Damian had always trusted his instincts.
And lately, they were screaming.
Ever since that scarf—light grey and snagged in a bush just off the ridge where the skirmish had broken out—he couldn't shake the feeling crawling beneath his skin. It matched the one he'd seen around Anya Petrova's neck just days before. First the pendant, now this. Clues were piling up like snowdrifts, and still, he said nothing. Not to his unit. Not to the Colonel. Not to anyone.
Because what if he was wrong?
What if he had just built an illusion out of coincidences?
But deep down, he knew he wasn't imagining it.
And so, he watched her.
Whenever she left the coffee shop, Damian found himself taking alternate routes through the village, just to see where she went. She never lingered in one place for too long. Always slipping through alleys, cutting through narrow paths only locals would know. But she was never alone.
The man with her—tall, fair-haired, with a quiet kind of confidence—moved beside her like a shadow. They were often seen speaking in hushed tones, heads close, laughter light and easy between them.
Damian didn't know who he was. But he didn't like the familiarity in their gestures.
Every time he caught a glimpse of them, something twisted in his chest. Not jealousy. That would be absurd. But unease. Discomfort. Distrust.
And yet, when Anya arrived at his door each morning with a warm cup of coffee and a soft smile, he played his part.
He never let her see that he was watching.
Never let her know he was listening too closely to her words, or noticing the way her hand trembled ever so slightly when he asked something unexpected.
She wasn't just a village girl. Not anymore.
She was something else entirely.
But what exactly she wanted… he didn't know yet.
---
Meanwhile, in the quiet outskirts of the village, Anya knelt beside Alek, snow crunching under their boots as they scanned through a metal case hidden beneath loose floorboards in an abandoned storage shed.
"Photos. Ledgers. Documents. This... this is it," Alek whispered, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes.
Anya flipped through the files, her eyes narrowing as she recognized the names—key officers involved in black-market trades, hush-hush operations, and most importantly, a direct link to Colonel Ivankov. The same man they were assigned to eliminate.
"We're getting close," she muttered.
Alek grinned. "We should celebrate."
She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "We still have to set the trap. He can't die out in the open. We need to be smart."
"And we will be," he replied with a wink. "We're the clever ones, remember?"
Anya tucked the files into her coat, expression hardening. The clock was ticking. The moment was drawing near.
They just had to play their roles a little longer.