate hands, looking for the tell-tale shimmer of a tracker and the feeling of cold metal where we couldn’t see the glimmer of metal. I watched Vic’s silhouette as he worked, and a cold pit formed in my stomach as I remembered the weight of Anya’s hands and the heat of her mouth and tongue on my pussy last night. I checked his gear first. There, tucked into the rugged tread of his left boot, was a micro-transmitter the size of a grain of rice.

The realization hit me like a physical blow.

"Vic, I am so sorry," I said, my voice trembling.

I didn't wait for his question. I stripped right there in the howling wind, the blizzard lashing at my bare skin until I was blue. Shivering violently, I reached down and placed two fingers inside of my pussy. I felt it—a cold, hard piece of metal lodged deep inside me, distinct from the familiar shape and feel of my IUD. I pulled it out, a tiny, silver disk slick with my pussy juices. I dropped it and ground it into the permafrost with my boot until it was dust.

I grabbed a bottle of water that hadn’t frozen yet from my bag and rinsed my fingers before frantically pulling my clothes back on.

"What the hell was that, Deppgrl?" Vic’s voice was like ice, his eyes fixed on the spot where I’d smashed the tracker to smithereens.

"Ya-Ya and I were lovers, a lifetime ago," I admitted, my teeth chattering so hard I could barely speak. "While you were napping, she ate my pussy for old time’s sake. She must have had the tracker on her tongue or in her mouth. She planted it inside my pussy when she was eating me."

Vic’s jaw tightened, his face a mask of stone in the moonlight. "I’ll check the ATV while you check the bags again, amore," he said stiffly.

He was livid, and I couldn't blame him. Yet, the irony wasn't lost on me; we were playing at a high-stakes game of survival….he was married to his wife yet he was fucking me and here in Russia with me than with her.

"Found another," I called out five minutes later. I’d found a second bug tucked into the clutch housing. Instead of smashing it, I found a sturdy twig near a patch of scrub brush and taped the tracker to it. I tossed the twig into a nearby stream—a freak occurrence of nature where the salt content or current kept the water moving despite the sub-zero temps.

"That should buy us a lead," I said, climbing back onto the seat. "Ready?"

"Yeah," he said as he got on behind me

"How fast does thing go?" I asked.

"About 80 to 85 miles per hour," Vic grinned.

"Hold on tight, Papa," I said, and I gunned the throttle. I turned back the way we came and headed to Val’s.

We pushed the machine to the breaking point for ninety minutes. By the time the wrought-iron gates of Val’s estate appeared, the ATV was coughing on fumes and our limbs felt like lead weights. I killed the engine, and the world went still.

The front door of the palatial, secluded house swung open, and Valerie came charging out into the snow, looking like a dark angel in a heavy fur cloak. She threw her arms around me before I could even stand up straight.

"Thank fuck you’re still alive, Marta!" she cried, squeezing the remaining air out of my lungs.

Vic preserved his distance behind me. "Marta?"

Val pulled back, looking at him as if he were a bug under a microscope. "Yeah, Marta. That’s her name."

"No," Vic stated firmly, his confusion turning to irritation. "It’s Deppgrl."

"Neither one is my legal name, okay?" I snapped, my exhaustion finally boiling over. "Can we move this inside?"

"But I’ve seen your birth certificate," Val countered, her brow furrowed.

"Your brother always called you Deppgrl," Vic added, looking at me as if I were a stranger.

"Both are lies," I said, shivering so hard I could barely stand. "I’m frozen to the bone and I would like to defrost."

I brushed past them into the warmth of the foyer. The house was a temple of luxury—mahogany, velvet, and the scent of expensive incense. I headed straight for the massive hearth in the Great Room. I first shed my windbreaker jacket and windbreaker pants then slowly taking off the rest of my clothes. Rushing to get undressed in a warmer place than outside could be dangerous. I then laid them out near the fire to dry.

I knew the danger of heating up too quickly—vasodilation could be a killer after extreme exposure. I grabbed a thin cashmere blanket from a nearby ottoman and sat on the rug twenty feet back from the fire, letting the ambient heat seep in slowly.

Val handed me the keys to the ATV and Vic disappeared into the guest bathroom to peel off his own frozen gear. A few minutes later, he emerged with a thick towel draped over his broad shoulders, his clothes bundled in his arms. He laid his out beside mine, the steam beginning to rise from the damp fabric as the fire roared in the background. We sat in a tense, heavy silence, the shadows of the fire flickering across our faces like the secrets we were still keeping.

Vic’s eyes were fixed on the embers, but his mind was clearly on the conversation from the porch. He looked over at me, his gaze intense. "So, if you’re not Marta and you’re not Deppgrl... what is your real legal name? Who am I actually sitting here with?"

I stared at the flames, feeling the exhaustion settle into my marrow. "I’m not telling you, Vic. Not tonight. Not ever."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Val held up a hand, cutting him off. "Lay off her, Vic. There’s a damn good reason why she won't tell either one of us. Names are weight. Names are anchors. In this life, in her life, the more people know your true name, the easier it is to bury you."

Vic sighed, leaning back and rubbing his face. He shifted his attention to Val, squinting as if trying to resolve a blurred image. "You look awfully familiar," he muttered, his voice trailing off. "I keep thinking I've seen your face before. Have we met?"

Val offered a small, haunting smile. "Not likely but people often say I have a familiar face. I’ve been told I look very much like my murdered great-great-grandfather."

Before Vic could ask who her great-great-grandfather was, I leaned over and told him that it was Grigori Rasputin.

Vic’s eyes grew wide, his pupils reflecting the orange flicker of the logs. He looked from me back to Val, his skepticism struggling with the gravity of the name. "Rasputin?" he echoed, his voice barely a breath. "Was he truly a mystic? All the stories say he could heal anyone, that he couldn't be killed."

I adjusted the blanket around my shoulders, feeling a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. "He was a mix of a mystic and a man of religion," I whispered. "History likes the legends, the 'Mad Monk' stories. But Val and her family would state that he was simply a man of religion, a holy man who was misunderstood by the world that eventually murdered him."

I knew that Val had heard us, but she didn't say anything. She just stood there, staring into the flames as if she could see the 109 years of ghosts between her and the man she mourned—a man she was related to by blood but had never met. I watched the way the firelight played in her eyes and felt a prickle of unease. I knew that whatever skills Grigori had possessed, Val had some of them as well. She wasn't just a descendant; she was an inheritance.

Val broke the silence, her voice soft but practical. "Would you two like any tea or coffee?"

I looked at Vic, then back to her. "Black coffee for him and any green tea for me."

"I'll bring them out when they're ready," she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

As the sound of the kettle began to hiss in the distance, Vic and I scooched closer to the fire. The heat was beginning to bite back the numbness in my toes. Vic looked over, his eyes searching mine. "Did Anya mean anything to you last night?"

I didn't hesitate. "She didn't. And I don't regret her eating my pussy, even though she put a tracker in me."

Vic didn't have time to respond. The burner phone in my bag began to vibrate—a harsh, jagged sound against the quiet great room. I stood up, clutching the blanket, and went to retrieve it. It was Sera.

"I have information," Sera said the moment I answered. Her voice was taut. "Are you alone?"

"No," I said, catching Val’s shadow as she moved in the kitchen. "I’ll find some place private."

"Please do," Sera replied.

I kept the cashmere blanket pulled tight around my shoulders and headed down the dim hallway, away from the warmth of the fire. When I was sure I was out of earshot, I stopped. "Go ahead."

"Charles certainly did die a number of years ago," Sera said. "I have the proof. I also sent someone to secure DNA from the man pretending to be him. It didn't match. Whoever you were dealing with, it wasn't him."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "And the others?"

"Mimi freed herself thirteen hours after you and Vic left her," Sera continued. "She turned herself into our government. She’s being charged as a criminal—kidnapping and treason. I have disowned my own sister so I could keep protecting you."

"What about Anya?" I asked, my voice dropping.

"Anya overdosed on Tylenol."

I closed my eyes. Tylenol. That was the code. Anya had been killed by her own government. I was saddened by her death, but I felt nothing for the woman who betrayed me by planting trackers. In this world, survival was the only currency that mattered.

"One more thing," I said. "I’m at Val’s. Can I trust her?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Is this Grigori's great-great-granddaughter?"

"Yes."

Sera’s voice was uncharacteristically certain. "Val is more trustworthy than I am. You're safe there."

"Thank you, Sera," I said, leaning my head against the cold wood of the wall.

"Stay there," she commanded, her voice softening just a fraction. "Warm up. Let Val take care of you. If either of you starts feeling sick or showing signs of frostbite, let her treat you. She knows what she's doing."

"I will," I promised. "Thank you again."

"Just stay alive," she said, and the line went dead.

I headed back to the great room.

Vic was already asleep on the floor, the exhaustion finally claiming him. I checked his pulse; it was steady and fine. Val looked up as I approached, her gaze searching. "Don’t you trust me?" she asked.

I let out a slow breath. "I do and I don't. It's hard to trust anyone right now."

Val nodded, a small, knowing smile touching her lips. "I understand. I am similar to you in that regard." She paused. "Are you hungry?"

"I am," I admitted.

"Would oatmeal with dark brown sugar and maple syrup be something you'd be interested in?"

I actually laughed. "It's one of my favorite foods. I’ll eat as much as you feed me."

"I'll make as much as you can eat," she promised, then gestured to the sleeping figure on the rug. "And what would Vic like?"

"Just more coffee, toast with peanut butter, bacon, eggs, and yogurt."

"I'll feed you first since you're awake," she decided. "It'll be faster. Once you're eating, I'll start on his."

It took her less than ten minutes to prep the oatmeal. I dug in, the sweetness of the maple syrup hitting my tongue. I loved the syrup here in Russia—it’s more natural, deeper in flavor than what was made back in my home country. While I was on my third bowl, she began cooking for Vic. By the time she was done with the bacon and eggs, I had polished off four bowls and Vic had begun to stir.

He sat up, blinking against the firelight, and took one look at me. He looked at Val and grinned. "Oh, you fed the oatmeal gremlin?"

Val laughed. "Yes, I did."

“Hey! I resemble that comment!”

Vic poured himself more coffee as she plated his food. He ate slowly, his eyes widening as he tried the toast. "This peanut butter," he muttered between bites. "Best I've ever had."

The quiet was broken by a sharp knock on the door. Val held up a hand. "Stay put. I'll get it."

She disappeared toward the foyer. Through the open door, I heard a familiar voice—her sister, Tati, named after the late last Grand Duchess Tatiana Nikolaevna.

"Here's her money," Tati told Val, her voice low but clear. "It's clean. Three others and I went over it multiple times."

Val thanked her, and a moment later, I heard the heavy thud of the front door closing as Tati left. Val walked back into the room, holding the envelope. She looked at me. "Do you want your money back?"

"No," I said, my voice steady. "It’s counterfeit."

Val paused, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "How could Tati and her colleagues not tell the difference? They are the best at what they do."

"Because I'm as good as you are, Val, if not better in certain areas like you are as good as me and if not better in other ways," I reminded her with a faint, knowing look. "I have my ways."

She nodded slowly, accepting the answer, and tossed the envelope into the roaring fireplace. I watched it burn, a small part of me feeling the weight of the lie. The money was real, and I knew the serial numbers had been recorded and shared. But it was a necessary deception to keep the trail cold.

After Vic finished his meal, he fell back into a light doze by the hearth. I took the opportunity to shower, scrub the grit from my skin, and change into some of my own clothes that I’d left here years ago. They fit like a second skin.

While I was upstairs, I found a cache of Mikhail's things that had been left. When I was back downstairs, I asked Val, "Would it be okay if Vic wore Mikhail’s clothes? He needs something clean and dry."

She turned, her expression tightening for a fraction of a second. "I thought I burned all of Mikhail's clothes the day he walked out on me," she said, her voice dropping an octave as she realized I'd found something. "I must have missed some."

She immediately went back to the room upstairs where I had left Mikhail's things. I went into the kitchen to make quick work of the breakfast dishes. When I was done, I headed back upstairs. Val was standing in the bedroom over a pile she had gathered from the armoires and closets.

I looked at the discarded pile on the floor—the last remnants of Mikhail. "Do you want me to take those and put them in the fireplace?"

"I would appreciate that," she said, sounding tired. "I think Vic would fit better in Gleb's clothes anyway."

I looked at her, surprised. "Yev’s grandson?"

Val nodded. "Yes. They should be just about his size."

“How is Gleb?” I asked then clarified. “The son.”

“He is doing well but we no longer talk,” she said. “He stands by his father in regards of that awful woman.”

I knew who she meant but I wouldn’t mention that name in this house nor think of it in her presence.

“I’m sorry, friend,” I said. “I’ll take these downstairs then send Vic to shower. Where do you want him to meet you?”

“Thank you,” she gave me a half smile. “In here is fine. Vic is a very attractive man - I see what you see in him and what he sees in you. It makes his wife jealous of you that you get prioritized over her but she won’t let go of him.”

“He’s a great man and an amazing lover, Val,” I said. “I know she won't let go of him. I wouldn’t if he were my husband. As she is jealous of me, I envy her for marriage to him. We both love him but we cannot fault each other of that.”

She nodded. I grabbed Mikhail’s things and headed downstairs to the great room. I tossed his stuff in the fireplace then woke up Vic.

“Go up the grand staircase, go past three of the five grandfather clocks on your left and then take that right,” I said. “Val is waiting for you in that room. She will show you what clothes you’ll be wearing after your shower. After you shower and get dressed, come on down.”

Vic kissed me on the cheek, nodded and left. Vic’s wife has been cheated on by him multiple times with multiple women including me. Vic can’t really cheat on me with her but I worry when he’s alone with attractive women….especially the ones with inherited gifts that Val has. I wondered a long time ago if Vic and I were a true couple, would he cheat on me like he currently does with his wife. The answer would be yes. Val, please leave him alone, I thought hoping she’d read my mind rather than ignore me. I love him and to some degree, he loves me too though not fully. My heart would break if you fucked him.

Seconds later, Val came downstairs. “You really love him, don’t you?” she asked.

“I do though I tried not to fall in love with him,” I said.

“Please know that he loves you too,” she said. “Very much so. He wishes he he could leave her but you know the story.”

“Sadly, I do,” I sighed.

“Please enjoy your time with him while you can,” she said. “One day, he will leave you so he can return to his wife and she will take him back.”

I nodded and sat down on the couch. I was exhausted and as much as I appreciate Val now, I didn’t trust her to be alone with me as I slept. She knew it as well so she tried her best to keep me awake with conversation. We agreed that Vic would take Gleb’s clothes and I would take my remaining clothes in a few days and we’d burn the stuff we were wearing tonight.

Vic came downstairs. He looked better but he looked worse for wear with tiredness.

“Which room would you like us to sleep in?” Vic asked as he yawned.

“The room next to the one you were in as you dressed,” Val said.

“Not that one,” I said. “We want a door that locks from the inside, not the outside.”

Val turned beat red.

“You don’t need to protect yourself from us,” Vic said. “You’re keeping us safe before we need to leave and make sure that we’re not ill. Locking us in a room tells me that you don’t trust us. If you don’t trust us, we can leave right now.”

“That’s fair,” she said. “It’s hard for me to trust others considering my family history and its hard for you two to trust others. How about the both of you sleep down here by the fire and I sleep upstairs?”

“That works,” I said. “Vic, we’re going to burn what we were wearing when we got here. People are looking for us and know what we’re wearing.”

“And when you guys leave in a few days, you will be taking one of my ATVs and I will keep this one until it’s time to give it back.”

Vic and I agreed. Val grabbed some water and headed to her room. I moved the couch cushions around and pulled the bed out. Thank fuck it was already made. As we got into the pull out bed, this was the first time that I was actually excited to fall asleep next to Vic. We fell asleep in seconds and didn’t wake up until noon the next day.

We got up, went to the bathroom upstairs to brush our teeth, a quick shower, got dressed and headed back downstairs. Since we were too tired to burn out clothes before going to bed, we checked the pockets before putting them on the embers. Vic put more wood on the burning clothes. In the kitchen there was a note from Val saying that she was off in storage to hide Vic’s ATV and to bring us one of hers. We ate a little something and we drank so much water due to not drinking enough yesterday. By the time Val returned, the kitchen was cleaned up and our clothes were officially burned.

“How did you guys sleep?” she asked.

“Like a rock,” Vic said. “I don’t think either of us moved a muscle. Thank you so much for letting us sleep so late.”

“You’re very welcome,” she said with a smile. “Don’t be afraid to get more sleep over the next few days. You’ve went through quite some stuff.”

She headed to her library on the second floor as we headed to the library on the first floor. Vic and I read for hours. After reading a few books, we fell asleep on the couch. An hour or so later, we woke up feeling a little more well rested but rather hungry so we headed downstairs to the kitchen. Val left a note stating if we were hungry, we can help ourselves. Vic started gathering chicken, broth, different seasonings and whatever else he could get his hands on to make chicken primavera while I made a large salad. I craved having fresh tomatoes in the salad but I made do without them. I found pitted kalamata olives, pimento stuffed green olives and black olives so I drained them, added the olives, sliced and added mushrooms, feta cheese, bacon and salami.

When we sat down to eat, Val came back inside. As she was taking off her heavy winter layers, we asked her if she would join us.

She hung her cloak on the peg, the damp fur smelling of pine and cold air. "I'd be honored," she said, her voice carrying a weary warmth. She pulled up a heavy mahogany chair, the wood creaking under her weight as she watched Vic plate the chicken primavera. "It smells divine, Vic. Better than anything I've managed to cook for myself in months."

We ate in a comfortable, domestic silence for a few minutes, the only sound the clinking of silverware against china. Val ate slowly, savoring the flavors, her eyes drifting toward the window where the Siberian night was already beginning to settle. "I've moved the ATV," she said eventually, setting her fork down. "It's under a tarp in the old stone shed. No one will find it there, even with thermal imaging. The stone is too thick."

"And the replacement?" Vic asked, his mouth full of chicken.

"In the garage, ready to go. It's faster than yours, and I've modified the exhaust so it’s quieter," she replied, then turned her gaze to me. "I also took the liberty of checking the perimeter sensors. There's been no movement within five miles, but that doesn't mean they aren't out there. They're smart, Marta. They know how to wait."

I nodded, the salad suddenly tasting like ash in my mouth. "We leave in forty-eight hours," I said firmly. "That gives us time to rest and for the trails to go a little colder."

Val reached across the table, her hand momentarily brushing mine. "Then let's make the most of it. There's more wine in the cellar, and I think we all deserve to forget about the world for a few more hours. Tomorrow, we can fake your death."

Blood, salt, and Siberian fire

The vibration of the ATV had hummed through my bones for over six hours by the time the flickering light of the cabin appeared. My fingers were cramped into frozen claws around the handlebars, and every mile of that hundred-mile trek had been a battle against a wind that felt like a physical weight pressing against us. Behind me, Vic was a silent, solid anchor, his weight shifting with mine as we navigated the treacherous drifts.

As I killed the ignition, the sudden absence of the engine’s scream was jarring. The only sound left was the whistling gale tearing at the eaves of the cabin.

Anya pulled the heavy door open before we even reached the porch. She looked older than the last time I’d seen her, her face etched with the weariness of someone who lived on the edge of the world. She didn't offer a greeting, just stepped back into the amber glow of the interior, gesturing for us to hurry.

The transition was violent—from the biting, lethal cold to the suffocating heat of a wood-burning stove. We moved like robots, peeling back layers of ice-crusted Gore-Tex and heavy wool until we were down to our charcoal-colored base layers. The thin, moisture-wicking fabric clung to us, steaming slightly in the warm air.

"The storm is getting worse," Anya said, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. "You look like you're running from the devil himself rather than a blizzard. You’re staying the night."

I looked at Vic. His eyes were scanning the room, never lingering on Anya, always returning to the pack at his feet.

"We're on a clock, Anya, but yes, we’ll stay the night," I said, my voice heavy with a fatigue I couldn't hide anymore. "We only stopped to eat and refuel the ATV. We’re heading back out for the next leg before the sun even tries to come up."

She let out a frustrated breath, looking around her modest kitchen. "I don’t have much fresh food left as I have canned most of it. While I plan dinner and make it, get the rest that you can. Please take the spare room at the back. It’s better insulated than the loft.”

As we stood to gather our bags, the air in the cabin grew thick with unspoken tension. The history between us was there, but the current stakes had buried it under a layer of cold pragmatism.

"I appreciate it, friend," I said, pausing at the entrance to the hallway. I met her gaze, making sure my voice was steady despite the exhaustion. "I’m truly not trying to be rude or disrespectful towards you as our host, but with the situation that we’re in, we’ll be taking our stuff into the room with us."

Anya’s shoulders tightened. A flash of hurt crossed her eyes before she masked it with a hard, cynical stare. "I understand," she said, her voice dropping to a low rasp. "You don’t trust anyone but each other right now. Not even the woman who saved your life many years ago from a similar blizzard."

"It's not personal, Anya. It's the only way we both make it to tomorrow," I replied. I reached into the hidden placket of my vest and pulled out a small, tight roll of money. I pressed several hundred rubles into her hand, the paper feeling unnaturally crisp in the humid room. "Thanks for understanding. When we’re clear and finally safe, I’ll send word that we’re safe. I'll return the favor once settled."

"This is more than I make in two years," she whispered, looking down at the notes, then back at me, her expression unreadable. "Just make sure you live long enough to do it."

Vic didn't say a word. He grabbed our bags and followed me into the dark mouth of the hallway toward the spare room. Once the door clicked shut, the silence was absolute. We stripped down naked, the air in the room cooling our skin as we hung our sweat-damp clothes to dry. We threw our skivvies in a pile on the floor, too tired to care about neatness. Our plan was simple: rest, shower, eat, and clean up after ourselves. We’d even ask for permission to use her wash basin for our dirty clothes and the towels we’d need.

"I could sleep for days," Vic muttered, his voice cracking. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. "How have you dealt with life like this for so long?"

"I thrive on stress and limited sleep," I sighed, pulling back the heavy blankets and the top sheet. The bed looked like heaven. "Vic, let’s just sleep for an hour and shower before we head downstairs. After eating, if we can wash our clothes and the towels we’ve used, we’ll go back to bed for one more round of rest."

Vic nodded, his eyes already half-closed. He climbed in next to me, the mattress groaning. Before we fell away, he pulled me close against his chest, wrapping his heavy arms around me. It was a dreamless nap, the kind born of pure physical depletion.

Forty-five minutes later, my internal clock snapped me awake. I slid quietly out from his arms, leaving him dead asleep to the world. I took a quick, scorching shower, scrubbed the grime of the road off, got dressed, and headed downstairs.

"Feeling better, Maria?" Anya asked as I entered the kitchen. She used the only legal name she knew me to have, her voice soft in the dim light. "Food should be ready shortly."

"Somewhat better, Ya-Ya," I said, using the old nickname from our twenties. The familiarity felt strange and heavy. "I’m sorry that he’s still sleeping. He isn’t used to this lifestyle, though that isn’t an excuse."

"Glad that you’re feeling better. I’ve missed you," she whispered. She stepped into my space and leaned in and gently kissed me on my mouth, a lingering, familiar heat. "God, I have waited for this day for years."

"I’ve missed you, too," I admitted, kissing her back as the memories of our past resurfaced. "He’s a heavy sleeper. We have time."

The air in the kitchen changed. Anya and I undressed in the glow of the stove, the orange light flickering over our skin. She took my hand, her fingers interlocking with mine, and led me to the worn couch positioned directly in front of the fire.

"Sit down and spread your legs for me, Maria," she commanded softly.

"I love when you use your linguistic skills," I whispered, obeying her. The heat from the fire was nothing compared to the pulse in my pussy. I knew I was wet when I sat down.

"Use a pillow if you need to," she said, her eyes dark with intent as she moved between my knees.

She didn't hesitate. Anya clamped her mouth onto me, her teeth, tongue, and lips working with a practiced, hungry precision. The sound of the blizzard outside faded, replaced entirely by the rhythm of her breath and the fire popping in the hearth. My hands went straight to her head. I tried to bring her closer to my pussy. Seconds later, she slid her tongue deep in my pussy and hit my gspot and used her tongue to linger on my gspot. After I came on her tongue several times, she bit my clit. I moaned then grabbed a pillow to place over my mouth. Anya continued to bit and nibble on my clit. I continued to cum and used the pillow to muffle my moans and screams.

When Anya came up for air and asked if I was ok. I told her that I was as I got up. We headed to the kitchen to get dressed. I went back to the living room to flip the couch cushion that I had just cum all over. Seconds later, Vic came down with our dirty clothes and the towels that we used.

“Just leave everything near the fireplace,” Anya said. “Dinner is almost ready.”

“Ok, thanks, Anya,” he said. “Is there anything that I can do to help you?”

“I’m good,” she said. “I got most everything taken care of while you guys were resting and cleaning up. Deppgrl helped a little bit when she came down.

About ten minutes later, Anya placed two steaming wooden bowls on the scarred pine table. It was a thick stew of meat and shriveled root vegetables—the best "fresh" meal we could hope for in the middle of a Siberian winter. We ate with a desperate efficiency, the only sound the clinking of spoons against wood. We were also careful not to eat too much as Anya needed to have food until the blizzard stopped.

“Thank you, Ya-Ya,” I said as I stood up to clear my spot. “We’ll clean up while you just watch us.”

It took Vic and I a few minutes to clear up and put the remaining food in a container on her porch. I then grabbed a banged up pot from the porch, added snow and brought it and put it on the fire in the fireplace. In no time, the water was boiling. I added lye soap and Vic’s and my dirty clothes. After letting the clothes boil in the soap water and move them around with a metal rod, I trudged outside with the pot to the edge of the property to dump the water. I added more snow to the pot. I went back inside to put the pot back on the fire to melt the snow and rinsed our clothes. I trudged outside again and poured the water on the edge of the property. Once inside, I rung out the clothes and hung them on a line near the fireplace to dry.

As Vic and Anya were talking, I went back to the spare room in the back of Anya’s cabin. I picked up the burner phone and made a call that I thought I would never make in my life. I called Sera’s government to get a hold of her. Within one ring, someone answered and before I could identify myself, I was told that I was getting transferred directly to Sera on her burner. I sighed in relief that she was still alive.

“Deppgrl, I am so glad you’re still alive,” Sera said. “I just heard that my twin came after you.”

“Sera, I’m so happy to hear your voice,” I said. “Mimi somehow found me but didn’t necessarily come after me but she also did. When we hang up, I’ll send you coordinates of where I left her though I doubt she’s still there.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “What can I do to help you?”

“Vic found me but he and his wife still need some protection,” I started with. “Also, I feel like someone is impersonating my uncle Charles. If someone is, we need to fake my death and host a funeral before I get to the next safehouse.”

“Ok, I can get someone on the wife but it’s going to take some time to get people on you and Vic due to the weather,” Sera said. “While I work on that, I am going to verify if your uncle is truly dead or just faked his death. Where are you now?”

“With Ya-Ya,” I admitted. “We told her we’re leaving before the sun is up.”

“You do realize that gives me about three to four hours to get all of this done, right?” she asked.

“I’m sorry to put you in such a bind,” I sighed.

“If it were an hour or two, that would be a bind,” she laughed. “Try to be ready to move soon, ok?”

“Ok,” I said.

We hung up without any pleasantries. As I headed down the hallway back into the living room to check on the clothes that were drying, I could hear the voices of Vic and Anya. Vic was annoyed and Anya was clearly persistent. I stopped while I was still in the shadows and slowed my breathing in order to hear their conversation.

“Anya, we may need to leave now if you keep insisting on me fucking you,” Vic said. I could hear the anger and frustration in his voice.

“But yet you’re cheating on your wife with her!” Anya said.

“Hey, guys!” I said cheerfully. “Just wanted to check on the clothes before I go to bed. The less to do in the morning, the better.”

Both Vic and Anya couldn’t look at me nor say anything to me. I checked the clothes and thankfully, everything was dry. I took them off the line and headed back to the spare room. Once I knew that they couldn’t hear me, I stopped.

“Anya, I really don’t need to explain myself to you,” he said. “Deppgrl and I have a connection that can’t be broken. I feel guilty for hurting my wife however, my wife and I are over emotionally. There’s no love nor is there any passion. I get that plus more with Deppgrl. Please stop pushing the issue or we’re going to leave.”

“Ok,” she said dejectedly.

I hurried to the room and started folding the clothes. Vic walked in the room a moment later and he looked pissed.

“Everything ok, Papa?” I asked.

“No and you know that,” he said. “I know you heard everything.”

“I wish I could explain her desire away but I can’t,” I said. “She doesn’t get many visitors due to how remote it is and she lost both her husband and her lover within a few years of each other. The death of both of them is no excuse in trying to pressure you to have sex with her. I don’t question her desire of you, though, Papa. You’re quite handsome.”

“You’re fucking me for my looks or for my dick?” Vic asked with a smirk on his face.

“Both,” I said. “And because you love me.”

“Gods, I would love to take you to pound town just to show her what it’s like to be with me but who knows what she’ll do with my cum or DNA,” he said.

“I don’t know either but let’s not risk it,” I said. “I got a hold of Sera.”

“What did she have to say?” he asked.

I whispered what the plans were – to see if anyone was impersonating Charles or if he was truly dead and also to fake my death so Vic and I could move about to get to safety. I told him that once we leave and go some distance from Anya, we will have to check our belongings to see if there are any tiny trackers. He nodded.

We got into bed and tried to sleep but it was rough. Thirty minutes before we were to leave, we got up. We showered, dressed, brushed our teeth and had a few granola bars. Without leaving a note, we left Anya’s. Last night would be the last time she and I would ever see each other.

Frozen fire

The silence in the cabin was brittle, a stark contrast to the howling wind clawing at the logs outside. I stood over the woman who had spent months masquerading as my protector, my breathing finally leveling out as the adrenaline of the strike began to subside into a cold, hard clarity. Mimi lay on the floor, gasping for the air I’d knocked out of her, her deception finally laid bare in the flickering, orange firelight.

“Vic, we need to get the fuck out of here,” I said, my voice carrying a flat edge that left no room for sentiment. I didn't look back at the warmth of the fire, or the bed he’d only just remade. My focus was entirely on the survival logistics of the next hour. “We need to leave her here.”

Vic stood up from the rug, his movements fluid and devoid of the softness he’d shown me just minutes before. The protective heat in his eyes had vanished, replaced by the calculating, obsidian stare of a man who dealt in high-stakes variables. He looked down at the woman on the floor, his mind clearly already three steps ahead, gauging the risk of her presence versus the lethal unpredictability of the storm.

“I agree on both parts,” he said, his tone dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. He didn't just look at her; he appraised her as a threat that needed to be neutralized. “How do we keep her here spy style? Knock her out and tie her up?”

“First thing I need to do is get rid of this tracking device,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. “Mimi has been tracking it as well as this burner phone.”

I reached into my gear, pulling out the small, blinking plastic casing and the sleek burner phone. I grabbed both and tossed them onto the stone floor. With a series of heavy, deliberate strikes, I stomped on them until the plastic splintered and the motherboards shattered into useless shards. There was no way they could ever be salvaged. I gathered the crumbs of the tracker and the phone, tossing them into the heart of the fireplace.

I added more wood—heavy, seasoned logs that caught instantly. I added so much that the hearth began to hum with the intensity of the heat; Mimi would be boiling in here for a long while before the cold finally dared to creep back in.

“What next?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the woman on the floor.

“I have some of my sleep medication. She’ll take one,” I said. I looked down at her, my expression mask-like. “Mimi, there are a dozen ways I could put you under that would hurt a lot more, but that’s not my style. You’ll take one of the tablets my doctor gave me for the insomnia. You’ll be out for about twelve hours.”

“You’re weak,” she spat, her voice raspy and full of venom.

“Not weak, but smart,” I replied. I reached into my bag and pulled out the small amber vial, shook out a single pill, and handed it to her along with a bottle of water. “I’ll leave a few bottles of water here for when you wake up. You'll need the hydration.”

Mimi stared at me for a long moment, searching for a flicker of hesitation that wasn't there. Finally, she nodded and swallowed the tablet.

“What about my technology?” she asked, her voice already starting to slur as the fast-acting sedative began to tug at her consciousness.

“I’ll destroy it when you fall asleep.”

She nodded again, her head lulling. I reached down and gripped her arm, helping her up from the floor. I escorted her to the bed and watched as she slumped onto the mattress, the drug taking hold with ruthless efficiency.

“Grab everything that you can—food, clothes, blankets, water,” I said, turning to Vic. “We’re going to run a Hail Mary escape before we try for the safe house.”

Vic nodded, moving with silent purpose as he shoved supplies into his large duffle bag. I grabbed a backpack he had in storage and began packing more food and water. I found two extra sets of thermals in his stash, but there was no room left in the bags.

“Strip and put the thermals on,” I said, already pulling my sweater over my head. My skin prickled in the cooling air as I stood naked for a moment before layering up. “We might be out in that blizzard for a long time. I want every bit of insulation we can carry.”

“Got it,” Vic said, following suit. He didn't hesitate, stripping down and pulling on the gear. “Anything else before we ghost?”

“Load the fireplace with as much wood as it can hold,” I said. “I’ll check her jacket and gear for anything worth keeping.”

While Vic packed the hearth, I went over to the sleeping woman. I removed her jacket and piled heavy blankets over her to ensure she didn't freeze once the fire eventually died. I went through her bag with clinical speed: four burner phones, three were used, one still in its plastic, and a tracker.

“Open this, please,” I said, tossing the unused phone to Vic. “I’ll handle the rest.”

I grabbed a heavy brick from the hearth and systematically smashed Mimi’s used tech until it was dust. I stepped outside briefly, the sub-zero wind stinging my face as I scattered the remnants into the snow around the cabin. By the time I got back inside, Vic had the new phone unpackaged and charging.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Almost,” he said. “I’ve got a rack I need to throw on the back of the ATV to secure these bags.”

“Great idea,” I said. “We can cover our stuff with the tarp that I had when you found me. It’ll prevent our stuff getting wet.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said then quickly kissed me.

I watched him exit, I then dragged our bags to the door, stacking our jackets on top. My last act was a precaution. I pulled a pair of handcuffs from the gear and snapped one end around Mimi’s wrist and the other to the headboard. I left the key on the nightstand opposite the one closest to her but placed a few water bottles within her reach. I knew that she would figure out a way to get the key eventually, but not before we were long gone.

As I pulled on my jacket, the weight of the situation settled in. The real Sera was still out there somewhere looking for me, and the world was about to get very cold. Vic didn’t know the area but I did.

Vic came in to put our bags on the ATV. He came back in once the bags and the tarp were secure and threw his jacket on.

“Hey, so for now, I’ll drive the ATV,” I said. “There are a few stops we need to make before we get to the safe house. One of them being getting rid of the ATV.”

“Ok,” he said as he pulled me into a hug. “I love when you take charge, Mama.”

The intrusive guest

The fire was a roaring beast now, the seasoned oak I’d hauled through the blizzard finally surrendering its heat. We spent the next few hours fucking senselessly, a frantic effort to erase the memory of the frozen dark. The friction and the heat from the electric blanket finally reached deep enough into my marrow that it was safe to shower.

"You're shaking less," Vic whispered, his breath ghosting over my temple as he held me tight under the heavy layers.

"The heat is finally catching up," I managed, my voice still a bit gravelly from the cold air. I looked at him, tracing the familiar lines of his jaw. "I really thought I’d be waking up in a snowbank, Vic."

"I told you," he said, his grip tightening for a second. "I don't lose what's mine to a storm. Especially not you."

As I stood on shaky legs and padded toward the small bathroom, Vic didn't let the momentum of our recovery die. He stripped the bed with efficient, sharp movements, gathering the sheets that still carried the faint, metallic scent of the trek. He tossed the bedding into the dying embers of the fireplace, the fabric catching and curling into black ash. He quickly added more seasoned wood, the flames leaping up to lick the chimney, then he turned and joined me in the shower.

The spray was a shock—stinging against my hypersensitive skin. We didn’t linger in the shower because the hot water heater didn't last long. Vic’s hands were steady, working a bar of rough soap over my shoulders, washing away the last of the wood dust and the dried blood that wasn't mine.

"Easy," he murmured as I winced when the water hit a particularly raw patch of skin on my shoulder. "I've got you."

"The water feels like needles," I admitted, leaning my forehead against his chest.

"I know. It means the blood is moving again," he replied, his voice low and grounding. He kissed the top of my wet head. "Stay under it just a minute longer. Then we get you back to the fire."

We didn’t linger long in the shower as the water heater was small. Vic helped me shower though he knew that I didn’t need the help. After we both rinsed off the final time, he turned the water off.

He stepped out first, drying off and wrapping a towel around his waist. While I finished drying off, I could hear him moving in the other room, remaking the bed with fresh bedding he’d pulled from the cedar chest. I pulled on some of the clothing I had left in my bag—a pair of thick leggings and an oversized wool sweater that felt like a secondary skin.

I went out and sat down on the rug in front of the fireplace next to Vic, the heat radiating against my shins. For the first time in forty-eight hours, the silence felt peaceful.

That peace lasted exactly ten seconds.

The heavy oak door slammed open, the iron latch screeching as it hit the stone wall. The sub-zero wind howled into the room, scattering ash across the hearth. Before I could reach my bag for both my knife and dagger, Sera walked in and closed the door behind her, the wood groaning as the bolt slid home.

I froze, my hand halfway to the strap of my bag. I was shocked that it was her; the last time we saw each other in person, we were trying to severely maim the other. The memory of that encounter flashed through my mind like a fresh wound. Trusting her via technology was another thing entirely.

“Deppgrl,” she sighed as she came over to where I was. She looked worn, her gear dusted with the storm’s white grit.

“Sera, what are you doing here?” I asked her as I stayed put on the rug. My heart was hammering, but the heat of the fire and Vic’s presence beside me kept me anchored.

“The bigger question is what is he doing here?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as they flicked toward Vic.

“He rescued me, Sera,” I said. “I saved myself from being killed by someone I once knew, but he saved me from dying due to the elements.”

“Now, I can no longer protect either one of you,” she said, her voice dropping into a register that made the hair on my arms stand up.

“Sera,” I said as I got up, the movement slow and deliberate. I stood before her, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows against the wall. “We are friends and enemies at the same time. I never asked for the protection you offered, though it’s greatly appreciated.”

Sera didn't move, her gaze locked onto mine. "Appreciation won't stop what's coming, Deppgrl. You brought a ghost back into the light, and now the light is fading."

“Who is after me now?” I asked, not sure if I could trust her.

Sera’s jaw tightened. "It’s your uncle Charles," she said, her voice sharp as a blade.

"Or it could be you, right, Mimi?" I said, using the name that cut through her cold veneer.

“I’m not Mimi,” she stuttered.

“Oh really??” I asked. “The real Serafina and I have never met face to face.”

In the quickest second that I have ever experienced, I swung my leg at Mimi’s ankle, knocking her down.

She hit the floor hard, the breath leaving her in a sharp wheeze. Before she could roll or reach for a weapon hidden in her gear, Vic was off the rug. He didn't even have his boots on, but he moved with the predatory grace I'd almost forgotten he possessed. He planted a knee firmly in the center of her back, pinning her to the stone floor while his hand clamped around the back of her neck.

"Start talking," Vic growled, his voice vibrating with a threat that made the roaring fire seem quiet. "And if you use Deppgrl’s name again, I'll make sure you never speak another word."

Mimi struggled for a moment, her face pressed against the cold stone, before she went limp in a tactical surrender. "You're making a mistake," she hissed, though the stutter was gone, replaced by a desperate edge. "There’s a man coming for her... he doesn't care who is standing in the way."

The Weight of Cold Ash

The orange glow of the safe house was long gone, reduced to a heap of smoldering charcoal six miles behind me. I waited until I hit the twenty-mile mark before I dared to stop. My legs felt like leaden weights, and the wind had begun a low, mournful whistle through the skeletal branches of the pine forest. The temperature was plummeting, that sharp, biting cold that doesn't just touch your skin but settles deep into the marrow of your bones.

I found a dry log, cleared a dusting of frost, and slumped down. My breath came in ragged, silver plumes. First, I jammed a wool hat over my ears, then I reached for the burner phone, sliding the battery back into its slot with numb fingers.

I popped a can of SPAM with a metallic snick. It was salty, processed, and arguably gray, but in this cold, calories were the only currency that mattered. I forced myself to chew slowly, rationing every bite while staring into the darkening woods. Thirty-four miles to go. Thirty-four miles of uphill terrain with a blizzard breathing down my neck.

"Please let there be wood at the cabin," I whispered to the empty air. I couldn't bet on it. The grifters I’d allowed to stay at the next site were sloppy; they’d likely burned the furniture if we ran out of logs.

I stood up, my joints popping like dry kindling, and dumped my bag to take a proper inventory. A leather belt, a coil of twine, and a small, silver-backed tarp. An idea formed—a desperate, heavy idea. I threaded the twine through the tarp's grommets, fashioned a sturdy loop, and slid my belt through it. Then, I began to gather. I hunted for fallen oak and seasoned pine, stacking it onto the tarp until I had a fifty-pound hoard. I cinched the belt around my waist, feeling the drag immediately.

I was about to step back onto the trail when the burner phone vibrated against my thigh. The screen displayed a string of digits I didn't recognize. My heart hammered against my ribs—a rhythmic, panicked thud. We had a rule, Serafina and I: always answer the unknown, because if you miss the window, the caller vanishes forever.

I pressed the phone to my ear. "Allo," I said, my Russian thick and guarded.

"It’s me," Sera’s voice crackled through the line, sounding smaller than usual. "There’s another blizzard on its way, Deppgrl. A bad one. I know you told me not to track your signal to closely, but I couldn't just sit here. I don't want to lose my only friend to a snowbank."

"Thank you, friend," I replied, my voice rasping. "But I am managing. I’m looking for a lean-to, maybe an old hunter's tent."

"Don't be a fool," she snapped, the fire returning to her tone. "A lean-to won't save you from twenty below and fifty-knot winds. Neither will those rags you're wearing. Listen to me—I would come myself, I would pull you out of there right now, but I’m being watched. I'm sending someone else. They have a fortified house. They’ll bring you in from the cold."

I looked down at the fifty pounds of wood dragging behind me, then back toward the path where the first flakes of snow were beginning to swirl.

"Sera, look at where we are," I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous level. "Right now, I can't trust anyone. And if we’re being honest? We don't even fully trust each other."

"Trust is a luxury for people who aren't about to freeze to death," she countered. "Deppgrl, please. Just this once."

"How will I know that the person I see is the person you sent?" I asked.

"You'll just have to trust me," she said. "I know you don't trust anyone, nor can you right now. I beg of you, please trust me on this. Once they see you, I’ll call you again, but the phone will only ring once. After it rings, delete that number and every other number I’ve called you from."

"I'll try my best," I said quietly, my knuckles white as I gripped the phone. "But you know what'll happen if they aren't the one you sent."

"You'll be the last person they ever see," she finished for me. "I’ve sent a text to my contacts in your area. I haven't heard back yet, but if you stay put, you'll freeze. Keep moving to stay warm."

The line went dead. I pocketed the phone and leaned forward, the belt digging into my hips as I began to haul the tarp and its fifty-pound burden through the deepening snow.

I began to deeply regret that I hadn't brought a windbreaker jacket and windbreaker pants. The wool I wore was warm in still air, but it was porous; the rising gale sliced right through the weave, stripping away my body heat. The wind was a physical blade, and I was unprotected. The only thing keeping the blood flowing was the sheer, agonizing exertion of the trek. I lost track of the miles, the world shrinking down to the rhythmic crunch of snow and the heavy, resisting pull of the wood behind me. My eyes stayed glued to the horizon, waiting for a shadow that shouldn't be there, and my ears strained for that single, sharp ring.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. Movement in the woods to my left.

I froze, the weight of the wood pulling at my waist. Through the curtain of horizontal snow and the tangled silhouettes of the pines, a dark shape shifted. It was too large for a wolf and too deliberate for a swaying branch.

I saw the gun before I heard it get fired—the silhouette of the barrel leveling in the dim light. I dropped face-first into the snow just as the muzzle flashed. A deafening crack shattered the silence, and I heard the distinct sound of the bullet tearing through the air exactly where I had been standing a second before.

My fingers, stiff with cold, fumbled for the knife in my back pocket. I found the hilt, drew it, and cut the twine off my belt with a single, desperate stroke. I rolled hard, my body heavy in the wool, until I was tucked behind the wood.

The fifty pounds of oak and pine were my primary shield, but I knew the other elements were working for me too. The brutal cold air, the screaming wind, and the thickening snow created a chaotic veil between me and the shooter, offering a layer of protection that the wood alone couldn't provide. It wasn't complete protection, but it was enough to buy me time.

As I lay face down in the snow, I remembered the dagger tucked deep in my bag. I discretely reached back, digging through the frost-dusted fabric until my fingers brushed the cold steel. It took barely a second to pull it out and unsheathe it. Moving with a sudden, desperate burst of energy, I got to my feet, spotted the shape of the person who had shot at me, and hurled the dagger toward them. I prayed it would find its mark as I dove back down, hiding behind the wood again.

The wind was a howling wall; I couldn't hear a thing. I waited for several agonizing minutes, my own body heat melting the snow beneath me until the moisture began to penetrate my wool clothes, chilling me to the core.

Finally, I carefully got to my feet. I picked up the knife I’d used to cut the twine and began a slow, cautious approach toward the spot where the shooter had been. When I found the body, the air left my lungs. It was Javi. My former lover and C’s cousin.

"Oh, fuck!" I whispered to the trees.

My phone rang once then stopped ringing. I knew it was Sera. I deleted that number and the others that she called me from. With numb fingers, I put the phone back in my pocket.

I reached down, gripped the hilt, and pulled the dagger out of his chest. Blood, dark and steaming in the frozen air, stained the snow and unknowingly, the clothes that I was wearing. I turned and headed back to my wood and my bag, my hands shaking. I needed to clean the blade. As I began pouring whiskey over the dagger, a voice cut through the storm—heavily accented and painfully familiar.

"Amore."

The whiskey bottle and the dagger slipped from my hands, thudding into the snow. I spun around, my heart stopping. It was Vic. I knew it instantly. I knew every single freckle on his face. I knew it wasn’t anyone pretending to be him. The world around us—the blizzard, the body in the woods, the biting wind—all of it vanished. I ran to him and was in his arms in seconds.

"Oh my god, amore," he whispered into my ear, his breath warm against my freezing skin. "I've missed you so much."

I clung to him, my fingers bunching the fabric of his coat. For a heartbeat, the cold didn't matter. The fact that Javi was lying dead fifty yards away didn't matter. But then the wind let out a particularly vicious shriek, reminding me that we were still standing in the middle of a kill zone in a worsening storm.

I pulled back just enough to look at him, my eyes searching his. "Vic," I rasped, my voice barely working. "How did you find me here?"

He reached up, his thumb brushing a stray, frozen hair from my forehead. "Serafina," he said simply. "She reached out to the only person she knew would never stop looking for you. But we can’t stay here. Javi wasn’t alone, and this storm... it will swallow us both if we do not move."

I looked back at my pile of wood and my bag. I was soaked through, the melted snow from my body heat turned to ice now that I was standing. "I have wood," I said, pointing to the tarp. "I killed Javi."

"I know," Vic’s expression darkened as he looked toward the body, then back to me. "We move fast."

I grabbed my bag and he reached for the twine still hanging onto the tarp. I followed him through the trees to where he had hidden his ATV. He worked with practiced speed, attaching the wood-laden tarp to the back of the vehicle. We both scrambled on, the engine roaring to life and cutting through the howl of the wind.

We drove for several hours, the tires churning through deep drifts as we headed closer to my second safe house. Before I could even find the breath to ask how he knew where I was going, he spoke up over the engine’s whine. He told me I talked in my sleep—that I’d whispered about this particular safe house more than once. Rather than head to it, he decided to take us to a fortified house he was aware of, an hour away from my original destination.

By the time we reached the cabin, my adrenaline had bottomed out, leaving me shivering violently. We stumbled off the ATV and he ushered me inside. The air was dead and freezing, but still—warmer than it was outside.

"Amore, we need to get you out of those wet clothes," Vic told me gently. "Strip and get under the blankets while I get the fire started."

Seeing I was frozen in place, Vic walked over. He helped me out of my soaked, porous wool layers, his hands steady as he worked. He carried me to the bed, pulled back the heavy sheets, and helped me in. He took my clothes, heavy with melted snow and Javi’s blood, and placed them into the fireplace.

Vic stepped back outside just long enough to bring the wood from the tarp in. He built the fire quickly, the first sparks catching and beginning to cast a dancing light on the walls. Once the flames were roaring, he washed his hands and pulled an electric blanket from a storage chest. He spread it over the bedding and set it to medium.

"I’m sure that you’d love a hot bath or shower right now but that wouldn’t be good for you," he said softly. "If I had you outside any longer, you would’ve had frost bite. Do you mind if I join you?"

"I would be offended if you didn't," I managed to say with my still chattering teeth. "I’d kill for a hot shower right now but I’ll definitely lay next to you for now."

"So, I’m second best to a shower now?" Vic murmured before kissing me softly. "You already did but you need to warm up first."

"It all depends on the plan, Papa," I said as I kissed him back. "Don’t remind me now."

"I plan on warming you up myself," he said as he slid his hand between my legs.

"Care to tell me more than that?" I asked, already knowing what his plan was as I reached for his hardening dick.

"No, but I ‘plan’ on showing you," he whispered as he bit my earlobe and began to finger my pussy.

He softly moaned as I began to stroke his dick, the heat of him a stark contrast to the lingering chill in my bones. My skin was still hypersensitive, every touch from his calloused hand feeling like a jolt of electricity under the hum of the electric blanket.

"You're still so cold, amore," he murmured against my neck, his voice thick with a mix of concern and desire. He moved his thumb in a slow, agonizing circle, finding my sensitive clit.

"Then fix it," I breathed, my head falling back against the pillow. I increased the pace of my hand, feeling the rhythmic weight of his dick in my hand.

Vic pulled me closer, his chest pressing against mine, the fire crackling in the hearth behind him. The smell of burning wool and Javi's blood was fading, replaced by the scent of pine and Vic’s own familiar musk.

"I told you," he whispered, his two fingers dipping deeper and his thumb still rubbing my clit. "I would never stop looking. Focus on this."

I let out a shaky breath, my moan catching in my throat as he hit the right spot. The shivering was finally stopping, replaced by a different kind of trembling. "Vic... please."

"I have you," he promised, his voice a low growl of possession. "I have you now."

Vic rolled on top of me, his weight anchoring me to the mattress, a solid shield against the storm still raging outside. He pushed his dick deep inside of my wet and waiting pussy. I winced at the intensity of it, my muscles still tight and sore. "Why did I let you go?" I whispered, digging my nails into his shoulders. "I kept thinking you during my travels."

"You don't have to think about losing me again," he rasped, his eyes fixed on mine. He began to move with a heavy, deliberate pace that forced me to focus on him. "I found you and that’s all that matters."

"My god, Vic," I gasped, my fingers tracing the familiar lines of his face. "Don’t ever leave me.”

"I won’t, amore," he said, his voice dropping as he increased the rhythm. " He leaned down, his mouth catching mine in a kiss that tasted of whiskey and the relief of being alive. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him in as if I could absorb the heat directly from his skin. The cold was a world away now, buried under the weight and friction of him.

We moved together in a frantic, desperate rhythm, each thrust a confirmation that we had both made it out of the woods. The silence of the cabin was filled only by our ragged breathing and the snap of the logs in the hearth. When we both came, it was a total collapse of the walls I’d kept up all day. I clung to him as the tremors took over, my face buried in the crook of his neck. He shot his come in hard and fast, screaming my name.

He didn't pull away; he stayed buried deep inside me, his hand push my hair off his face and his other was pinching my nipples.

“We’ll be here for a few days,” Vic whispered as he pinched my nipples with both of his hands.

“We’re not leaving this cabin,” I said.

The erasure part two

The transition from blackness to consciousness felt like surfacing through oil—thick, slow, and suffocating. My eyes fluttered open to a ceiling of cracked plaster and the smell of boiled cabbage and old tobacco.

"Take it slow," a familiar voice said.

I sat up, my head throbbing with a rhythmic cadence that matched the 23.5 hours of travel still vibrating in my bones. I was on a narrow cot in a room that looked like it hadn't been renovated since the Cold War. The man I knew as my uncle, Charles, was sitting in a wooden chair across from me, his face illuminated by a single, flickering bulb.

"Charles," I croaked, my voice cracking. "I saw the obituary. I saw the grief in your widow’s eyes. I thought you died We all did."

"I had to," he said, his voice thinner than I remembered. "The cancer was real and was bordering on terminal. The only way I could buy more time—the kind of time only high-level state medicine can provide—was to come back. To work for Russia again."

I stiffened, the word hitting me like a physical blow. "Again?"

Charles gave a weary nod. "I worked for the KGB through my college years, even while I was dating my second wife. It’s a shadow that never truly leaves you."

"You were my handler," I whispered, the realization twisting in my gut. "All this time?"

"They knew the familial connection made it a risk," he explained, leaning forward. The light caught the hollows of his cheeks; he looked like a ghost inhabiting a living man. "But they also knew he’d be the only person you would ever truly trust from this side of the world. They purposely kept us in different cells until the moment you needed to be pulled out. They called me back in to get you out from under our government’s thumb."

"How is your health now?" I asked, looking at his trembling hands.

"The tumors shrank," he said with a grimace. "The treatment works, but the energy level... it sucks. I’m a shell, but I’m a shell with a purpose."

"How did you fool her? Us?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "My oncologist was in on it. He was my handler back in the day. He brought me back in and found a double—a man who looked enough like me, someone dying with no family and no one to mourn him. We swapped places in the hospice. To the world, I am buried in a plot back home."

The level of deception made my skin crawl. "How long have you known who I was in the field?"

"From the get-go," he admitted.

"And how long until I’m free of this?"

"I don't know," Charles sighed. "You’re in deep. Fifteen years of service doesn't just vanish because you crossed a border. It will take time to erase you properly."

We ate a sparse meal of rye bread and tinned fish. The conversation turned to the people I’d left behind without naming names. Charles – or the man pretending to be my uncle – didn’t need to know their names nor what they meant to me.

"I need to be protected, Charles. If this to be done the right way, I need to remain safe," I said, meeting his eyes with a cold intensity.

"I’ll work to get you free," he said, "but first, I need to build your Russian life. How is your language?"

"Ya pochti svobodno govoryu po-russki," I replied - I'm near perfect in speaking - in near perfect Russian, the vowels rolling off my tongue with practiced ease. "But if I have to read a dossier or write a report in Cyrillic, I’m royally screwed. I can’t do either."

"We’ll start the identity paperwork in the morning," he said, standing up with a groan. "I’ll use my contacts to find you an office job—something with a fake title and a boring desk. I know what you’re worth financially; you don’t have to work another day, but we need the cover."

Charles fell asleep almost instantly after the meal, his breathing heavy and rattling. I sat in the corner, the adrenaline and jetlag making sleep an impossibility. My mind was a beehive of conflicting thoughts. I needed therapy—the weight of the last decade was crushing me—but what did Russia think of mental health? And then there was the larger problem: I was in a country that viewed human rights as a suggestion, and I felt like I was being held by a man who had faked his own death. A man that I didn’t trust completely to believe that he was truly my uncle.

I stood up and began to pace. Uncle Charles had always been a man of obsessive order, yet this cabin was a shambles. Dust motes danced in the dim light, and papers were strewn across the table. The inconsistency gnawed at me. Was this truly my uncle, or was this the ultimate play by the FSB? I decided to start cleaning the room and the rest of the small cabin; it was the only way to settle my nerves and search for clues.

While he slept, I moved with a ghost's silence. I went to my bag and grabbed my burner phone. I sent a few texts to other contacts I have here in Russia, testing the waters. Due to the late hour, I didn’t expect any immediate responses, but I needed to know who was still on the board.

As I waited for a response, I checked my documents, my chargers, and the GPS tracker my childhood friend was monitoring. I checked the seams of the lining. My heart stopped.

There, tucked into the double-stitched corner of the inner pocket, was a micro-tracker. I removed to my clothes. I found three more embedded in the hems of my jacket and shirt as well as my belt loop on my jeans.

Charles had put these on me.

The betrayal was a cold blade in my chest. If he were truly my uncle, if he truly wanted me free, he wouldn't have tagged me like a head of cattle. I immediately took them off and crushed them. I destroyed the trackers, got dressed, and slipped out of the cabin into the freezing Russian night. I was done being a pawn.

I was three miles from the cabin, walking along a frozen ridge, when my burner phone vibrated. it wasn't one of my Russian contacts responding. it was a number that I didn't recognize.

"Hello?" I whispered.

"It's Sera," she said. "I hope you left because I don't think that man is your uncle."

I took a sharp breath, the cold air stinging my lungs. "I'm already gone, Sera. I’m on a ridge three miles out. I agree with you—I don’t think it’s him either. The trackers he planted were amateur, but insulting."

"Good," she replied, her voice clipping through the digital static. "What are you going to do now?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted, looking out into the white abyss of the growing storm. "But I need you to do me a favor. Don’t track me. Not at all. I need to essentially drop off the radar in Russia while staying here. If you’re pinging me, someone else will eventually find the frequency."

There was a long pause. "I can't just let you go dark, Deppgrl. I'll keep loose tabs on you rather than a hard track. I'll contact you in the morning. Just... stay alive until then."

"Thank you, Sera," I said. I ended the call and pulled the battery from the burner. I told myself that I’d reinsert the battery during my trek the following day.

I walked another 23 miles in a blizzard that felt like a physical weight against my chest. The wind whipped through my layers; even with the extra clothes I’d pulled from my bag, I wasn't warm enough. My fingers were losing sensation and my breath came in ragged, icy plumes. Every step was a battle against the instinct to simply lie down in the snow and sleep.

By the time I reached my first safe house—a place I knew with absolute certainty that no agency or relative had on a map—I was shivering violently. I fumbled with the hidden latch, nearly sobbing with relief when the door swung open. Inside, I stripped off my cold, wet clothes, my skin pebbled and blue-tinged, and hung them up in the closet.

I wasn't entirely alone in this sector. I had allowed a few local grifters to use this cabin over the years. It was a trade: they got a roof, and in return, they kept it clean and stocked with canned food, gallons of water, and seasoned wood. They had done their job well. I lit the wood and kindling they had already set up in the hearth. Within minutes, the small space began to warm, the orange glow reflecting off the frost on the windows.

I wrapped a thick towel around myself, grabbed a few large buckets, and stepped back out into the biting wind to gather snow. It took a dozen exhausting trips to fill the large metal tub. Once back inside, I lit the wood in the small grate beneath the tub. While the fire worked on the snow, I gathered another pile of snow for a second round—I needed to wash the scent of that other cabin and the travel off my clothes as much as my body.

When the water finally reached a near-boiling temperature, I ladled some out into a basin to rinse with. I climbed into the tub, the heat almost painful against my frozen skin, and spent an hour scrubbing the grime and the "travel" off me. I pulled the plug, watching the gray water disappear down the drain and through the pipes that led deep into the frozen earth away from the cabin.

I rinsed off, dried my hair, applied deodorant, and finally dressed in the fresh, dry clothes I had shipped along with my medications. The relief of clean fabric was indescribable.

I moved on to the clothes I had worn through the blizzard. I poured lye soap into the second batch of melted snow, dumped my gear in, and stirred the heavy wet fabric with a broom handle. I let them soak for hours, neutralizing any lingering scents or chemical traces. Eventually, I drained the tub and used the last of my stored water to rinse the soap away before hanging the clothes in the closet furthest from the fire to dry slowly.

I would have loved to fall into the bed and sleep for a week, but the cabin wasn't secure. The locks were rusted and barely functioning, and the thought of Charles—or whoever that man was—hunting me through the snow kept me on edge. I knew I had to leave at first light, and I knew I couldn't leave this place standing.

I dug through the cabinets until I found a large, durable canvas bag I’d left here years ago. I began to pack: the freshly cleaned clothes that finally dried, my meds, the burner phone, trackers, and charging cables. I tossed in the remaining cans of food, water bottles, and basic utensils.

For the rest of the night, I moved with a mechanical precision. I prepped the cabin to be torched, dousing the dry wood and old furniture in accelerant. I organized and reorganized my bag for maximum weight distribution, allowing myself only fifteen-minute increments of rest in the chair, never letting my eyes close for long.

When the first grey light of dawn began to bleed through the blizzard, I shouldered my pack. I struck a handful of matches and dropped them onto the prepared kindling. I watched for only a moment as the flames took hold of the curtains and the floorboards.

I stepped out into the storm, heading for the next safe house sixty miles away. The blizzard showed no signs of letting up, and I knew that on foot, in this terrain, the trek would take several days. But the trail behind me was burning, and for the first time in fifteen years, I was truly invisible.

The erasure part one

The glow of the computer monitor was the only thing anchoring me to the room as I began to systematically dismantle the life I had built. My fingers flew across the keyboard, the clicks sounding like terminal heartbeats in the quiet house. With a final, heavy keystroke, I executed the transfer. I sold my business—everything I had worked for—to Kay and Tara. It was a gift and a curse, wrapped in a digital bill of sale.

Next, I opened my secure email. I stared at the blank "To" field for a long moment before typing Bob’s name. My chest felt tight as I began to write.

“Bob, if you’re reading this, I’m already gone. I need you to listen. Vic and I... we were involved. I loved him, or maybe I loved the idea of him. It doesn’t matter now. It’s become dangerous for everyone, and I won’t let you be collateral damage.”

I hit enter, starting a new paragraph.

“I am disappearing. By the time you process this, the house will be in your name. The deed transfer is already in motion and will be finalized in a few hours. Don’t look for me, Bob. Just take care of yourself.”

I hit send. Before I could lose my nerve, I pulled out my phone and messaged Kay.

“I’m going into hiding, Kay. The business is yours and Tara’s now. I’m sorry I can’t explain more.”

My phone buzzed almost instantly. Kay wasn’t letting go.

Kay: What? No! You can't just drop this on us and vanish. Where are you? We can figure this out together.

Kay: Talk to me!

I stared at her words, a lump forming in my throat. I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to tell Bob that I was scared, that the agency was closing in, and that my world was collapsing. But I couldn't. Knowledge was a death sentence in my line of work. To tell them was to target them. I didn't reply.

I stormed into my bedroom, the adrenaline finally overriding the grief. I pulled my medical stash from its hiding place and began splitting my pills into several different shipping boxes. I padded them with old sweaters and books, making sure they didn't rattle. I needed these safehouses stocked; I didn't know how long I'd be underground.

I drove to the 24-hour shipping store, my cap pulled low. I moved through the transaction like a ghost, sending the boxes to various locations that I knew—with absolute certainty—no one else on the planet was aware of. Not my handlers, not my brother, not even Serafina.

Returning home, I moved with a cold, practiced efficiency. I packed a small bag—only what I could carry without looking like someone fleeing a crime scene. I grabbed my multiple IDs and passports from the hidden floorboard safe. The government knew I had them, but they were dormant. The moment I used one, a light would go on in a basement.

I looked at the front and back doors. The chips were there, embedded in the frames. I purposely had the chips embedded in the frames. They were silent sentinels. Once I crossed that threshold, the clock would start. They’d know exactly when the ghost had left the house, and they’d be able to track exactly which ID or passport I chose to breathe life into.

I didn't second-guess myself. I shut my phone down and crushed it under the heel of my boot, the glass crunching like ice. I turned on my backup tablet—hardened, encrypted, and old. I sent a message to a contact I hadn't spoken to in years. He was a man who had worked for the KGB many moons ago and had survived the collapse by becoming more of a ghost than the people he hunted. We weren't friends, not really. We were just two people who knew where all the bodies were buried.

“I’m on the run. I need protection.”

The reply came back in less than a minute.

Contact: Protection from what, little bird?

Me: Getting out of this life. I can’t keep doing this to my family and those I care about. I need to start over. I need a brand new identity.

Contact: You know the price for a total erasure. You know where to meet me. I expect you in twenty-four hours. Don’t be late.

"I won't be," I whispered. I smashed the tablet, ensuring the circuitry was beyond recovery.

I pulled a burner phone from my bag and dialed a number that existed only in my memory. "National Government Taxi Service," a voice answered.

"I need a ride to Skyhaven International Airport," I said, using the specific destination code that would trigger a sanitized extraction.

Don't get me wrong, this isn't a defection. I wasn't turning my back on my country, just on the life that was killing me. I needed to get out of the country, get out of this program, and slowly, quietly, find a way back. Maybe as someone else. Maybe as no one at all.

As I gathered my few remaining things, I realized my KGB friend had worked faster than I expected. He’d already given the government taxi company a heads-up before I called them. When I finally walked out of my house, the black sedan was already idling at the curb, its headlights cutting through the mist like predator eyes. The driver didn't look back; he just waited for the soft thud of the door closing.

"Skyhaven," I said, sinking into the leather seat.

"Already on the manifest," he replied, pulling away from the curb before I’d even buckled my seatbelt.

As we accelerated toward the highway, a familiar hum resonated from the small, modified tablet tucked in my jacket—a different device, one linked to a private, ancient frequency. I checked the display, and my breath hitched. I was being tracked. I expected the government’s pings, but this was different. The encryption signature was unique, a digital fingerprint I hadn't seen in two decades.

My childhood best friend.

She knew exactly where I was going. We hadn't spoken in twenty years—a lifetime of secrets and different paths had stretched between us—but she was still there, watching my coordinates crawl toward the airport. In this world of professional liars and shifting shadows, she was the only person I trusted at the moment. She was the only person who knew the girl I was before I became the ghost.

The driver adjusted his rearview mirror, his eyes meeting mine for a split second. "She's always with you," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "She says to stay charged."

A jolt of electricity shot through me. I didn't ask how he knew or who he had spoken to but I knew who he was talking about. I simply nodded, the silent confirmation passing between us in the reflection of the glass.

In no time, we reached the airport. We didn't pull up to the main terminal with the crowds and the crying children. Instead, the sedan veered off toward a restricted access gate, rolling onto a private tarmac where a sleek, unmarked jet sat waiting under the hangar lights.

I stepped out of the car, the cold air biting at my skin. I moved through the expedited version of customs—a small, windowless office where the air smelled of stale coffee and ozone. I reached into my bag and pulled out my Russian passport.

The customs agent took it with gloved hands. He looked at me, then down at the passport picture—a version of me from a life that felt like a dream. He scanned the document, his fingers tapping a rhythmic pattern on the desk. As he handed it back, he leaned forward, trying to maintain a professional facade despite his struggling accent.

"Pri-yat-nava po-lyo-ta," he said in very bad Russian. Have a great flight.

I took the passport, my expression unreadable. "Spasibo, drug," I replied in perfect Russian. Thank you, friend.

I turned and walked toward the jet, the ghost of my past following me into the sky. I knew this was going to be a very long flight, and I would be cutting it dangerously close to meet my KGB friend. Between the multiple layovers, the necessary switchbacks to lose any tail, and the logistical hurdles of crossing borders on a burner manifest, it would take me exactly 23.5 hours to get to him. That left me with a thirty-minute window. No room for error.

We landed in Paris, France, at Charles de Gaulle, and the clock was already screaming. My connection was at another terminal on the complete opposite side of the airport. I had exactly eight minutes to make it, but the overhead signs estimated a fifteen-minute walk even at a brisk pace. I began to run, my boots echoing against the linoleum.

Suddenly, a golf cart whirred to a stop beside me. An airport employee, her face obscured by a cap and mask, leaned out. "Deppgrl?" she asked, her voice low.

I nodded once, breathless. "Yes."

"Hop on," she commanded.

I didn't hesitate. I jumped onto the back as she floored the accelerator, weaving through the crowded hallways with surgical precision. She knew the back corridors that bypassed the bottlenecks. We reached my gate in seven minutes flat. I turned to thank her, to ask who had sent her, but before I could get a single word out, she had already turned the cart around and vanished back into the service tunnels.

Three minutes later, my boarding group was called. I slipped into my seat as the cabin pressurized. We flew to Rome, Italy, then took a dizzying series of connecting flights designed to scrub my trail: Belarus, Japan, Thailand, and even a freezing refueling stop in Greenland. By the time we finally crossed into Russian airspace, I was vibrating with exhaustion and caffeine.

I landed on a secondary strip outside Moscow with exactly two hours left on the clock. I didn't have time to breathe. I had two hours to navigate the security cordons and reach a hidden, unmarked room deep within the Kremlin.

When I reached the exit of the airport, I knew I couldn't wait for official transport. I had to trust my gut. I looked for the unlicensed taxis—the underground cabs that moved faster than the rules allowed. I quickly passed my bag between my hands a few times, a subtle signal, then scuffed the marble flooring in a specific pattern. A young man, about 23 years old, approached me.

He spoke in bad English, offering a ride. I cut him off, speaking in perfect Russian. "I need to get to the Kremlin as soon as possible. I will pay you triple to get me there now."

He nodded toward a nondescript car, and we scrambled in. The normal drive into the center of Moscow usually took 43 minutes. He did it in 25, slicing through the heavy, stagnant traffic like a razor. When he pulled up, I grabbed my bag and pulled out 400 rubles to pay the fare.

In poor English, he shook his head. "Your fare was already paid for by our mutual friend."

I stared at him for a second, then shoved 200 rubles into his hand anyway, thanking him in perfect Russian before disappearing toward the entrance.

By the time I arrived at the front doors of the Kremlin, I had exactly three minutes to get through security and find the room. My heart was a drum against my ribs. I knew that if I missed this opportunity, I would be stuck in Russia for months, if not a year, and I wouldn't be able to escape the grip of my own government.

I rushed through security, my pulse spiking as the metal detector hummed. I had only minutes left. Suddenly, a babushka approached me, her face a map of wrinkles. She insisted on showing me her favorite stained glass window, pulling me toward it. As we stood before the colorful light, her voice changed. In perfect English, she began giving me rapid-fire directions.

"When I sneeze and grab a tissue," she whispered, "head past the water fountain, go right, and at the second hallway on your left, turn left. There will be three doors on your right. Knock twice on the middle one, knock six times on the door on the right, and knock three times on the door on the left. A door on your left will be opened two inches ajar. Go in there. Our friend is waiting for you."

Before I could thank her, she let out a loud sneeze. I took off immediately, maintaining a brisk but calculated pace, acting as if I were a woman who knew exactly where she was going. I didn't dare look at my watch, but the weight of the seconds felt physical. I followed her directions to the letter: the fountain, the right turn, the second hallway on the left.

I kept my eyes peeled for the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it—one door in the long corridor stood two inches ajar. I checked my surroundings; the hallway was empty. I slipped inside just enough to get through, and the door immediately clicked shut behind me, plunging the small room into a heavy silence.

"Deppgrl," a voice said from the shadows. I froze. I knew that voice as my uncle, Charles.

"Charles?" I breathed, my eyes adjusting. I stared at the man standing there—the man I had mourned for years. "I thought you died."

The room began to spin. Twenty-three hours of adrenaline, the freezing layover in Greenland, the frantic sprint across Moscow—it all caught up to me at once. The oxygen seemed to leave the room, and the floor tilted. I didn't even have time to hear his explanation before my knees gave out and the world went black. I fainted.

Trust and revelation

The line crackled with the rhythmic hum of a digital scrambler, a steady, synthetic pulse that underscored the distance between us. I paced the length of my living room, the familiar hardwood floor a stark contrast to the clandestine nature of the call. I had no idea where Serafina was—a safehouse in Berlin, a high-rise in Shanghai, or perhaps just a nondescript apartment three blocks away. That was the rule: don't ask, don't tell, just listen.

Her voice was thin and metallic through the encryption, sounding like it was being dragged through gravel. "I was beginning to think you’d finally been retired. Permanently."

"Calm down. I would’ve found a way to let you know," I replied, shifting the phone to my other ear as I looked out at the quiet street through the slats of my blinds. "You know how jumpy our people get when they see a burst transmission coming from this zip code. Plus, I also had to find this phone and charge it."

"Our own people," she scoffed. The sound of a lighter flicking echoed through the line, sharp and clear. "My director still tells stories about how your agency tried to spike the alcoholic drinks at the embassy last month. They don't trust you to buy a sandwich, let alone have a private chat with me."

"And my bosses think you’re the reason our safe house in Prague is currently a pile of ash," I countered. "The dislike is institutional, Sera. The distrust is baked into the DNA at this point. Our governments would rather see us dead than sharing a secure frequency."

"And yet," she said, her voice dropping an octave, "here we are. Whispering in the dark like schoolgirls."

"Because in a world of professional liars, you’re the only one whose lies I actually recognize," I admitted. I sank into my armchair, the shadows of the room closing in. "In all the years we've been playing this game for our respective flags, you’re the only one I trust completely. Okay, maybe not one hundred percent—I still wouldn't let you hold my drink—but as close to complete as people like us get."

Serafina’s dry laughter crackled in my ear. "Almost completely. I like that. It’s honest. I give you eighty-five percent, tops. If the Kremlin offered me a dacha in Sochi for your location right now, I’d at least have to think about it for three seconds before hanging up."

"I’d expect nothing less," I chuckled. I took a breath, my voice turning serious. "But I didn't call to talk about the dacha. I called about Vic. I need to tell someone who won't put it in a report. I’d like to consider us to be friends to a certain degree."

“Friends? We haven’t killed each other yet.” There was a long pause on the other end. "The Salvadorian? I heard rumors you two were entangled. I didn't realize it was serious enough for a scrambler call. I heard he was an asset you were bleeding for intel."

"He's not an asset, Sera. And he's not in the business," I said, a small, genuine smile tugging at my lips in the dark. "Actually, we worked together at my brother’s restaurant. It was the most normal thing I’ve done in a decade."

"A restaurant?" Serafina sounded genuinely baffled. "You? Handling plates and taking orders from assholes while the world burns? That’s the best cover I’ve ever heard of."

"It wasn't a cover. It was just life," I said. "Look, I’m not going to give you every single dirty detail. I’m not going to spend our precious fifteen-minute window describing the specifics of the rather impressive size of his anatomy nor the level of pleasure he provides that makes me forget which country I'm working for."

"Oh, come on," Serafina purred. "Just one detail? For old times' sake? I've always heard the Salvadorians were… thorough."

"He’s more than thorough," I said, feeling a flush of heat. "But that's for me to know. What you need to understand is how it started. I love him and so does his wife."

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Serafina stayed silent, the scrambler hum filling the void. "Tell me then," she finally whispered. "How does a ghost like you fall for a man over dinner service?"

I closed my eyes, the familiar walls of my house fading as I remembered the smell of garlic and floor cleaner, and the way Vic looked under the harsh fluorescent lights of the kitchen.

"It started during a Friday night rush," I began. "My brother was screaming about a late order of sea bass, and Vic was the only one who didn't look like he wanted to quit on the spot. I was half tempted to put some of my training to test on my brother but I didn’t."

“Did he know then? Does he know now?”

“Of what? My work? Or my fucking a married man?”

“Both,” she said.

“He didn’t know of my work and the fucking when Vic and I worked for him,” I said. “He still doesn’t know of the fucking but he has an idea of what I do for work with how often I travel.”

“The wife?”

“Yes, she knows,” I said. “He won’t leave nor divorce her for me even though he had asked me once to marry him mid-fuck session. I never expected him nor wanted to have him leave her for me.”

“What do you want me to do….. ’friend’?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “You’ve been in his wife’s shoes. You tell me what you think.”

The silence that followed was long—heavy enough that I thought the scrambler had finally eaten the signal. Then, I heard Serafina exhale, a jagged, exhausted sound.

"You want my professional opinion, Deppgrl? Or the one from the woman I was before I became a shadow?" she asked. "Because the woman I was... she would’ve hated you. She hated women exactly like you."

I flinched in the dark, but I didn't interrupt.

"When I found the proof that my ex-husband was cheating, I didn't just feel hurt," she whispered. "I felt like my skin had been flayed off. I was a furnace of rage and I spent every waking hour plotting how to destroy him, his mistress, and the very ground they walked on. I took my evidence, I took his dignity in the divorce, and then I took the first job my government offered me because it was the only thing cold enough to match my heart. I walked away and never looked back."

"And then?" I asked softly.

"A few years later, I got the news. A car accident at high speed with no survivors. The both of them dead in a twisted heap of metal. I felt satisfied and I thought it was fate. I thought the universe had finally balanced the scales for me." She paused, and I heard the click of her lighter again. "It wasn't until years later that I found out the truth. My partner at the Ministry—a man I’d trusted with my life on a dozen missions—had cleaned it up for me. He set the whole thing up. He didn't even tell me. He knew that I was still hurting, still embarrassed and he removed it like a tumor."

She let out a dry, mirthless laugh. "So, you ask me what I think? I think being the wife is a special kind of hell. But being the mistress? You’re playing with a man who has already proven he can lie to the person he shares a bed with. And you’re doing it in a world where people like us don't get happy endings, Deppgrl. Wives get hurt emotionally and mistresses can get killed.”

"He asked me to marry him, Sera," I reminded her, my voice small. “Though it was mid-fuck.”

"Mid-fuck," she snapped back, her voice regaining its edge. "Men like that say a lot of things when the endorphins hit. If he wanted to be yours, he’d be yours. Instead, he’s staying in a house where the air is poison and the wife knows your name. You’re not his escape, you’re his hobby. And if your bosses—or mine—ever decide he’s a liability to your performance..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. I knew where she was going and I didn’t like it.

"Be careful," she finally said, her voice softening just a fraction. "Because the wife isn't the only one who can get hurt in a three-way standoff."

“I understand,” I said. “When I can, I’ll send a message through others so you can get the next number.”

“Don’t bother. We’re done,” Sera said. “And no, I won’t hurt a hair on your precious lover’s body. I will have people protect him and his wife but I can only do that if you walk away.”

“What if I can’t?” I asked. “What if neither one of us can walk away?”

“Then the protection is solely on you, not them,” she said. “I can’t nor won’t let you get hurt as you are my only friend. Destroy your phone. Don’t contact me again.”

“But…” I tried.

“If I need you, you know that I can find anyone,” Sera said softly. “You won’t be hurt too much when I need you. You’ll only have a headache and a small bruise.”

The phone went silent but I knew what I had to do. I dropped the phone from my hands, headed to the safe hidden under the bed in my guest room and found the bug detector. Once I found it and turned it on, I went through the entire house from top to bottom back to top. I found a few things and broke them. I knew that they were Serafina’s. I grabbed the pieces of the bugs she planted in my house as well as the phone that I used to call her and went to the shed.

I grabbed some wood and fuel from the shed to put in the firepit. Once the firepit was set up, I put the electronics in the firepit as discretely as possible. Mike was still my neighbor. I knew Sera had a few people as my neighbors but I didn’t know which ones they were. I knew that Mike wasn’t one of the people she put in place and I also knew that she wouldn’t hurt me to protect either one of us but her knocking me out to get me someplace safe in order to talk is a risk that I’m willing to take.

I lit the wood and the electronics on fire. I stayed out in the cold watching the fire eventually turn to ash. I knew I should be mad that Sera had planted devices in my house but I wasn’t… I had devices planted in the houses and safe houses that I knew that she frequented and I knew that she hadn’t found them yet. She had a tell but clearly, she didn’t share her tell. Once the wood and technology turned to embers, I threw dirt in the firepit followed by pouring water on the dirt.

The heat from the fire lingered on my skin, but I felt a deeper chill as I walked back into my silent house. I picked up my phone and my thumb hovered over Vic’s contact. Sera was right. I was a liability while entangled with him, and he was a target.

I typed the words quickly before my resolve could fail.
Me: Vic, it’s over. I need to protect myself from getting hurt, and you need to be with your wife. Work it out with her.

The phone vibrated almost instantly.
Vic: What the hell are you talking about? I’m coming over. We’re talking about this.

I felt a pang in my chest, but I didn't hesitate.
Me: There’s no point. You need to repair your marriage and forget me. Stay away, Vic.

Me: I’ll be there in ten minutes. I use my key.

I stared at the screen, a grim smile touching my lips.
Me: I changed the locks an hour ago. Your key won't let you in.

A long minute passed. The "typing..." bubbles appeared and disappeared three times.

Vic: You changed the locks? Are you serious? You're just locking me out of your life like a stranger?

Me: You were never a stranger, Vic. But you were never truly mine either. Go home.

I didn't want to turn my phone off but I couldn't keep it turned on but I left my phone turned on. I sat there in the dark living room, the screen’s cold glow illuminating my palms, watching for a reply that never came. I listened to the silence of the house, wondering if Mike was watching and listening from next door.

I desperately wanted to call Bob but I knew that it would put him in danger as well. I knew what I had to do.