2129–2133, the five solar cycles that followed

Rurik trained her personally.

Attack.

Defense.

Military tactics.

She learned how to handle every kind of weapon—

firearms

and blades.

But the sniper rifle?

The rifle sang in her hands.

Rurik noticed.

So he trained her harder,

passing down every trick he knew.

He’d been a decorated sharpshooter in the Russian Army

before he and Hedeon joined the Bratva.

“Talk to me.”

“What?”

“Why did you and my father leave the army?”

Maybe the hundredth time she’d asked.

He stayed silent.

After training, she’d spend nights in Hedeon’s office,

hundreds of documents scattered over the desk.

He taught her everything about the Bratva.

Trix didn’t give a shit about international trade routes,

about the organization’s operations,

or how each division worked.

She wanted to know about him.

What he liked.

What he did when he wasn’t the most powerful Pakhan.

“Say it again.”

Trix rolled her eyes.

“The elite group is the highest rank.

Administration.

Organization.

Ideology.”

She recited it like a song.

“The security group maintains harmony with other orgs,

and member loyalty.

The support group handles money,

choosing who joins an op.”

Trix leaned back in the chair.

“And the labor unit?

Collectors.

Loan sharks.

Street gangs.

Trash.”

She stared deep into Hedeon’s eyes.

“And the Pakhan?

The Pakhan controls it all.”

Trix sighed.

Silence.

“Can we talk about something else?”

Hedeon simply waved her off.

Not a glance.

Not a word.

She clenched her fists.

Obeyed.

Rurik guarded the door.

“No luck, svoloch?”

“Idi na khui.”

She muttered, “Fuck off.”

He laughed,

then placed a hand on her shoulder.

“He loves you, you know that, right?”

Trix pulled away.

Furrowed her brows.

“Then why doesn’t he say it?”

He seemed different in the messages.

A bitter taste crawled up her tongue.

He said he loved her.

Said he wanted her near.

That they’d do everything together.

“Feels like he…”

She didn’t want to say lied.

Swallowed the word.

Rurik exhaled smoke.

“You still have a lot to learn.”

She ignored him.

Headed to her room.

At the door, Tikhon stood with arms crossed.

Tall.

Built.

Short, light hair.

Orange eyes

tracking her every move.

“What do you want this time, svoloch?”

Trix groaned, annoyed.

He’d been assigned to protect her.

But to her,

he was just another way for Hedeon to spy on her.

Had to be.

Even if Tikhon was all friendly,

the only one who made her laugh in that shithole.

So what if he listened to her like no one else did?

Especially on days when her hatred and longing danced inside her?

She didn’t even understand

why talking to him was so easy.

Almost natural.

“Nothing much, ryzhik.

Just making sure you don’t set fire to the place before bed.”

He raised a brow,

the corner of his mouth curling into that smile she claimed to hate.

Trix rolled her eyes.

Tried to open the door—

his arm blocked her.

“Go ahead, tell Hedeon I plan on torching everything.”

She crossed her arms.

He smiled wider.

“You know I don’t do that, ryzhik.

My loyalty’s yours.”

When he said that,

something inside her pulsed differently.

It was hard not to feel truth in those words.

But she knew he sent reports to Rurik.

What did they say?

What did he tell them about her?

Did he describe her weaknesses?

The silences that screamed louder than words?

Didn’t make sense.

Or maybe it did.

And that gnawed at her.

Doubt was a thorn lodged in her being.

“Shut up.

You lie like all the others.”

She tried to open the door again,

but his arm blocked her gently.

Tikhon locked eyes with her.

“I don’t lie. Not to you, ryzhik.”

His tone was firm.

“By the way… I liked that melody you were humming yesterday.”

Trix froze.

“Felt like it was talking to me,”

he went on.

“I think anyone listening would’ve felt that.”

For a second, everything inside her stood still.

He moved his arm away from the door.

“Spokoynoy nochi.

I’ll be right here.

If you need anything, just call.”

He wished her good night.

Trix let out a soft, annoyed “Tsk.”

Opened the door

and threw herself on the bed,

as if the creaking mattress could crush her doubts for her.

She closed her eyes.

Sleep didn’t come right away.

She missed being with someone who wasn’t one of those bastards.

Maybe Tikhon wasn’t like the others.

Maybe he was.

She shook her head.

Couldn’t let herself believe that.

Believing it would be setting fire to herself.

She missed her mother.

The comforting touch of hands that once held her—

but hadn’t in a long time.

Trix sighed.

The dark ceiling above her.

An invisible cell.

Maybe, in another life,

if she hadn’t been born Akilina Orlov Volkov.

A life where the weight of a name wasn’t a prison,

but a door left open.

That night, she decided:

Her name would not be a burden.

It would be a secret.

A flame.

She would only reveal it

to someone who could pierce the barricades she wore as skin—

and reach the deep pulse of her heart.

Until then,

she’d rather forget she even had one.