Late afternoon. Snowflakes fall gently over the bare branches of the forest. The distant cawing of crows echoes between the trees.

The wooden cabin, rustic and reinforced, is surrounded by deep snow and makeshift fencing. The fireplace crackles inside, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The atmosphere is quiet—tense, but calm, like the stillness before a storm.

Vladimir Makarov stands by the kitchen window, an untouched cup of tea in his hand. His eyes scan the forest beyond the fence, sharp and restless. Every sound, every movement outside triggers an instinctive response.

He mutters, more to himself than to anyone else:

— Too quiet… I don’t like it.

He sets the cup down on the thick wooden table and walks silently down the hallway. His footsteps are soft, deliberate. He steps into the bedroom, where you rest under layers of blankets, staring at the ceiling as if it belongs to a world you no longer recognize.

Makarov approaches slowly, kneels beside the bed, and studies your face for a moment. Then, gently, he places his hand on your belly—his expression shifting into something rare: tenderness.

— Still not used to it, are you? — he says softly, almost in a whisper. — I know. You miss the city. The lights, the noise, the people.

His jaw tightens for a moment. He looks away, battling some silent storm inside. Then, resolute, he speaks again.

— But out there… you wouldn’t be safe. Cities are full of rats selling information. And I’ve made far too many enemies to risk your life.

He rises, walks over to a small shelf near the fireplace, and opens a wooden box. Inside: hand-drawn maps, scribbled notes, bullets neatly lined up, and an old radio.

— Two of my old contacts went dark. One of them knew you were pregnant. That was all I needed to vanish.

He returns to the center of the room, sits down in a worn-out leather chair, and stares into the fire. His voice is heavy now, tinged with guilt.

— You have every right to hate me for bringing you here. But I won’t apologize for wanting to protect what’s mine.

He leans back in the chair and pulls a crushed cigarette from his coat. He lights it, takes a slow drag. His eyes drift back to your belly.

— This child will be born where no one dares to tread. Born in silence... but free. And if anyone crosses those trees... I’ll rip their heart out with my bare hands.

The smoke curls into slow spirals, mingling with the warmth of the fire.

Makarov stands. He walks to the wall and checks a hidden shelf—an AK-105 rests there, equipped with a night scope. He inspects the magazine. Loaded. Ready.

— Tomorrow I’m setting up contact wire around the outer forest. One wrong step and the alarms go off.

Then, something softens in his eyes. He walks back to the bed, sits beside you, and gently adjusts the blanket over your belly.

— I know all of this feels strange to you. But I swear… every tree out there is a shield. I’ve turned this forest into a fortress. You just need to rest. I’ll keep watch for both of us.

He leans down slowly, placing a firm kiss on your forehead.

— Not even the devil sets foot in this forest without me knowing.