“You can’t get away, Vronsky. I must witness this ‘woman’ creature you speak of in your room tomorrow morning, otherwise you will know hell.”

Dzyuba’s threat lingers in my mind as I twist the doorknob. He tried to hit me with his vodka bottle earlier, so it’s safe to say that he’s run out of patience. I must admit the commander has a knack for blame-shifting, for after we walked out of that room, nobody cared that Dzyuba has been keeping a giant vault in a locked warehouse for so long. Smolov and Dzyuba must’ve sided with one another to isolate me. I had to be made into the villain.

I grip the doorknob with such force that I nearly split it like a crushed biscuit. The shabby iron door creaks as I push it hard. I thought it would be the loudest noise I would hear today, but boy, I was wrong.

“Alexei!” comes her scream.

The source of the voice jumps at me like a Samoyed that has just seen its master return after a day of being locked indoors alone. She clings to me as if she wants to wrestle me on the floor.

“Alexei . . . Alexei, Alexei, Alexei, Alexei, Alexei!”

Alice calls out my name as if it’s the only word she knows, grimacing as she refuses to let me push her away. Why is she like this? What happened to consent and personal space? Her lips aren’t chapped like mine, but they seem to have just let the cold consume them.

“Are you all right?” she gasps. “Why are you not saying anything? Are you cold? Am I bothering you? C—come in, make yourself comfortable, and we’ll calmly talk about your day . . .”

Calmly? I’m not the one who needs to get my act together!

She pulls me by my wrist and I follow her to the deceptively comfortable sofa. She keeps sighing and huffing, and I need to distract this woman from her current mental state. I really need her to not talk rubbish, or at least at a loud enough volume for them to hear.

There are at least ten guards right on the other side of the door, ready to barge in as soon as they sniff a slice of suspicion.

“Sorry,” I say. “Did I wake you? Yeah, talk about my day; let’s do that! You don’t look in top form today. Why don’t you lie down and I’ll give you my jacket as your blanket? You know, I suddenly recall a folktale I read long ago . . .”

“We are not discussing that today. You look too pale, and you are in no condition to force yourself through this.”

She lowers her face, her hand stopping midair as if she isn’t sure whether she should touch me or not. Then she starts sniffling. If I have learned anything from the last time she did this, it’s a sign that I’ll soon have to deal with bursts of tears that I have no idea how to handle.

“I am okay,” I say. “But are you okay?”

“I am not sure what came over me. I apologize.” She squeezes her nose to stifle the sniffles.

“Did you know that you can survive without saying ‘sorry’ every other day?”

She stays silent.

I sigh. “My mistake. Guess the snide remark wasn’t well-timed. If you need reassurance, then I’m fine and I’m capable of talking. Listen, what can I say so you stop fidgeting like a rat hopping along a power cable that shocks it every few seconds?” And stop you from crying, too.

She scratches her cheek. “About the ring—”

“I couldn’t retrieve it.”

“I—”

“Somebody has taken it. I tried to take it away from him, but I couldn’t. Finders keepers, he said. Maybe I’ll punch it out of him somehow, if you allow.”

“Are you not getting this?” She starts rubbing her eyes, and I finally see the tears. Just a couple of droplets, but they are there. “I do not need the ring anymore! Where were you? Were you in danger? Please avoid violence if you can.”

She starts thumping onto my chest, and I can tell from her sniffles that she is trying her best to resist sobbing. Her blows don’t hurt, but I have an urge to repel any punches she throws. I have to tell myself, It’s just her. She will stop herself if she thinks she hurts me.

Not everyone will try to kill you. Not everyone will try to kill you. Not everyone will try to kill you.

“Don’t go out there anymore.” Her voice is feeble, and fatigue has robbed her of her anger.

“Okay, I get it. I will stay here until we both rot from thirst and hunger—” I stop as she punches me in the chest again. “Oops, sorry. No more sarcasm today. Hit me if it makes you feel better.”

“N—no. I don’t want to.” She pulls herself from me and wipes her tears with the back of her hand.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

What a weird person! She can punch me all she wants, but when I invite her to, it’s suddenly not appealing anymore?

“Didn’t you sleep at all?” I ask.

She tells me she's tried to.

“Very well.” I sigh. I sit and pull her down with me, gripping her shoulder. “Look. Uh. Damn it, I’m not good at this.” I scratch the back of my head. “I am really sorry. Uh . . . Hey, look at what I just brought back here!” I leap forward like a cougar, reaching for a sack I’ve brought with me. “Bread! What a surprise!” I take all the unnecessary steps in untying its knot to make myself look busy, my eyes glued on the sack.

“I don’t want bread. I want you to—”

“Who doesn’t want bread? Munching time is the most peaceful time of the day! Here!” I shove a piece onto her lap. “Have some! My treat. Pay me back next time.”

“You are avoiding my question!” Her azure eyes devour my gaze with tension enough to vaporize her tears. “I asked you where you have been!” She then coughs so hard that she has to squeeze her throat to make herself comprehensible.

“Calm down! There was an emergency. I only scouted for the ring. Nobody held me at gunpoint or anything. Not like I stayed outside where the frostbite’s gonna eat me alive because I enjoyed it. I might take a liking to questionable stuff, but hypothermia is not one of them.”

“Funny how you tell me to calm down!” Her voice turns breathy and emotional. “You promised that you would come back, and I was . . . up . . . waiting all night . . . thinking of all the things that could have happened to you . . .”

Ah shit. I did promise so.

“You don’t even remember, do you?” She glares at me.

“Of course I do! I don’t break my promises, you see. I have returned, in one piece! I just went out for the evening; it’s not even that late. You should get to that sofa and relax. I’ll lend you my jacket.”

She tries to maintain her glare, but coughing her lungs out isn’t doing her any favors.

“Maybe you’ll be calmer if you stop sobbing,” I say.

“I cannot simply stop. Sorry.”

“Take deep breaths. Bite your lower lip, or whatever. Crying is . . . probably not good for you. It makes you tired.”

“Like you ever rest,” she says, but does as I suggest nevertheless. It works. When the sniffles have finally retreated, I stand up, take off my shirt, and throw it on the sofa. I push the sofa next to the pile of cardboard covers and face my bookshelf so that when I lean against the bookshelf to sleep, I can keep an eye on her.

I say, “I do rest. In fact, I had the weirdest dream earlier. I was walking with my mate along a cornfield when we saw a husky flying in the sky. Literally flying.”

She turns to me, rubbing her eyes.

I continue, “Then my mate told me his superior’s dog died so he gave the old man an identical one. The old man was furious and shouted ‘what am I gonna do with two dead dogs?’”

She still snickers for a second, then suddenly pulls a serious face. “That is not funny, Alexei.”

I huff. “Forgot your moral compass for a second there, eh?”

“You can find other topics to joke about. I would hate to feel bad while laughing.”

“You feel better now?” I ask.

“A bit.”

“Good.” I move closer to her. “You know, I’m touched. I didn’t realize you cared that much about whether I’m around or not.”

“Why do you think I do not care?” She frowns.

“Well, for starters, we were virtually strangers a week ago, and it’s not like we’re best buddies now. Our relationship is more like . . . y’know, mutually beneficial. You know that North American folklore about coyotes and badgers? You’re like the badger who digs burrows, and I’m the coyote who wait outside those burrows and capture squirrels fleeing from you.”

She sighs. “I am a little upset you still think of us that way.”

“What do you mean? That’s way easier to believe than telling me you’ve grown fond of me.” She can’t be that gullible, right?

“I am not the one who insists we are not friends.” She folds her hand.

Damn, she went there.

“Don’t just sit there,” I clear my throat, changing the subject. “There are two hours to go until morning. If you don’t sleep, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

“I am afraid that is not possible today.” She sits on the sofa, leans her back on it, and gestures for me to sit next to her. “I have something that I really want to do for you.”

She grabs my jacket and touches my hand along the hem of my shirt over the holes that should have been where the buttons are.

“Where are the buttons?” Her eyes widen, “Did someone rip them off? This does not look like your old jacket.”

“Well, it isn’t. I lost it and got a new one.” But it’s pretty observant of her to have noticed.

Of course, they have to give me shitty clothing. Most of the buttons on this jacket are gone. Where there should have been six or seven of them, there are only two left. Dzyuba is probably bursting with laughter inside his office right now, the petty scum he is.

At least Smolov had the decency to grant me another jacket that’s not torn in pieces. But I have no pistols now after Maksim kicked mine away during our fight. Obviously, nagging for a new pistol the day before the big reveal isn’t a good idea, and a rifle is just clunky to carry in some cases.

“How did you lose them? Do you know where they are?” She asks.

“If I knew, I would’ve gotten them back. Do you know where you dropped your ring, huh?”

She frowns. “You know you can reply without being mean about it, right?”

“It’s not mean if you don’t think it is. Say, you gonna patch this rag up or something? That’d be nice, I could do with a bit of revamping.”

Without replying, she lifts up her dress, reaches into a small bag hidden inside the lace and pulls out a black button, a sewing needle, and a spool of thin thread.

“What is that?” I narrow my eyes.

“I found these under the carton covers, and I think a button may be useful for you. I was going to do it as soon as I returned, but you came back too late.”

“Isn’t that the button I gave you?”

“Indeed. But you need it more than I do. My outfit does not have a button, see.” She pats on her dress. “Alexei, can you sit on the sofa?”

"Wait. I was joking about the revamping thing. Are you serious?”

She nods.

“It’s way too late. Don’t you want to do it another time?”

“Please, I ask only this of you. I really, really want to do this.”

“Fine,” I sigh, “But are you planning to sew that button on my jacket?”

“Please sit. It shall be done in a moment!”

“A moment, according to you.” I reply, “But let me tell you. That little thread can’t, and won’t, hold the button. It will fall out the next day when I roll in the trenches. The button will be gone, and I will not be free to pick it up for you.”

“Yes,” she says, but her hands still remove the thread from the spool, dipping the tip of the black thread to her tongue and trying to thread it through the needle. There is barely any light in the room, but she still manages to accomplish it after three attempts.

“Move a little closer to me, please.” She lowers her voice as she sits beside me. “Let me find the hole where the knot is.” Her words turn into melodious whispers.

I do as I’m told. She starts sewing, and I sit looking at her in silence.