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Chapter Thirty-One

Dimitri

T he shack stank like the bones of a rusted-out trawler had washed up on the docks and been forgotten.

Planks creaked when I shifted my weight, though I tried to stay still, crouched low beside Petyr in the shadows.

The wind off the Gulf of Finland clawed through the slats in the walls, cold and briny, and my teeth had long since started to chatter.

We’d been holed up in that little box since just after sundown, hours that had stretched out like lifetimes.

Every so often, I’d glance over at Petyr, hoping for a reassuring smile, a joke, a brush of his hand.

But he just stared straight ahead, his jaw set so tight I could see the muscle ticking near his ear.

He’s said little since we arrived. Not since the tram ride here, really.

Even then, he’d been quiet, distracted. Like he was counting down something invisible in his head.

I’d tried to touch him earlier, just to take his hand, maybe kiss the back of it the way he did to mine sometimes when no one was looking. He’d pulled away and said, “Too dangerous.” Just like that. Clipped. No eye contact.

“But we’re alone,” I whispered.

“Doesn’t matter.”

That stung. I didn’t ask again.

I rubbed my palms together now, not just for warmth, but to quiet the anxiety building in my gut.

It felt like I was unraveling. This was supposed to be the beginning of something beautiful, wasn’t it?

Freedom. Escape. Life with Petyr, without fear.

Instead, it felt like I was walking blindfolded toward a cliff.

And I still couldn’t make sense of this morning. When Papa came home, Petyr had already dressed and was standing at the window like he couldn’t wait to leave. I thought my father would yell, accuse, explode. But he didn’t even look angry. Just... tired. Hollowed out.

He didn’t say anything to Petyr as he walked past him and into the kitchen. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t even look at me. It was like he knew something I didn’t. Something big. That silence sat with me all day, and it sat even heavier now.

I shifted again, careful not to make the wood groan too loudly, and peeked through the crack in the shack’s wall.

Out beyond the dock, the Port of Leningrad lay under a thick blanket of mist, its cranes and cargo containers rising like ghostly sentinels under the glare of a few yellow lights.

Most of the official harbor was silent at this hour, only the occasional echo of boots on metal, the thrum of an engine far out on the water.

To our left, the smaller piers were even darker.

That’s where we were headed, or at least that’s what Petyr had said.

A small boat would come in at 3 a.m. sharp and row us out past the shipping lanes to a Finnish frigate anchored two miles out.

From there, asylum. Freedom. A life I didn’t think someone like me was allowed to even imagine.

I closed my eyes and tried to picture it: walking beside Petyr on a sunlit street in Helsinki or Stockholm, laughing, hand in hand. Being able to look at him like I wanted to. To kiss him in the open. To never again lie to my father, and to never again wake up afraid of what the day might bring.

I opened my eyes again and looked at Petyr. His expression hadn’t changed. His hands were folded in front of him, clenched tight, his thumb running over his knuckles like he was praying. The silence between us was a wall.

Why wasn’t he excited? Why wasn’t he even smiling?

I leaned over, whispering, “Are you sure this is going to work?”He didn’t look at me. Just nodded. Once.

My heart twisted. “You’re being weird,” I whispered, trying to smile. “Are you always like this before committing treason?”

Petyr let out a quick breath that might’ve been a laugh.

I looked at the rickety clock on the shack wall, its minute hand finally tipping past the twelve.

Three a.m.

A sharp, shrill whistle cut through the night air outside. Short. Then long. One-two.

Petyr was on his feet instantly, reaching down and offering me his hand. The moment our skin touched, that knot of nerves in my chest loosened just a little. I grinned up at him.

“Is that our ride?” I whispered.

He nodded again, pulling me to my feet. His hand lingered around mine just a beat too long before he let go.

Out through the cracked door, I saw a narrow figure down by the edge of the wooden dock. A man in a dark coat stood beside a small, green rowboat, swaying slightly in the dark water. No lights, no engine, just shadows.

This was it.

I looked back at Petyr, and he finally met my gaze. His eyes were so dark they looked endless.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

I didn’t even hesitate. “Let’s go.”

The dock groaned under our weight, old wood flexing beneath our boots as we stepped onto it. The wind coming off the water was colder now, sharper, and the fog wrapped around the port like it wanted to swallow us whole.

Petyr walked ahead of me, fast, focused, the muscles in his back taut beneath his coat. The boat bobbed a few meters away, and the man beside it gave no greeting, just a curt nod and a motion to hurry.

And then something prickled at the back of my neck. I stopped. My foot hovered above the last plank before the boat, and I turned my head slowly, a creeping chill spreading like frost over my skin.

There. Just beyond the shadows. A tall figure, still as a statue. Watching. Dressed in black from his boots to his coat, my father stood beneath a broken lamplight, face half-shrouded in darkness.

“Papa?” I breathed, too quiet to echo.

I didn’t understand. Why was he here?

Before I could move, Petyr’s hands were suddenly at my back, shoving me, urgent and desperate. “Get in the boat, Dimitri. Now!”

“What?” I stumbled forward, catching myself on the edge of the pier. “Wait, wait—what is Papa doing here? Petyr, what’s happening?”

“No time. Go!” he barked.

I climbed into the rowboat, confused and shaking, the water lapping at the sides of the narrow craft. I turned to help Petyr in after me, my hand outstretched.

But Petyr didn’t move.

God, his face was soaked. He was crying, his eyes glinting in the faint light, raw with anguish.

He looked at the man in the boat and said in a hoarse voice, “Go. Please fucking go.”

“Wait, what?!” I lurched forward, grabbing for him. “Petyr! Get in! C’mon, we have to go together. We planned this!”

Petyr shook his head, biting down on a sob. “I can’t come with you, Dimi.”

Everything tilted.

The dock. The water. The world.

“No,” I said. “No, no, no, you’re coming too. We’re doing this together! You said we’d be free!”

“I lied,” he choked, the words mangled by tears. “I’m so sorry.”

The boat had already begun to drift, the oars slicing into the inky water. I lunged toward the dock, trying to grab the edge.

Petyr reached out like he meant to stop me, but then dropped his hand.

“No! I won’t leave you!” I shouted, trying to pull myself up and out. The boat rocked. “I swear to God, Petyr, I’ll swim back if you don’t get in!”

Behind Petyr, Papa stepped forward from the shadows. He hissed, “Do it.”

Crack.

A white-hot pain bloomed in my skull, sudden and blinding.

Petyr’s scream echoed like it came from underwater. “No!”

I pitched forward, arms reaching uselessly toward the dock. I saw Petyr’s face, twisted, horrified, mouth open, and then I saw darkness.