Page 104 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

“Take us,” I said it anyway, “to Finland.We can be free.”

My voice broke, but I pushed through.I had to.

“No more lies.”

The words burned my throat.He deserved the truth.But I couldn’t give it to him, not yet.Not when it might stop him from leaving.

I cupped his face in my hands, brushed my thumb over his cheek, and kissed his forehead.

“We will be together,” I whispered, “without fear.”

ChapterThirty-One

Dimitri

The 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.

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