Anya pulled her coat tighter around her as she walked through the village's snow-covered streets, the familiar crunch of her boots muffled by the powdery blanket beneath her. The wind had picked up again, biting at her skin, but she barely noticed. Her thoughts were elsewhere—on the soldiers, the increasing military presence, and the intelligence she had been quietly collecting.
It had been several weeks since she had assumed the fake identity of Anya Petrova—a simple woman with no past, no connections, and no reason to be noticed. The villagers, kind as they were, knew nothing of her truth. She had woven herself into the daily rhythm of their lives, helping at the small café, running errands, and offering her services as a seamstress when needed. It was the perfect cover.
But lately, things had changed. The military camp was expanding. Soldiers were appearing more frequently, their patrols growing longer, their gazes sharper. They had no idea who she really was, but the unease in her chest told her they were closing in—even if they didn't realize it yet.
Anya paused at the small wooden gate of the café, glancing over her shoulder. The street was empty, but the weight of unseen eyes lingered. Shaking off the feeling, she pushed the gate open.
The elderly café owner smiled warmly from the doorway. "You're early today, Anya. Everything alright?"
"Just tired," Anya replied with a soft smile, stepping inside. The scent of fresh bread and brewing tea wrapped around her like a familiar embrace. "You still have the new fabric, right?"
The woman nodded. "Of course, dear. I set it aside for you."
---
Meanwhile, at the Military Outpost
Damian had spent most of the day scanning the area beyond the outpost. His instincts were on high alert. He couldn't shake the image of the shadowy figure he had seen the other night—someone moving between the trees near their checkpoint. A civilian? An enemy? He wasn't sure, but something felt off.
He hadn't reported it yet. There was no proof, just a gut feeling. But the more he thought about it, the stronger his suspicion grew.
"Graves."
A voice pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see Sergeant Lennox watching him with that ever-perceptive gaze. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Something on your mind?"
Damian didn't hesitate. "I think we're being watched. There's something out there. Too many civilians near the perimeter lately."
Lennox frowned but remained unreadable. "Orders are clear—stick to the mission. Keep an eye out, but don't go chasing shadows."
Damian gave a curt nod, but his gaze drifted toward the village again. The civilians moved too carefully. Too quietly.
He would keep watching. He had to.
---
Back in the Village
Anya sorted through fabric in the café's back room, her hands working methodically. But outside, the villagers' hushed voices caught her attention.
"Did you hear? The soldiers are taking more control," one woman murmured. "There's talk of another outpost nearby."
Anya's fingers froze. Another outpost? That wasn't good. The village was already under watch, and now the military's grip was tightening. It was only a matter of time before they started questioning people.
She moved toward the window, glancing outside. The wind had picked up again, stirring the snow-covered streets. And then—she saw him.
A soldier.
Not just any soldier.
Damian Graves.
He stood across the street, his sharp gaze scanning the area, as if searching for something—or someone.
Anya's breath caught in her throat.
Had his eyes landed on her just before she ducked? Was it just paranoia, or had she been spotted?
She couldn't risk it. Not now.
With trembling hands, she grabbed her coat and slipped toward the back exit, her mind racing.
She had to leave. Now.