The silence Alek left behind echoed louder than Anya expected.
She stood alone at the edge of the frozen path, watching the trail where he had disappeared minutes ago. His parting words still lingered in her ears—"Be careful." They weren't formal or cold, the way most operatives spoke. They were laced with something else. Not warmth exactly, but awareness. Like he knew the game was shifting. Like he knew she'd soon be alone again.
She hated how right he always was.
Their trap for Ivankov had been set with surgical precision—evidence planted, data rerouted, files disguised with layers of corruption only she and Alek could trace. But the final move? That would be hers to make.
And now he was gone.
Alek hadn't told her where he was headed. Only that it came from a higher order, that it wouldn't take long. She didn't ask questions. She never did when it came to Alek's absences. He always came back.
Still, the walk back to base felt heavier without him beside her. The weight of pretending, of knowing too much and saying too little, settled on her shoulders again. She slipped through the streets unnoticed, coat pulled tight, head bowed against the cold. The village looked the same—quiet, bleak, falsely peaceful—but everything inside her had shifted. She was being watched. She could feel it.
And she wasn't wrong.
---
Damian Graves leaned against the wall near the edge of the barracks, watching.
He hadn't meant to follow her.
But something in his gut had told him to. That same feeling had been gnawing at him since the scarf. Since the pendant. Since he started connecting dots that shouldn't have connected at all.
It wasn't just suspicion now. It was instinct.
And now the man—that man—who always walked beside her was gone.
He noticed it the moment she arrived back alone. No second shadow. No hushed conversation between them. Nothing. The tight grip on her gloves, the subtle downward shift of her eyes—it told him she was thinking too much. Hiding too much.
He looked around. No sign of Alek anywhere.
Where did he go? Why now?
More questions. Always more.
But something else crept into his mind, sharp and unwanted.
They were always together. Almost inseparable.
And now, she was alone.
The thought shouldn't have made him feel anything. And yet, the chill that ran down his spine wasn't from the cold.
---
Two nights ago, in the deep stretch of the woods, Alek had paused mid-step.
"Go ahead," he'd told Anya quietly, letting her walk ahead toward the drop site. She had assumed he was checking their perimeter. She didn't ask questions.
But in truth, he had felt eyes on them.
The faint crunch of a boot far in the trees. The sort of presence only someone trained could notice. Not hostile. But watching.
And in that moment, Alek knew.
Damian had followed them.
He could've exposed him. Said something. Taken a longer route to throw him off.
But he didn't.
Because part of him knew this was necessary. If Damian truly was suspicious, better he dig on his own than confront Anya unprepared. If the time ever came to protect her with silence, Alek was prepared to do just that.
He said nothing.
And walked on.
---
Now Anya moved through the base with deliberate calm, slipping back into her routine as though nothing had changed. She greeted the guards. Sat at her usual spot in the mess hall. Cleaned up. No one questioned her. No one saw the tension beneath the surface.
Except Damian.
When she appeared at his door that evening, coffee in hand as usual, he didn't say anything for a moment.
Just stared.
"Didn't see your… friend today," he muttered, eyes narrowing.
Anya offered a polite smile, calm and unreadable. "He's busy. Had to leave for a while."
He took the cup from her hand but didn't drink. "Must be nice. Disappearing when things start getting interesting."
She tilted her head. "I wouldn't call it disappearing. It's not forever."
"You two seem close."
Anya blinked slowly. "We work well together."
Damian didn't respond. Not directly. His gaze stayed fixed on her, like he was trying to peel back every layer she wore.
She excused herself shortly after.
But as she left, he finally took a sip from the cup.
It was still warm.
And so was the storm building in his chest.