"Someone's coming." My hand instinctively goes to my waistband, where a gun should be. Where I'm certain it used to be, in another life.
The dust cloud grows closer, and then I see it. Pavel's ancient Ford truck, moving faster than usual down the narrow road.
"It's just Pavel," Maya says, but I can hear the uncertainty in her voice.
"Pavel doesn't come two days in a row." I move toward the door, every instinct screaming that something is wrong. "Not unless there's a problem."
The truck pulls up near the cabin, and Pavel climbs out. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes scan the tree line before he heads toward us.
I open the door before he can knock.
"Pavel." I keep my voice neutral, but my muscles are coiled tight, ready for action. "Wasn't expecting you back so soon."
He pulls off his cap, turning it over in his weathered hands. His face is grim, the lines around his eyes deeper than yesterday. "We need to talk."
"About?"
"Had more visitors at the store this morning." His eyes flick past me to where Maya stands, then back to my face. "Like the ones from before. City types. Expensive clothes, expensive car. But these aren't the same men."
My jaw tightens. "What did they want?"
"They were asking questions. About strangers in the area. About anyone new who might have shown up in the last few weeks." Pavel shifts his weight, his weathered hands gripping his cap tighter.
"They were very specific about who they were looking for." Pavel meets my eyes. "A man with dark hair and tattoos."
19
LENA
The words hang in the air like a death sentence. A man with dark hair and tattoos.
I watch Sasha's entire body go rigid, every muscle locking into place. His jaw clenches so hard, I can see the tension ripple down his neck, and those dark eyes that were warm moments ago turn cold and calculating. He doesn't move, doesn't blink, just stares at Pavel with an intensity that makes even me take a step back.
"What exactly did they say?" Sasha's voice is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that precedes violence.
Pavel shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable under that predatory gaze. "They showed me a sketch. Asked if I'd seen anyone matching the description around town or up in the mountains." He glances at me, then back to Sasha. "Looked just like you. I told them no, of course. But they were very insistent. Said it was important they find this person."
"Did they say why?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
"No. Just that they needed to locate him." Pavel twists his cap between his weathered hands.
Sasha moves to the window, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light as he stares out at the forest. I can see the wheels turning behind those dark eyes, processing threats and calculating odds. His hands curl into fists at his sides.
"How many were there?" he asks without turning around.
"Two. Both in plain clothes, but they had that look, you know? Like cops or military."
"Did they give names?"
"Smith and Jones." Pavel lets out a nervous laugh. "Obviously fake."
Sasha turns back to face us, and the look on his face sends ice through my veins.
"They're not police," he says flatly.
"How do you know?" I move closer to him, drawn by some instinct I don't fully understand.
"Because police would have actual names and badges. These are contractors." His eyes meet mine, and I see something dark swimming in their depths. "Someone hired them to find me."