Irina’s POV

"Looks like...me?"

My own voice came out wrong. Too flat. Too careful.

The maid — the small one, the one who’d blurted it out — nodded eagerly, completely unaware of what she’d just detonated inside my chest.

"Yes, miss! The hair color’s different, but the eyes — they’re this pale sort of grey-blue, you know? And the bone structure, the jaw—" She tilted her head, studying my face like she was lining us up for comparison. "It’s uncanny, really. The girls were all joking about it. We said maybe he was a long-lost cousin or something."

A long-lost cousin.

I made myself smile. I don’t know how. My face just did it on its own — some automatic thing my body had learned to perform even when my brain had gone completely silent.

"How funny," I said.

"Isn’t it? He doesn’t talk much. Keeps to himself. But when you see him in the yard—"

"What’s his build?" I asked. Still smiling. "Tall? Short?"

She blinked. "Medium, I’d say. Lean. Not as big as some of the others."

Lean. Medium height. Pale eyes. Kept to himself.

"Does he have a scar?" My voice stayed steady somehow. "On the left side of his face. Just below the cheekbone."

All three of them stared at me.

The bold one spoke first. "I — I’m not sure. I haven’t been close enough to—"

"It doesn’t matter," I said.

I stood up from the bench. My legs worked fine. Everything was working fine on the outside. My hands weren’t shaking. My breathing was even.

Inside, something was screaming.

"Thank you," I told them. "For the conversation."

They curtsied again. Said something — goodbyes, apologies for disturbing me, something. I’d already stopped hearing them. I turned and walked back toward the residential wing, the guards falling into step behind me without a word, and I counted my footsteps because it was something to hold onto.

One. Two. Three. Four.

*The family fled.*

Five. Six. Seven.

*Nicolas told me himself. They ran before he got there.*

Eight. Nine. Ten.

But Alexei wasn’t really family, was he. Not the kind that ran together. He was a coward with good survival instincts and absolutely zero loyalty to anyone. He wouldn’t flee with my father. He wouldn’t go far. He’d look for somewhere to disappear into, somewhere no one would ask too many questions.

What better place to disappear than the winning side’s army?

---

I didn’t eat dinner.

Sofia brought the tray. Set it on the table. Lifted the covers with her usual cheerful efficiency. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall and said I wasn’t hungry.

She didn’t push. She’d learned by now.

She left the tray. She left the room. She closed the door softly behind her.

I sat there in the quiet and tried to be rational about it.

*It might not be him.* Pale grey-blue eyes weren’t rare. Lean builds weren’t rare. The maids were teenagers who’d found a face that loosely resembled mine and turned it into a story because stories were fun and their lives were otherwise uneventful.

It might be nothing.

I pressed my hand flat against my sternum. Felt my own heartbeat — too fast, too shallow.

It might be nothing.

But I’d spent a year learning to recognize Alexei’s footsteps in the dark. I knew the specific weight of his presence. I knew what it felt like when he was in the same building as me — that low-grade wrongness that settled into the base of my skull and stayed there. He’d stood outside my door twice. I’d lain there in the dark both times, perfectly still, not breathing, waiting to see if the handle would turn.

It hadn’t. Both times.

But I still remembered what waiting felt like.

I pressed harder against my sternum.

*He’s not here,* I told myself. *He can’t be here.*

My heartbeat didn’t slow down.

---

Nicolas came just before ten.

Three knocks. Then the door opened. He’d stopped waiting for me to answer — not aggressively, just in the way of someone who’d decided that making me get up and walk across the room to let him in only made things worse. He was probably right about that.

He stopped when he saw me.

I was still on the edge of the bed. The dinner tray sat untouched on the table. I’d only turned on one lamp and it threw everything into dim amber, which I’d told myself was because I had a headache and not because I didn’t want to see anything too clearly.

"Irina."

Not a question. Just my name, in that low, even tone he had.

"I’m fine," I said.

He crossed the room anyway. Pulled the chair from the vanity and sat down across from me, elbows on his knees, green eyes level with mine. He glanced at the untouched tray. Then back at me.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

He waited.

That was the thing about Nicolas. He didn’t push, mostly. He didn’t demand answers. He just waited, with this absolute, unhurried patience, and somehow that was harder to outlast than being asked outright.

"The soldiers," I said, finally. "The ones from Iron Thorn." 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

Something shifted in his expression. Just slightly. "What about them?"

"Is there anyone—" I stopped. Tried again. "Are there any of them who seem off? Someone who doesn’t quite fit in, who keeps to himself, who doesn’t talk?"

He was quiet for a moment. Actually thinking about it — not just saying whatever would calm me down fastest.

"Not that I’ve noticed," he said. "They’ve been consistent. Training well, following orders. No one’s raised a flag." He paused. "Why?"

I looked down at my hands. They were folded in my lap, very still.

"You told me my family ran," I said. "You said the house was empty when you arrived."

"It was."

"All of them?"

"Every one."

I nodded slowly. "But when you say *my family* — you mean my father. His wife. Katerina." I looked up. "Did you confirm Alexei was gone too?"

Nicolas’s jaw tightened. Just barely.

"He’s listed among the household members who fled," he said. His voice stayed even. "There’s no confirmed sighting of him here."

*Confirmed.* That was a very specific word to use.

"Is there an unconfirmed one?"

Silence.

"Nicolas."

"There’s nothing concrete," he said. "Nothing I could put in front of you as a fact."

My stomach dropped. "But?"

"Early on, one of my men thought he saw someone matching a description. It wasn’t followed up the way it should have been." His eyes didn’t move from mine. "I’ve since corrected that."

I sat with that.

*Someone matching a description.*

"Can you check the roster?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted. "The Iron Thorn soldiers. I want to see if anyone on the list is called Alexei."

He’d already pulled out his phone. I hadn’t even noticed him reach for it. He scrolled for a moment, silent, his expression giving nothing away.

Then he turned the screen toward me.

The list was long. Names, ranks, origin territory, intake date. He’d highlighted the Iron Thorn contingent — forty-three names, grouped separately from the rest.

I read through them. All the way down. Slowly, so I didn’t miss anything.

No Alexei.

I let out a breath. It came out shaky — this long, unsteady exhale that seemed to empty my entire body. My ribcage felt like it had been held tight for hours and had just now been allowed to loosen.

"No one by that name," he said, watching my face.

"No."

"Better?"

"A little." I handed the phone back. My hand was trembling now — just at the edges, just barely. "The maids said something this afternoon. About one of the soldiers looking like me. And I just—" I stopped. "I know it’s probably nothing."

"Probably," he said.

Not *definitely.* Not *of course it’s nothing, stop worrying.* Just: probably.

I actually appreciated that.

"But—" Nicolas leaned forward slightly. His face was close to mine now, close enough that I could see the edge of something deliberate in his expression. "Even if it weren’t nothing. Even if there was someone here who shouldn’t be."

"It would matter to me," I said, before he could finish.

"I know." He didn’t argue. "But it wouldn’t change what happens to him."

There was no heat in his voice when he said it. That was the part that made me believe him. He wasn’t making promises to soothe me. He was just stating how things were, the way you’d state the weather.

"I’d keep him away from you," he said. "I’d keep anyone away from you who needed keeping away. That’s not a question."

I stared at him.

He held my gaze, steady, unblinking, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Something in my chest went quiet. Not gone — it was never that simple. But quieter.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay?"

"Yes. Okay." I exhaled again, slower this time. "Thank you. For checking the list."

He made a sound — not quite a laugh. Something that would’ve been a laugh if he were a person who laughed easily. "You could’ve asked me sooner, you know."

"I didn’t want to seem—"

"Scared?"

I didn’t answer.

"Irina." His voice dropped half a register. Not softer, exactly. Just lower. More direct. "Telling me when something’s wrong is the point. That’s what I’m here for."

I looked down at the untouched tray again. The soup had gone cold and a thin skin had formed across the surface. The bread had stiffened. I hadn’t even noticed any of it happening.

"I know," I said quietly.

He sat back. The tension between us eased — not all of it, never all of it, but enough to breathe around.

He was quiet for a moment. Then:

"Tomorrow," he said. "Come with me."

I looked up. "Where?"

"I’m doing a full inspection of the troops. Down through the training yards, all the way through the east barracks." He tilted his head, watching me. "You’d be at my side the whole time."

I understood what he was actually offering.

Not a tour. Not fresh air. He was offering me a chance to look. To put my own eyes on all forty-three of them. To check every face myself, in daylight, up close, and know — actually know — rather than lie awake turning a name on a list over and over in the dark.

Something loosened behind my ribs.

"Yes," I said.

I agreed.