The air was thick with frost, the kind that clung to skin and seeped through layers of clothing. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, covering the ground in a deceptive blanket of silence. But silence was never safe. Silence meant something was lurking. Watching. Waiting.
Damian Graves stood at the edge of the military outpost, his gloved hands tucked into the pockets of his thick coat. Around him, soldiers moved with mechanical precision—setting up defenses, monitoring radio transmissions, and patrolling the perimeter. The Russian tundra was unforgiving, an endless stretch of white and gray, as lifeless as the enemies buried beneath its frozen surface.
His gaze flicked toward the small town just beyond their checkpoint. Dimly lit houses stood clustered together, smoke curling from chimneys as civilians clung to whatever warmth they could find. A few figures moved along the snow-covered streets, their heads low, their shoulders hunched against the bitter wind. He exhaled, his breath forming a ghostly mist in the cold air. It was just another night. Another mission.
"Graves."
He turned slightly as a soldier approached, his breath coming out in short puffs from the cold. The man hesitated for a second, shifting uncomfortably before handing him a folder.
"The commander wants you to review this," the soldier muttered.
Damian took it without a word, flipping it open. Inside were details of supply routes, coded messages intercepted from the enemy, and a name that had been highlighted multiple times.
He skimmed through it lazily, expecting another routine report, until his eyes landed on a certain name.
Anya Blackwood.
He frowned slightly, reading the name again. British. High-level intelligence operative. Allegedly a ghost in the espionage world.
Damian didn't react, but something settled uneasily in the back of his mind. He had been in this war long enough to know that ghosts didn't stay hidden forever.
But right now, she was just a name on a file.
For now.
---
Meanwhile, in the Town
The wind howled as Anya Blackwood stepped onto the snow-covered streets, her heavy boots making almost no sound. She kept her pace steady, her hands buried in the pockets of her coat, her breath misting in the air.
She had spent months blending in, moving through different villages, sending back coded messages when she could. So far, no one had caught on. No one had suspected her.
But something felt different tonight.
She stepped into a small café, shaking off the snow from her coat, letting the warmth seep into her frozen skin. The scent of coffee and fresh bread filled the air, and for a moment, she allowed herself to breathe.
An elderly woman behind the counter smiled. "Something warm, dear?"
Anya nodded, slipping into the local tongue effortlessly. "Tea, please."
As she reached into her coat for a few rubles, she glanced out the frost-covered window. The street was mostly empty now, save for a few passing soldiers in the distance.
Everything seemed normal.
And yet, something about tonight felt… off.