Chapter Three: Emilia

The walls were too quiet.

Even with the fireplace crackling in the distant room, even with the hum of heating ducts and the occasional creak of old wood under snow, the silence pressed on me like a weight. I sat on the edge of the bed, my bag at my feet, my hands motionless in my lap.

This wasn’t a home. It was a holding cell with nice furniture.

I should’ve been used to that by now.

I ran my fingers along the smooth fabric of the bedspread, trying to ground myself. The panic button Aleksei had mentioned sat just under the frame. I touched it briefly, testing the cool metal under my fingers.

I wouldn’t need it. Not tonight. Not yet.

He hadn’t tried anything. Hadn’t spoken since we arrived. But I could feel him out there in the hallway, a presence like iron behind a locked door. Watching. Waiting.

Not out of obsession or desire.

Out of duty.

That made it worse somehow.

I rose to my feet and padded silently across the room. The windows had thick blackout curtains, which I pulled back just a little, revealing the night outside. The lake was frozen over, the trees skeletal in the pale moonlight. Snow drifted slowly, covering everything in white silence.

I’d danced in theaters across Europe. I’d stood beneath chandeliers and heard my name chanted by thousands. But here, I felt small. Like a child waiting for something terrible to knock on the door.

I turned away from the window.

I should sleep. Rest. But my body was too tense, too alert. I paced the room, breathing deeply, willing my heartbeat to slow.

That’s when I heard it.

A faint sound. The click of a door. Footsteps.

I froze.

Then the knock came.

Soft. Controlled.

I moved to the door and cracked it open just enough to see Aleksei standing there, his frame filling the doorway like a shadow coming to life. His hair was slightly tousled, his jacket gone, just a black sweater stretched over his chest. He looked… less like a monster.

More like a man.

“What?” I asked.

“I forgot to give you this.” He held out a phone—burner-style, basic. “Mikhail wanted you to have a direct line. To him. Or me.”

I took it from him, brushing his fingers by accident. He didn’t flinch. I did.

“Thanks,” I murmured, closing the door.

But his voice came through the crack just before I could shut it completely.

“You shouldn't be afraid of silence, Emilia.”

I paused. “I'm not.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

I stared at the closed space between us. I didn’t owe him anything. But something in his voice—calm, even—made me answer before I could stop myself.

“Being forgotten.”

The silence that followed was different.