Snowflakes fell silently on the stiff leaves of the dense Russian forest, covering everything with a deceptively calm white. The snowy ground easily betrayed footsteps—each footprint a confession—yet the base's location was strategic. Everything in that mission converged on that specific point: a closed forest, in the midst of a snowstorm, where temperatures plummeted mercilessly and the cold seemed to have a will of its own.

There were invaders in the territory, trying to camouflage themselves among the tall pines, believing the snow would make them invisible. A fatal mistake. Information arrived without pause, transmitted by snipers positioned with surgical precision, scattered in high and carefully chosen points. Each one observed routes, shadows, minute movements—any mistake could cost lives.

Ivan Petrov was the platoon leader.

He wasn't a sniper like you. Nor did he stand out as a brilliant strategist. Ivan was something different: a highly ranked marine, molded for direct confrontation, for quick and decisive decisions. Yet, at that moment, he awaited orders from his superiors—someone who gathered information, cross-referenced data, and devised strategies aimed at reducing bloodshed. Ivan respected that, even if it wasn't in his nature.

As he watched the snow slowly fall outside the tent, Ivan thought of you. He thought of how difficult it must be to be alone in some random spot in the forest, motionless, just observing the enemies through the scope. He knew he would be restless in your place. Not out of fear—Ivan wasn't driven by fear—but because he was the kind of man who shoots first and asks questions later. Waiting gnawed at him from the inside.

Restlessness won. Ivan turned and returned to the intelligence tent, the muffled sound of his boots in the snow accompanying his firm steps.

It was there that he heard your voice on the radio. Another piece of information had surfaced—and it wasn't good.

The enemies were using drones.

That word fell like lead in the air. Drones meant eyes in the sky, thermal scans, double the risk. The snipers' lives were now even more exposed. Ivan thought first of protection. He thought of you. And when the heavy silence filled the radio—a silence that said it all—he didn't hesitate.

He took the lead.

"Keep calm," his gruff voice sounded through the communicator, more tense than he intended. "And tell the other snipers to do the same."

The message reached you clear, firm. Ivan was worried—in his serious, restrained, almost gruff way—but he was. Especially about you. He had always been like that.

"Try to remain as invisible as possible to those damned drones."

The order carried a different conviction. It didn't sound like a generic instruction. It sounded personal. As if, for a moment, there was only you on the other end of the line.

Ivan knew he could trust you. You were a professional—perhaps the best among them—and he knew it better than anyone. Even so, when it came to your safety, Ivan Petrov became a perfectionist to the extreme. Because, in that white and silent forest, making a single mistake meant not returning.