Page 19 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

We walked to the break room, grabbed our usual mystery-meat sandwiches and watery tea.A crowd of workers filled the room, but we found a quiet corner at the edge.I picked at the crust of my bread for a moment, trying to calm down.

“So,” I said, as casually as I could manage, “what did you do before becoming a blanket artisan?”

He didn’t answer at first.His fingers tightened slightly around his tea glass.

“I just came back,” he said finally.“From Afghanistan.”

The music in my head faltered, and my mouth dropped opened before I could stop it.

“I’m glad you came back in one piece,” I murmured.“Unlike most of our comrades who served in that hellhole.”

Dimitri’s face went still.Pale.

Shit.That wasn’t patriotic.That was—honest.Too honest.Dangerous.

I scrambled.“I mean, uh, glory to the heroes and all that,” I said, hastily.“We’re all grateful for your sacrifice and your… noble suffering.”

He blinked, and then he snorted.

It turned into a laugh.Not a belly laugh—he didn’t do those—but something real.Soft and wry.“That’s the worst Party line I’ve ever heard.”

“Please don’t report me.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He smiled, and I smiled back at him.The music came back—different this time.Sweeter.Like the beginning of something.

I took a bite of my sandwich.It was terrible.But sitting across from Dimitri, seeing him smile, hearing him laugh—I barely noticed.

The tea had cooled by the time I found the courage to ask another question.Dimitri still hadn’t touched his sandwich.

“You don’t like factory meat?”I asked, nudging his tray with my pinky.

He glanced down at it.“I’ve eaten worse.”

“Ah yes,” I said with mock solemnity.“War.Hunger.Bureau-supplied mayonnaise.”

He cracked a smile again, and I was starting to think I could live off his smiles alone.

Just then, the break room door creaked open, and in walked Vera—looking freshly powdered, coat open, cheeks rosy from the cold.She scanned the room, spotted us, and made a beeline for our corner.

“Mind if I join you boys?”she asked, already pulling up a chair.She dropped into it and leaned across the table to kiss me on the cheek.

“Good afternoon to you too,” I said, grinning, but I felt it—Dimitri tensed.Subtly.The way a cat tenses when it hears something just outside the window.His face didn’t change, not exactly, but something rippled through it.And then vanished.Like the expression had been erased.

I blinked, suddenly giddy.Was that… was he jealous?

“So,” Vera said brightly, taking out her lunch.“Did I miss anything exciting on the floor today?”

“Oh, just a revolution,” I said.“Dimitri defected to humor.”

She laughed, but Dimitri didn’t.He focused very seriously on the edge of his tray, as if the mystery meat had whispered something seditious to him.

“Dimitri?”Vera said, teasing.“Are you alright?”

He nodded.Silent.Unreadable.

The music in my head had softened—still playing, still steady, but quieter now, like it was waiting.

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