The Cabin, Later That Night
The fire had burned low. Shadows stretched across the wooden floor, long and tired.
Elias hadn’t moved from his spot by the hearth, but his eyes were far away, watching something no longer in the room.
Isa sat against the wall, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, knees pulled up. Her voice broke the quiet like the flick of a match.
“I used to be a pianist,” she said.
He looked at her, surprised.
“Concerts. Recitals. The works,” she continued. “It was a different life.”
“Why did you stop?”
She stared into the flames. “The war took the piano. And then it took the hands.”
A beat.
He glanced at her hands—steady, capable, still scarred from field dressings and broken glass. “They look fine to me.”
She gave a soft, wry smile. “They work. That’s all that matters now.”
“And the music?”
Isa shrugged. “I still hear it. Just... not the way I used to.”
The silence after was comfortable, until she spoke again.
“What about you?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then, with a sigh that seemed pulled from deep within him:
“I was supposed to be a teacher.”
Isa blinked. “You?”
Elias nodded faintly. “Languages. History. My mother thought I’d be a professor. I had a desk. A chalkboard. A classroom with peeling blue paint.”
“What happened?”
He hesitated. “Something louder than books.”
She didn’t press. She recognized the way he spoke around the truth instead of through it.
Just like her.
“Did you like it?” she asked quietly.
“The quiet? The structure?” Elias smiled faintly. “I liked the idea that words could be weapons. And shields.”
She tilted her head. “You still believe that?”
“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
Another long silence. This one thick with questions unasked.
Isa drew her blanket tighter. “I don’t play anymore,” she said. “But sometimes... when it’s too quiet, I still move my fingers like I’m touching keys.”
Elias looked at her hands again. “Maybe someday, when this ends, you’ll play again.”
“And you?” she asked. “Will you teach?”
He didn’t answer.
Because even then, Elias Dvorák knew he wouldn’t survive long enough to.
Chapter 5: Wolves in Smoke
Elias
The message arrived folded in a blood-stained cigarette wrapper.
He found it nailed under the cabin’s floorboard, right where the contact said it would be. He knelt alone in the dark, fingers still damp from the rain, heart already knowing the weight before he read it.
> Confirm location of Subject Amaranth. Terminate if compromised.
Extraction team inbound within seventy-two hours. Use signal flare.
– K.
Isa.
She had no idea they’d given her a codename.
No idea there were already teams moving in from the border.
No idea he was the reason they knew where she was.
Elias stood slowly, breathing through the weight in his chest. The wood creaked beneath him. The fire outside the room still cracked gently—she hadn’t noticed he was gone yet.
He slipped the message into his coat and shut the floorboard.
Not yet.
Later that night, they moved through the forest. He and Isa had left the cabin just after dawn to scout a rumored drop point—supply caches, according to local intel. She walked ahead, rifle slung loose, scanning trees like she’d grown up among them.
Elias watched her every movement. How she crouched low to check a print. How she paused at odd angles, listening, always alert.
She’d once said she wasn’t a soldier.
He never believed her.
“How far out?” she asked, eyes fixed on the slope.
“Two clicks,” he said.
“You always say two clicks.”
“It’s usually true.”
She turned to glance at him. “You’re unusually quiet today.”
“I’m usually quiet.”
She snorted. “No, you’re usually brooding. There’s a difference.”
A snap of movement caught both their attention—a shadow veering through the trees. They dropped instantly to the ground. Isa’s hand reached for her sidearm.
Three shapes emerged.
Not locals.
Elias knew the boots, the formation. Russian operatives. Recon team. His own side.
They weren’t supposed to be here yet.
He grabbed Isa’s wrist before she moved. “Stay down.”
Her eyes flashed to him. “They saw movement. If we run, they’ll chase.”
“They’re not looking for us.”
But they could be.
She squinted. “How do you know that?”
“I don’t,” he lied smoothly. “But if we wait—”
“Wait too long and they circle us.”
She was right. But if they fought now, they risked exposure. Worse, if he was recognized…
One of the men called out, voice sharp, Russian clipped and fast.
Elias’s instincts screamed.
“Move,” he hissed. “North. Now.”
They broke from cover just as a warning shot cracked through the trees.
Isa didn’t ask questions—just ran.
They ducked through fallen trunks, leapt over roots, leaves and breath tearing behind them. Another shot. Another. Elias pulled her down behind a ridge as bullets chewed bark inches above their heads.
“Three of them,” Isa panted. “Light gear. Fast.”
“Too fast.”
She looked at him. “You’ve fought their type before?”
“Yes,” he said.
He didn’t add: I trained them.
They lost the tail two hours later near a frozen stream. Isa crouched beside the water, blood trickling from a graze on her shoulder. Elias tore a strip from his scarf and wrapped it tight.
She hissed. “You always have perfect timing when it comes to getting me shot at.”
“And you always manage not to die,” he replied.
A pause.
Then she looked him dead in the eye. “That patrol… You recognized their tactics.”
He froze.
“I’ve seen your reflexes, Dvorák. You're not just a runner with a gun.”
Elias stood. “We need to move before they double back.”
“That wasn’t a denial.”
He met her gaze—cool, steady, but inside: war.
“No,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t.”
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