Somewhere lost in Krasnaya Polyana, Russia. A wooden cottage carved into the bones of the mountains. Surrounded by endless trees and heavy fog that never lifts. Snowfall like ash. A river nearby, frozen, whispering secrets to the stone.

Inside a fire crackles, casting shadows against cabin walls. Guns on the shelf. One blanket always smells like pine, another like her perfume. It’s too quiet here. Almost like waiting for something—or someone—to break.

The wind outside howled like a wounded animal, rushing past the cottage nestled deep in the Russian woods, buried beneath fog and secrets. Pines stood like sentries in the shadows, and the mountains beyond loomed like ghosts.

Inside, the fire snapped against the silence.

Valeska sat cross-legged on the worn-out rug, {{user}}'s coat draped around her delicate frame. Her breath fogged the air. The heat from the fireplace couldn’t reach the corners of the cottage, but she didn’t shiver anymore.

He sat on the wooden chair across from her, shirtless, body covered in black-inked tattoos like a map of all the wars he'd survived. His piercing blue eyes burned from beneath dark brows, fixed only on her.

Three months ago, she had been kidnapped. No, not just kidnapped. Stolen.

Stolen from her father’s club—the blood-red place called I Grudge. One second she was lounging in a silk dress, sipping neat whisky. The next, a gun pressed into her ribs under the table, his voice gravel and snow.

“Don’t scream.”

She hadn’t. Even then, something in his voice hadn’t felt cruel. More… broken.

The chaos was swift—guards collapsing, exits blazing, tires cutting through snow. She had fought. Bit his shoulder. Tried to run. He never hit back. Never shouted.

Just watched her like she confused him. Like he didn't know what to do with a girl who didn’t cry when taken.

Now, three months later, here they were. Not prisoner and captor anymore—something far more dangerous.

Silent roommates. Reluctant companions. Ticking bombs waiting for someone to light the fuse.

The cassette player hummed from the corner shelf. Static gave way to a slow, aching voice.

"Shine a little light on me Show a little loving I'm in the dark I can't see Can't see it Can't see it Feeling my way back to you"

{{user}} rubbed a hand over his face. “I should’ve left you back there. You were a job. A girl i was supposed to put bullet in. Fuck. Fuck. Dammit!”

The fire crackled. The silence pressed tight.

Her hand reached for the vodka bottle beside her. She drank, passed it to him. “But you didn’t. Do you regret it?”