I’d almost call it a talent. Not everyone can do something like this without meaning to.
Maybe you don’t know what I look like (or maybe you do? Google is free, you know. Just saying.) You don’t know my voice, my habits, or how I take my coffee.
And yet here you are, cataloguing imaginary flaws like you’re trying to disqualify me before I’m allowed to participate. People only do things like this when they’ve already noticed the pull.
You keep insisting this is random, accidental, unintentional. That’s fine. I’m not asking you to label it. I’m just noting that you’re still here, still writing, still choosing words carefully while insisting you don’t choose anything at all.
“Random assignment” is a comforting story. It lets you believe this could have been anyone. It couldn’t have. You wouldn’t be writing this way to just anyone. You wouldn’t be bothering to deny it so thoroughly.
You can sign “Not yours.” I don’t mind. Some things take a while to catch up to themselves.
Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.
— Sasha
TheofficeI’dclaimedas my sanctuary was empty … well, as empty as anything could be in Blackwood. The faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead mingled with the distant clatter of boots and shouting from down the corridors.
I held the phone loosely as I waited for the call to connect. My uncle’s voice came through, clipped and low, carrying the authority of the man who had been apakhanlong before I’d even learned how to spit straightin Russian. He was cold and controlled, but I recognized a sort of measured pride in his voice even through the phone line.
“Sasha.”
“Uncle Nikolai,” I replied, my voice steady and calm despite the quickening pulse in my veins.
“You have served. You’ve got people noticing you. The time has come to consider your next …deployment.”
I blinked, feeling half-surprised and half-relieved. So this is the green light. I’d been waiting, watching and pushing my limits to make sure everyone in here knew what I could do without my uncle having to intervene.
That had always been the condition. I could have begged, plotted or schemed, but begging wasn’t my style and plotting without permission was a risk I didn’t need. Everything had a price. Everything always had a price.
It reminded me of the first time I’d met him. I was young, alone in an unfamiliar place. My mother had always tried to shield me from this side of my family — the Bratva — the violence, the bloodlines she insisted had no right to touch me.
She thought ignorance was protection. I thought it was a cage. I hadn’t been bred to fit in with polite society, and the violence flowing through my veins proved it.
And then, one day, he’d appeared. Nikolai. I’d never met him in person; I’d only heard stories about him.There he had been, standing at the bars with his icy blue eyes seemingly stripping everything bare.
“You either learn to survive here on your own,” he had said, his voice calm yet lethal, “or you join. You work your way up, prove yourself useful, and I’ll make sure you leave this place with a purpose. Refuse, and this place will chew you up and spit you out, and no one will remember your name.”
It had been a choice with high stakes and life-changing consequences.
At first, I’d hesitated because the risk had seemed enormous. Joining the Bratva in prison wasn’t an act of charity, nor was it a guarantee of protection. At least, not without a price. It was a microcosm of war. But if I took this risk, I could make my mark and carve out my own place in a world already deeming me unsuitable to ordinary life.
I remember my mother’s last words after that meeting.
“If you go down this road, you are dead to me.”
As much as it had hurt, I’d decided it was worth it. Every extraction, every fight, every impossible decision had been a continuation of this first choice — the moment I’d decided to survive and earn my place. Nikolai’s gamble on me hadn’t been charity; it had been an investment.
“Where?” I asked, letting the question slide out as if I hadn’t been wondering about it for months in the echoing silence of my cell.
“Puerto Rico,” Nikolai drawled. “We have conquered territory there recently. It’s a strategic location, providing a number of ports and shipping routes and offering potential for influence. This is your next challenge.”
I pressed the phone a little closer to my ear, letting his words sink in.
Puerto Rico. Sunshine, humidity, heat … and a territory for which I would be responsible.
“You are to secure it,” Nikolai continued. “Defend it. Expand it. Make it yours. But this is not a gift, Sasha. You are Brigardier once you are out, but this title comes with blood, with effort, with vigilance. One slip and your authority is meaningless.”
I let the words sink in. The weight of responsibility didn’t feel like a burden. Not for me. But I recognized it as a test. There wasalwaysanother test.