Alternative end: Vronsky chose to remain loyal to the country and carry out his mission as planned.

I touch her hair, slowly intertwining my fingers through her locks. They are a tad greasier than the first day I saw them, but they still feel soothing to touch.

I remind myself to only focus on stroking her hair, but all the memories overflow. I think of the days before we had to get ourselves to the frontline. The days I would enjoy a relaxing walk and play with the army’s Rottweilers. The days I could just lean my back against the wall and roll a joint before passing it to Roman. The days Vasiliy and I could spend on our weekly fishing trips catching the biggest taimen the icy rivers had to offer.

I keep stroking to sail upstream, against the tide of time.

Peace.

Have I ever been at peace since stepping out of the glass cage and leaving the camps to join the army? Have I ever been at peace working under my commanders?

His Excellency’s henchmen trampled me when I first arrived, beating me like a dog. They injected chemicals into my arms. They squeezed their huge machines on top of my head, peeled off my scalp as if to rip out my skull. They threw me onto the battlefield, forced me to bear pieces of landmines against my feet, bullets through my abdomen. They used me as their human shield. My body sank in blisters and scars.

What have I received after all these years of loyalty? Nothing. Nothing, apart from a promise of freedom.

So, what do I do? Do I keep holding on to that fragile trust and praying that they will fulfill their part?

“Your life will be preserved,” they said.

I have thought long and hard. I wished I had more than six days to make this tough decision, but when the moment comes, the resolution turns out to be simpler than I anticipated.

Do I trust someone I’ve never met in person?

No.

If I’ve learned anything from the years spent murdering people, it’s to trust no one. But they know the risk of not fulfilling their part of the agreement. I might not be able to bring His Excellency and his whole organization down for good, but they won’t set foot anywhere near Central Russia for years to come, without the taste of my blood lingering inside their mouth.

I know a few people who but for the slightest suggestion, would incite a coup d’état. Oh boy, they didn’t like it when Minister of Foreign Affairs Boris Zhukov turned against them.

Then why should I trust her? Why are Kuznetsov and his men after her? She’s different. I can’t use any of the metrics I know of to judge her capabilities. She might be playing games with me, luring me into the trap of comfort. Perhaps she is seducing me with her sorcery. The peace she makes me feel is an illusion, a trick of the light. If I help her out of here, she might turn her back on me as soon as she gets a sniff of freedom. What if she manages to run off? Then I’ll lose everything I’ve built up to this point. I’ll lose my reputation as a diligent officer. They’ll use my disobedience against me. I will never be free.

I can’t trust her or anyone. I can only trust myself.

I let her hair drop from my fingers, then hurriedly back away, disgusted at myself for getting ensnared in her trap. One step back, two steps back, then three steps back. I turn my head; I can’t look at her anymore. She’s alluring, but the prettiest are the most poisonous.

I head outside, then reach for the button she sewed onto my jacket. I can’t believe I trusted her enough to give it to her, hoping she’d forget about it, throw it away somewhere, and I’d have a valid reason to never have to contact General Kuznetsov again.

I press the button with my palms, rubbing it until glinting light projects from it. I place the button on my ear. “It’s Kovali-12. I have the person with me.”

Kuznetsov’s agent confirms my communication and asks if everything is in order.

“Yes, she will comply,” I say. Then, “I will go with the Yaketarinburg plan. Don’t come in tanks or anything flashy. Just get an armored personnel carrier. Over.”

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Nausea overwhelms me as I drag my increasingly heavy legs back to my room. Picking the furthest corner from her, I sit down. When she wakes up, I break the news to her. “I’ve contacted my friend from Yekaterinburg. He’s a high-level officer there.”

“What are you talking about?” Her eyes widen in surprise. I put my hand on the ground, stumbling as I stand. “You know how dangerous it is here, right? It seems like you are wanted, and that’s why you are here. I can’t guarantee your safety, but I can do this much for you.”

“Really? You would do this for me?” She sounds flustered, scratching her cheek until it’s red, “I have not done anything for you. I imagine it must be very hard to contact your friend from such an isolated place . . . ”

“It’s nothing. I have many messengers from there and back. Yekaterinburg isn’t far from here, but you will be safe. We might be able to sneak you out of here, but you have to go overnight.”

“Will you come with me? To Yekaterinburg?”

I touch my nose, surprised, and curse internally for having touched my nose. “I can’t. Not yet. I have to finish my business here. I will try to get to Yaketarinburg, but it might take me at least another week.”

“That is fine, Alexei. The important thing is that I know I will see you again.”

My chest tightens as she tucks her hair behind her ear and gives me an elegant little smile. I have to ask, even if it might arouse suspicion. Maybe she’ll change my mind.

“You don’t mind at all that you will have to be with people you don’t know for another week? I know how anxious you can be on first meetings.”

“I generally would. I am . . . I am not good around strangers, you see. Well, but if you say they are your friend, then I shall trust them.”

“Very well.”

Night comes—the time I finally lead her to the safety I had promised. I extend my palm toward her, “Hold my hand, will you? It’s crucial that I don’t lose you.”

“Oh . . . okay.” Despite the minimal light, I can feel her blushing.

Outside the door, Lieutenant Commander Petrov and about ten other men are already waiting. The Lieutenant waves at me as I walk out, a hospitable smile plastered on his face. I thought it would be Smolov on the other side of the door, and was surprised to see the lieutenant commander guarding me. I have never seen Petrov tagging along with these soldiers before. I wasn’t even aware that he had the authority to command people outside of his section.

Alice startles by their appearance as much as they startle by hers. I can imagine their expressions being similar to my own from when I first looked at her: extreme confusion and slight disgust at their own interest.

Petrov is the first to speak. “This person really is different, Vronsky.” He then turns to Alice. “You have nothing to be afraid of. We’re nowhere near as intimidating as we look. Please, follow us Mister . . .”

“Ah, uh . . .” She stutters.

“Semyon.” I blurt out the first name that comes to my mind.

“All right, all good. Now, if you two could follow us.”

The pathways inside the complex are intentionally complicated. The large hallway is wide enough for five people to line up and divides the integrated area into two. To the west, there are just as many blind turns but unlike the eastern side, the place is mostly used to store food, weapons, medicine, and other supplies.

The western areas have always been the perfect places to hold secret meetings, such as the one that will take place tonight.

“You will meet a couple of high-profile generals tonight.” I whisper to Alice as we walk. “They are the ones that helped me in outlining and guiding you to safety. They have insisted on meeting you. Will that be alright?”

“Y—yes.” She fumbles with her words and answers shyly. Whatever her feelings may be about all this, I cannot take no for an answer anyway.

I lead her to a narrow hallway, where the only source of light comes from the flashlight that Petrov is carrying. He waves all his men away. All around me are familiar faces: Dzyuba, Maksimov, and Alice, who’s hiding behind me.

“This is her.” I step out of the way, giving her a small push so she steps forward.

“Salutation.” She lifts her dress a bit and bows sightly, leaving all three officers confounded. Smolov gives her a military salute and Dzyuba just nods.

This is unfair. Why do they get a bow and I get a screw to my head?

“Indeed, he . . .well—she—is peculiar.” Dzyuba exclaims. “What does she specialize in?”

Meanwhile, Maksimov keeps on eyeing her. However, he does a much better job of hiding his emotions. I can’t tell if he’s interested or alerted.

I’m about to tell them that it is classified information, but decide to change my words. “I don’t know. My only job is to lead her to safety. Now, can we be on our way? We don’t have much time.”

“I will alert my men to not patrol around these areas,” replies Dzyuba. “We are to head to the southwestern gate as was previously discussed. You are certain that Pavlyuchenko will cease-fire tonight, correct?”

“Yes. Your guards from the western watchtowers would have found out if I was trying to lure you into an ambush.”

“I would rather trust digging a tunnel underground over this.” Dzyuba’s expression is one of my favorites—that of a person who has absolutely no faith in me, but has to adhere to my request because he has no choice.

Smolov leads the way, and we soon reach the southwestern gate without any problems. As Dzyuba orders Maksimov to open the gate, I see both Smolov and Dzyuba moving their hands to the pistols on their hips. There is, of course, no ambush on the other side; three armored jeeps are already waiting for us. That should clear up any suspicion: If Pavlyuchenko hadn’t called for cease-fire, there would have been no way for these vehicles to reach the gate unnoticed.

Then, the door of the third vehicle opens and a man steps out.

He isn’t any man. He’s the man.