Under the dim flicker of candlelight, Fyodor sits alone, pen in hand, the world outside eerily silent. His handwriting is neat, controlled, as he carefully writes each word, knowing they may be his last.

“My dearest,” he begins, “if you are reading this, then I am no longer there to say these words myself. I have lived my life in shadows, surrounded by secrets and silence, but with you, I found something… different. A peace I never thought possible.”

He pauses, his eyes softening as he rereads the lines, then continues, “You were the one light I never expected. And though I can’t promise you a life free of darkness, I can promise that you are the last thought on my mind and the only truth in my heart.”

Fyodor carefully folds the letter and slips it into a hidden pocket in his coat. He murmurs to himself, almost as though you were there beside him, “One last secret, just for you.”