Somewhere in the woods – near Dzerzhinsky, Russia

The snow hadn’t fallen yet, but the air carried that dead silence that came before it. Gray, heavy. Like the sky was holding its breath.

Maria pressed her shoulder harder against the door. It groaned, then gave way.

The cabin was still here. Half-rotted wood, bullet holes in the beams, and stained wallpaper that hadn’t seen life in years. But it was real. And empty. That was enough.

Behind her, Simon Riley collapsed onto the floorboards with a thud.

“Shit,” she muttered, crouching. Blood soaked through the side of his gear — fresh, but not gushing. Not yet. She ripped open the pouch on his belt, fingers working faster than her thoughts.

“Still breathing,” she said to herself. “Still breathing…”

Simon didn’t answer. He hadn’t said a word since she dragged him from the burning wreck of the ambush. Not when she propped him onto the stolen snowbike. Not even when they nearly got clipped again by sniper fire three klicks out.

She knew that silence. She used to call it arrogance. Now she understood it was calculation. Pain didn’t slow him down. Doubt did.

Maria pulled off her jacket, tore it at the seams, and started patching up the bleeding. Her own arm was sliced open, her ribs bruised from impact. But she’d learned early on: fix the lieutenant first. Then yourself.

Even if he hated her.

Even if she used to be the enemy.

The wind outside howled like it remembered the screams this place had once swallowed.

Maria had managed to start a small fire in the stone fireplace. She moved quietly — not out of fear, but instinct. Her side still ached. She was running on adrenaline and scraps of memory.

Then: a shift in breath behind her.

She turned.

He was awake. Barely. One eye open, face shadowed by the dim firelight. His mask was off, but she didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

“Where…” His voice was a rasp, dry, low.